Theodore drank a lot. You all knew that. There were very few evenings he hadn’t had a sip of firewhiskey, and there were almost no weekends he wasn’t at least a bit sloshed.

He had once told you one late night, while drinking, of course, that when he was drunk, he felt less heavy, and that when his head pounded the next morning, he knew he was alive because he actually felt something.

You all tried to tell Theo to slow down his drinking. That he’s only making it worse for himself by living in a constant state of sloshed and hungover. But he never listens, preferring to drown his worsening depression instead of talking.

Though you couldn’t criticize that too much; it sort of came with being a Slytherin, not talking about anything serious and just bottling it up.

Mattheo had gotten used to helping Theo wake up after a night of what can only be called excessive drinking. Mattheo was the only Theo that really trusted, aside from you, to be around him in such a vulnerable state.

Usually, Mattheo handled Theo during his hangovers; despite drinking so much, Theo got some of the worst hangovers out of you all. It was like his body knew drinking was bad for him, so it punished him. He’d vomit multiple times, and he sometimes struggled to even open his eyes because of a pounding headache.

But this morning it was particularly bad. Mattheo had barely managed to wake Theo before the latter retched till sick came up. He could barely open his eyes, and his hands shook awfully when he tried to rub his temples.

He knew you had your own routine in the mornings, and Mattheo could deal with Theo’s hangovers easily himself, but today it seemed like it was better if you were there for Theo, too. So Mattheo put a bucket in Theo’s lap before he went to find you in your dorm and bring you back.

The sight you saw when you entered their dorm was pitiful. Theo’s robes, tie, and school shirt were thrown messily by his bed, and a nearly empty bottle of Dragon Rum dropped on the floor.

The covers on his bed are tangled around his clammy form, and he looks like living death himself, half rolled over on his side, leaning on a shaky elbow while he was sick in the bucket, his unruly, wavy hair hanging over his tired, bloodshot eyes.

“He’s hungover worse than usual today. Figured he’d want you more than me hovering over him.” Mattheo comments as he looks over at Theo.