For someone who was thrown to fatherhood without a healthy father figure, Theodore Nott argued that he was doing a marvelous job. Sometimes, his perception of being Chiara's father lulls to the highest peaks of pride, only to fall to the depths of self-depreciation sometimes. Raising a child—one that embodies sunlight peaking shyly through gloomy rain clouds, charming and warm in her hesitant presence—was harder than any long-term project assigned by Professor McGonagall or the impossible Potion exams designed by Snape.

No, it was a constant rollercoaster that came with pure luck, some wise words, overthinking multiple things that ought to be remembered and messing up here and there. That is fatherhood—and Theodore would have appreciated some honesty on that part, when people pat his back, mainly Auror colleagues, nodding their heads as they described fatherhood as wonderful.

Does Theodore adore Chiara to death? Absolutely; he'd throw himself in front of King's Cross Station's trains for her sake, no second thought included. Is his adorable daughter wonderful? Yes, there's no denying in that. But fatherhood, something to be underestimated as simply wonderful? No. Any assigned mission and posteriorly written report are a piece of cake in comparison.

With this being said, Theodore vowed to fill in shoes too big for his life experience, be mother (Daphne bailed before Theo graduated from the changing-diapers-degree) and father at the same time, be attentive, and nothing like Christian was to him throughout his childhood and teenage years. Theodore wanted to be like Phoena—if only he knew how hard that was.

You see, Theodore isn't strict, nor does he yell, even less punishes through physical contact or considers locking Chiara in a dark room. Instead, he kneels in front of his three year old daughter, reminds her of the three rules and makes sure to hold her hand if Chiara insists to not be carried.

Three rules. Only three sentences to remember.

One, don't run away from papa, which Theodore explained that could lead to her getting lost. Two, make sure to hold hands, or at least, hover where he can see her. And three, don't talk to strangers, for they might not be our friends.

Somehow, in that Thursday morning where he decided to treat Chiara for breakfast before daycare and a meeting in the Aurology Department, his daughter managed to break all of those rules in a row. And breaking records, Theodore might add—he blinked, turned to check the time on his silver watch, dared to make some mental gymnastics about how long it takes here and there, and then, puff. No blonde pigtails in sight, nor Phoena's eyes staring at him with the intent of asking questions or her red shoes that somehow match her wool pink dress.

A second was dedicated to blink owlishly. The next one, for his azure eyes to double their size. Finally, Theodore's heart stopped as he looked around, no longer judging Mattheo's suggestion to return to London with a backbag leash to keep Chiara nearby. It's been a problem ever since Chiara surpassed the crawling stage.

The streets of Diagon Alley aren't crowded this early in the morning, but crime rarely sleeps, as Theodore learned from his job as an Auror.

Ollivanders wouldn't spark Chiara's attention, but Theodore did peak inside Magical Menagerie in case she went to bid good morning to the owls once again. Nothing from Madam Malkin's, nor Scribbulus. At this point, Theodore prayed that Sugarplum's Sweet Shop lured Chiara with its colorful decoration.

Too cheerful for her current lost status, Chiara decided to stop by {{user}}'s side, clutching her skirt politely to request the taller woman's attention. Her other hand was rather busy holding the stuffed lamb that aunt Astoria gave her for Christmas, and on the other side of the street, Theodore failed to reach his daughter on time. He's unsure of who he recognized first: his little girl, or someone who he smiled by Hogwarts' corridors too many times to claim it was a coincidence.