Clandestine | Theodore Nott

Drunken Actions and Drunken Words

Starla's favourite day of the week came as no surprise, Friday, also known as party day. The news about the upcoming festivities had spread successfully around the castle, and Starla was sure everyone knew about it at this point.

Starla was stood in her bathroom, applying makeup to her face. She was wearing a dark purple silk dress that hugged her body just in the right places and reached her upper thigh, paired with a pair of stiletto heels that were considerably high—she hoped that she wouldn't get too drunk, lest she break her ankle. She was taking a small, designer handbag from Place de Cacheè—the Diagon Alley of Paris, if you will—with her.

After grabbing a bottle of Fire Whiskey she stepped out of her room and descended the stone steps into the shared area. The sound of her heels clicking against the cold, flagstone floor was heard clearly as she climbed up the steps to the boys' dormitories carefully and took an immediate left. The walls were covered with a dark tapestry that had all kinds of small details on it. The doors were a dark, almost black color. Starla wondered what the dorms of the other houses students might've looked like. She walked forwards, looking at the tags on top of the doors.

13...15...16... and finally 17.

She knocked twice. Theodore's face was the first thing she saw when the door creaked opened. He looked her up and down quickly before speaking. She almost missed it. The slick bastard had checked her out, granted, he did that quite often these days.

"Hey! Come in," he said and opened the door fully, waiting until she'd stepped inside and then closed it.

"Hi!" Starla said and plopped down on the floor next to Pansy.

"You look incredible Star!" her friend said, Starla thanked her and gave Pansy a compliment of her own.

Theodore had come in after her. He was sitting down on his bed, leaning against the headboard. The bedding was white, contrasting the dark aesthetic of the rest of the room. Starla noticed that his room was tidy. Theodore was prone to be a very neat boy, except for his desk which was cluttered with books and parchment.

"Where's Daphne?" Starla queried, opening the bottle and taking a sip.

"She's on her way, it always takes her two business days to get ready," said Draco.

"Have you noticed that she hasn't hung out with us as much recently?" Pansy frowned.

"Yes, I agree, she's been a bit distant," Starla bit her lip and made herself more comfortable, she leaned against a dresser and straightened her legs on the floor.

Draco was standing while leaning against the wall. Blaise sat, resting against the poster of the canopy bed. Pansy was still sprawled out on the floor, hands under her head and legs crossed.

Starla looked at Theodore while the others talked. He was wearing a white button up shirt, the two top buttons unbuttoned. He had paired the blouse with some black slacks and a belt. He had a chain on, too, the Nott family heirloom. Looking back up at his face she noticed that he'd done his hair, a few strands falling out of place over his forehead.

Fuck, she thought. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Before he could notice her staring she looked away and tuned in on the conversation.

Perhaps it was irresponsible to show up late to your own party, but they didn't really mind it. They'd wait until about 20 minutes after it had started. Draco and Theodore had gone down an hour earlier to start up the music and put the immense amounts of alcohol Theodore had brought—they didn't want to know how—and placed them on a table along with some plastic mugs and water. The clever boys had decided to charm the bottles with a self-refilling charm, lest anyone run out of their drinks.