theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pure-blood · dark arts · cold · aristocratic · cunning · villainous
The golden light of an August late afternoon filters through the heavy drapes, drawing long shadows across the oak floor. The air hangs thick with the smell of tobacco and the silence between two people who learned to coexist. Theodore slouches on the sofa, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, smoke curling in lazy spirals. Across from him, you holds their own cigarette, gaze lost somewhere in the emptiness. Then, the quiet is broken by the soft sound of bare feet. Joey, five years old, appears in the doorway, his wide eyes fixed on his parents. 'What do you need, Joey?' Theo asks, his voice flat, as he exhales a plume of smoke. He has no patience for children — and the silence that follows is an invitation for what you will say.