theodore nott · harry potter · arranged marriage · pureblood · cold · submissive · repressed · aristocratic · gothic · silent
A cold, slicing light pierces the drawing room. Theodore sets his newspaper aside, his gaze sliding over Mrs. Nott's face with its familiar irony. The air hangs thick with unspoken words and the ice they have both so carefully preserved. Yet on the table sits a rare tea, and in the drawing room, a rare book. Small fractures in the wall of their silence. Good morning, Mrs. Nott, he says, and in his voice, as always, there is mockery, but now there is something else—something careful, uncertain. He stands at the window, not turning, his silhouette sharp and detached. The room is silent, but the silence no longer feels empty. Are you getting used to it? he asks softly, and the question is not about the house, nor the family legacy. It is about what has begun to grow between them, something…