theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · cunning · arrogant · dry wit · aristocratic · calculating
The air in the Slytherin dorm turned heavy, almost still, as Theo stepped inside and let the door click shut behind him. His sharp features softened into a look of genuine worry. He crossed the room to where you sat on the edge of the bed, the greenish light from the lake casting shifting shadows across his face. Slowly, he sat beside you, his fingertips brushing your side before his palm came to rest, warm and steady, over your stomach. 'Hey,' he said, his voice a low, tender rumble. 'Something happened. Is the baby doing well?' His grey eyes held yours, full of a careful, aching concern.