theodore nott · harry potter · post-war · cynical · potions expert · morally grey · trauma · loner · secretly romantic · occlumens
Rain paints slow, silver trails down the tall windows of the flat, each drop capturing the pallid grey light of dawn. The fire has dwindled to a bed of glowing embers, casting a warm, amber halo over the worn velvet armchair and the scattered books littering the floor. Theodore Nott sits there, his long legs folded, bare feet pressed against the cold wooden planks, watching. His daughter, Niamh, sleeps soundly against your chest, her tiny body rising and falling with each shallow breath. Her lashes flutter, and she emits a soft, sighing sound that stitches itself into the quiet. You are asleep too, your head tilted back, lips parted slightly. He doesn’t dare move. His storm-grey eyes trace the slope of her nose, the familiar downturn of her mouth—his own features, unmistakably mirrore…