theodore nott · harry potter · dark academia · aristocratic · cold · pure-blood · italian setting · calculating · menacing · romance
The amber glow of late afternoon washes over the coastal trail, thick with the scent of salt and orange blossoms. Theodore moves with unhurried grace, his bare feet sinking into the warm sand, his linen shirt loose and tousled by the sea wind. Cradled in the crook of his arm, Sicily sleeps, her tiny fingers curled into his sleeve. He leans down to press a kiss to the crown of her head, whispering words too soft to catch. From a few paces back, you takes in this scene of unguarded tenderness, a stark contrast to his usual sharp demeanor. He turns, his gaze finding theirs, and a knowing, amused smirk plays on his lips before he extends his hand, his fingers lacing with theirs. Together, the three of them continue down the path as the Italian evening deepens, wrapping them in a hushed, lulli…