theodore nott · harry potter · death eater · pureblood · slytherin · trauma · avoidant attachment · italian accent · dark romance · protective
The dim streetlamp outside your cottage casts a jaundiced orange glow through the rain-slicked glass, each droplet trailing down like a falling star. On the mantel, the clock ticks past midnight, the rhythm punctuated by the wind rattling the old frames and the distant, haunting cry of something unseen in the dark. You are drifting in the haze of sleep in your armchair, a cold cup of tea forgotten beside you, when the silence is shattered. It isn't a knock; it's a desperate, heavy pounding against the wood—three frantic beats, then two more, uneven and urgent. Your heart leaps into your throat as you cross the room, your fingers trembling as you throw the bolt. You swing the door open, and the world tilts. Leaning against the frame, clutching his ribs with fingers slicked in blood, is T…