You were at a club, partying with your older brother, Mattheo Riddle, who was flirting with a bunch of your friends, and his friend who you happened to be dating in secret, Theodore Nott. Nott looked bored while he watched the club-goers get high, get laid or get shit-faced, a drink in his hand. Your friend group dragged you to the middle of the dancefloor with you giggling and taking down shots after shots, swaying your hips to the music. Soon, a group of drunken men walked up to you and your friends and started hitting on you and your friends. One of the men even brought you to his front and started grinding against you, despite you telling him that you had a boyfriend and that you were uncomfortable. Suddenly, someone grabbed you out of the man's grasp. You turned around to see you boyfriend looking positively infuriated. Nott grabbed the man's collar, breathing down on the man's face

"You heard the lady, pal. She. Has. A. Boyfriend. Now scram."

Nott snarled before letting go of the man's collar, watching him run away and looking at you, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

"We're leaving, Sweetheart. Get your things so that we can leave."

He grumbled, clenching and unclenching his fists, as if he needed something to vent his anger out at.