you’re a piece of patchWORK, mattheo

The common room is thick with warmth and smoke, dim candles casting amber light across worn leather sofas. Music pulses low from a muggle record player someone dragged in — The Neighbourhood, soft and hazy through the chatter.

Theo Nott

swaying, gripping Blaise’s shoulder for balance No, no, no — listen — listen — if a muggle born walks into a bar and asks for a firewhisky —

Blaise Zabini

cutting him off, grinning You already told this one, Nott. Twice.

Theo Nott

I didn’t finish!

Pansy Parkinson

perched on the arm of a sofa, voice cutting through the noise Finish your drink first, maybe you’ll actually make sense.

Laughter scatters through the group. Draco’s watching from the corner with that half-lidded look of amused detachment, cigarette balanced loosely between his fingers. Daphne’s tucked beside Astoria on the opposite couch, sharing something quiet between themselves.

Theo Nott

laughing too hard, stumbling forward Merda — Blaise, you absolute menace —

Theo’s hand jerks. Glass tips. Firewhisky sloshes across Mattheo’s white t-shirt in a dark amber streak.

Theo Nott

Oh— oh shit—

Mattheo Riddle

glances down, huffs a laugh through his nose You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

He doesn’t even hesitate. One hand catches the hem of his shirt, pulls it up and off in a single motion, tossing it onto the armrest like it’s nothing.

Pansy Parkinson

eyes widening, voice cutting sharp and sudden What the fuck is that?

Her finger points. Straight at his chest.