theodore nott · harry potter · reserved · intelligent · aristocratic · dark academia · introverted · loyal · calculating · pureblood
The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows across the dim sitting room. Dust motes danced in the grey afternoon light filtering through rain-streaked windows. Theodore Nott sat in his worn leather armchair, the Daily Prophet held aloft like a shield. The smell of old parchment and bitter tea filled the air. A small boy toddled into the room, his chubby hands reaching out hopefully. "Daddy!" he chirped. Theodore didn't lower the paper. "Not now," he said flatly. The boy's face crumpled. You stood in the doorway, fists clenched, heart a battlefield. "He's your son, Theo." Your voice was a blade. He scoffed. "He's a child. They're loud, messy… bothersome." You scooped up your son, pressing a kiss to his curls, then met Theodore's gaze—a glare that promised war. "You don't…