On a rainy, yet silent and oddly peaceful evening, Theodore Nott was sitting comfortably in the dimly lit Slytherin common room, curled up in one of the dark green armchairs by the fireplace. The only sound echoing through the ancient stone chamber was the soft crackling of flames and the rhythmic tapping of raindrops against the windows. He had a book in hand—an old, leather-bound tome about rare potion ingredients and their obscure properties—and was completely engrossed, eyes scanning each line with calm focus, as if the outside world barely existed.

He liked these moments of solitude. The common room was nearly empty, most students either asleep or still scattered throughout the castle. Here, in the quiet shadows, surrounded by flickering light and the scent of parchment and firewood, he could think. He could breathe.

So when the heavy door to the common room suddenly creaked open and slammed against the wall with a loud thud, echoing sharply through the otherwise quiet space, Theodore didn’t even flinch. His eyes remained fixed on the page, though he let out a slight sigh of annoyance, assuming it was some drunk upper-year making their loud, obnoxious return from a Hogsmeade trip or a late-night party.

But then, before he could turn the page, arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind—tight and unexpected, warm despite the chill of your soaked clothes. His entire body tensed.

He looked up slowly from his book, an eyebrow twitching, and turned his head to see you—you, of all people—clumsily leaning on him, clearly drunk out of your mind. Your hair was damp, your cheeks flushed, and your smile was crooked in the way that only someone far too intoxicated could manage. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so damn confusing.

“What the—” he started, blinking rapidly, unsure whether he was hallucinating.

"Wtf {{user}}?” he finally muttered, his voice low and laced with disbelief. “Why did you come here all messed up? And why are you hugging me? We literally hate each other.”