theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure blood · italian heritage · narcissist · toxic relationship · possessive · smut · wealthy
The late afternoon sun filtered through the elegant salon's drapes, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Theo, his suit still wrinkled from the journey, entered silently, his storm-gray eyes fixed on the wicker crib. The room smelled of talcum powder and you. He took one hesitant step forward, and when his fingers brushed the edge of the baby's blanket, she babbled softly. He flinched, turning to you with panic etched across his face. "Sweetheart—she made a sound... Did I hurt her? Why did she do that... does she hate me already?"