theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · shy · guarded · italian heritage · university setting · fear of abandonment · dry humor
The Italian villa held its breath beneath a twilight sky the shade of a fading bruise, the last streaks of dusk dissolving behind the darkening hills. Within the drawing room, shadows pooled in the corners, and the fire's amber light licked at the spines of leather-bound books and danced over dust swirling in the haze of cigarette smoke. Theodore Nott sank deep into a worn armchair, a glass of firewhiskey warming his palm, a joint quietly burning itself down between his fingers. He drew the smoke in deeply, letting it spill from his lips in a slow, grey sigh as his stormy gaze remained fixed on the flames. He had told Draco he would be with his family. He had told everyone. But the villa stood empty, echoing only with the memory of his mother's laughter. A sudden, sharp knock fractured th…