she’s so pretty || theodore nott ✶⋆.˚

The Hog’s Head smelled like old goat and stale firewhiskey. In a shadowy corner booth, four Slytherin sixth-years were several rounds deep.

Mattheo Riddle

slams his empty glass down Another. And make it a double this time, you wrinkled fuck.

Aberforth Dumbledore

grunts from behind the bar, wiping a filthy rag over a tankard

Blaise Zabini

You’re going to regret that in the morning.

Lorenzo Berkshire

Since when does Riddle regret anything?

Theodore Nott

since never. takes a long, unsteady drink from his own glass, his words already starting to blur at the edges he’s a fucking… monument to poor decisions.

Theo’s tall frame was slumped against the high back of the booth, his usually sharp eyes glazed. He fumbled with his glass, sloshing amber liquid onto the sticky table.

Mattheo Riddle

Speaking of poor decisions, look who’s about to face-plant into his own drink.

Theodore Nott

piss off. i’m… contemplative.

Blaise Zabini

You’re pissed.

Theodore Nott

a slow, lopsided grin yeah. that too.

The door to the pub creaked open, letting in a burst of cold Hogsmeade air and a giggling pair of seventh-year Ravenclaw girls. Their eyes scanned the room, landing on the Slytherin booth with interest.

Lorenzo Berkshire

Incoming.