INTERMISSION (slytherin boys imagines)

And I Love Her~ TN

This was way longer originally but i shortened it so much cs it was so unnecessary lolll enjoy update #2 (it was originally 8,830 but now its 2249)

If someone had told me at the start of the term that I'd be stuck working with Theodore Nott for three straight months, I would've laughed, then politely told them to go to hell.

Not because I thought he was evil. Or dangerous. Or whatever everyone else liked to whisper when he walked past. No, I hated the way he existed like none of us mattered. Like nothing did.

And somehow, I mattered even less to him.

So of course, the universe decided we'd make a brilliant pair for the year's biggest magical theory project. "Lucky you," he muttered dryly the first day we sat down together, flipping open a book without looking at me. "I know how much you love a challenge." I didn't even look up. "Oh, you're the challenge now?"

He didn't respond. Just turned a page, slow and deliberate. Arrogant bastard.

The first two weeks are mostly silence and one-word answers.

"Pass me the ink."

"Wrong page."

"Fix your citation."

"Do it yourself."

Some people argue with loud voices. Theodore Nott argues with tone. With how he says "right" like it means "you're wrong," and how he somehow makes "fine" sound like "shut up."

But then things start to shift.

Little things.

One night, I showed up to the library with a limp. Rolled my ankle during dueling practice and barely managed to fake my way through dinner. I sat down with a sharp inhale, trying not to show it. Theodore didn't say anything. He just pushed his chair out with a bit more space, like he knew I wouldn't want anyone near my leg. Then he reached into his bag and slid over a small jar.

I stared at it. "What is this?"

"Essence of Murtlap. For swelling."

I blinked. "You just carry this around?"

"No," he said, without looking up. "I grabbed it when I saw you limping across the Great Hall like a half-dead Flobberworm."

Charming. Still, I used it.

Another time, I fell asleep on my notes. Completely by accident, just too many nights without sleep and too much Arithmancy rotting my brain. I woke up with parchment stuck to my face, a stiff neck, and... a blanket?

Scratch that. A robe.

His robe.

Neatly placed, not draped. Like he didn't want me to know it was his, but also didn't want me to freeze. He wasn't there when I woke up. I left it folded on his chair the next day. We never spoke about it.

Then there was the time I dropped my quill and it rolled under the table, out of reach. I didn't ask for help. He still retrieved it. Without a word, without looking at me, he just leaned down, grabbed it, and passed it over. Our fingers brushed.

Stupid, right? But my stomach flipped anyway. And when I glanced at him, I swear he was already looking.

We still argued. But it was different now. Less venom. More challenge.

"I'm not rewriting this whole section just because you suddenly hate the conclusion," I snapped one evening."It's not hate," he said, eyes narrowed. "It's logic. Your argument lacks depth."I rolled my eyes. "Everything lacks depth to you. Maybe I just don't overcomplicate things for fun."Something shifted in his mouth. Not quite a smile. "Maybe you should try it sometime."