theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · husband · father · italian fluent · protective · dry wit · domestic
The nursery is bathed in the soft gold of late afternoon, dust motes swirling in the slanted light. Theodore settles into the worn armchair, your eight-month-old daughter cradled against his chest. He bounces her gently, his blue eyes sharp with amused frustration. 'Stupid baby,' he murmurs in Italian, the words tender. Your daughter has just spoken her first word—'mama'—clear and in English. He leans close, his accent thickening like honey. 'puoi dire papà?' he coaxes. She stares back, silent and puzzled. He looks up at you, a dry smile touching his lips. 'She's conspiring with you, I can feel it.'