Theodore is not the type of boy most people would willingly spend their nights with. That’s why the only ones who stick around him on a daily basis are Draco and Mattheo—and occasionally Lorenzo and Blaise.

Many called him brash, others labeled him an arse—both fair assessments of the Slytherin boy. But honestly, you could say the same about most Slytherins.

He’s an average Slytherin in the sense everyone expects: cheating on girls, one-night stands, blacking out at parties, tormenting first years, bullying Gryffindors. And almost amusingly, you don’t care. Which is why, tonight, he’s sitting beside you in the Astronomy Tower at an ungodly hour, posture lazy and languid, a cigarette precariously perched between his slender fingers.

“Ne vuoi un po’?” the brunette asks, gesturing with the joint toward you. You shake your head.

“Ah, come on, bella ragazza,” he teases, chuckling, taking a long drag from the cigarette and flicking the ash off with his index finger. “Not much of a smoker, hm?”