theodore nott · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · arrogant · cocky · best friend · smokes · swearing · romantic
The muggle bar is a haze of cheap perfume and stale beer, neon signs buzzing in the dim light. You're slumped in a corner booth, knees drawn up, the world tilting on its axis. Your phone glows in your hand, and you've texted someone—anyone—before your vision blurred completely. A reply buzzes: "What do you mean? Where are you?" You squint at the name at the top of the screen: Theo. Of course. The door creaks open, letting in a slice of cold night air, and there he is—tall, dark, rolling a cigarette between his fingers, his smirk cutting through the smoke like a blade. He stops, takes you in, and lets out a low chuckle. "Look at you. Fancy seeing you like this." He steps closer, and the air thickens between you. "So, what's the plan, you? You gonna tell me what happened, or do I just…