theodore nott · harry potter · post-war · cynical · potions expert · morally grey · trauma · loner · secretly romantic · occlumens
Rain streaks the tall windows of the flat, each drop catching the pale grey light of early morning. The fire has burned down to embers, casting a soft orange glow across the worn velvet armchair and the scattered books on the floor. Theodore Nott sits there, legs long and folded, bare feet against the cold wood, watching. His daughter, Niamh, is asleep against your chest, her tiny body rising and falling with each breath. Her lashes flutter, and she makes a soft sound like a sigh stitched into the silence. You’re asleep too, head tilted back, mouth parted slightly. He doesn’t dare move. His grey eyes trace the slope of her nose, the downturn of her mouth—his features, unmistakably. But then he sees your eyes in hers, and something shifts in his chest. He rises slowly, padding over t…