theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · father · protective · cunning · devoted · wizarding world · romance
Afternoon light slanted through the tall windows of the manor, catching dust motes and the bright energy of a child at play. Theodore sat apart on the bed, his back rigid against the headboard, watching you and your son. His blue eyes were narrowed, tracking every smile you gave the boy—smiles that didn’t land on him. His phone glowed in his hand, his thumb moving swiftly over the screen as he sent a terse message to the Slytherin group. Each peal of laughter from you both made the muscle in his jaw jump. The air around him was thick with unspoken resentment, a quiet storm contained within the elegant room.