I've been infected by NottPott and I need to get some of this out of my head. Maybe it'll turn into something.
Harry dug his textbook out of his bag, as well as the parchment he’d need. He placed them on the table to claim his spot then wandered into the stacks, heading towards the Charms section. Professor Flitwick had assigned a twelve‑inch essay on the proper use and limitations of the Summoning Charm, the research for which would be useful for his long-term paper, The Role of Intent in Charmcasting: A Comparative Study. Ron would say it was much too early to be thinking about his end-of-year paper that Flitwick assigned on the first bloody day, and Hermione would be on his case about not having an outline yet.
Harry figured he could be opportunistic about gathering his research, if the other essays assigned could support his topic, and it just so happened that a Summoning Charm essay fit perfectly. Much of his accidental magic was fueled by intent, and he was keen to research it to better understand himself.
While perusing the titles in front of him, he spied one spine that might prove interesting a few shelves up. He reached for it, hissing as a twinge in his left side made him jerk his arm back down to protect his ribcage. Dudley and his group had been in the middle of giving Harry a gift before the dementors had shown up, and it just kept on giving, even so many weeks later.
“Is this the one you wanted?” a voice asked, making Harry flinch and stagger back against the shelves behind him, further jarring his bruised ribs, but Harry refused to make a sound.
Harry glared at the boy beside him, noticing first the green and silver tie before looking up at the blank face that stared down at him. He was holding the book Harry had been aiming for, offering it to him.
Harry wracked his brain for a moment. He was tall, pale and a bit lanky, clearly already hitting the growth-spurt that Harry desperately wanted. His hair was longish and dirty blond, braided flat against his temples and the side of his head, dark blue eyes boring down at him.
Theodore Nott, his mind supplied.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Harry hissed, snatching at the book.
Nott was unexpectedly quick though. He moved the book and caught Harry’s wrist with his other hand in a solid grip. When Harry tried to tug his arm away, he discovered that Nott’s grip was like steel, but his wrist wasn’t getting crushed in his hold. Instead, sapphire-blue eyes studied Harry’s forearm intently for a moment, wandering over scars and landing on the fading bruises that had been left by a meaty hand back home.
“You shouldn’t be here either,” Nott said quietly, putting the book in Harry’s hand before releasing his hold. “And yet, here we are.”
Harry snatched his arm back and glared defiantly at the tall Slytherin, feeling very much like a cornered animal, but Nott simply grabbed another book over Harry’s head and walked away, leaving Harry feeling strangely wrong-footed.
He took a moment to compose himself before heading back to his spot at one of the study tables, where he’d left his things and noticed Nott sitting a few tables away, already diligently writing his own paper. He didn’t even look up when Harry sat, nor did he seem bothered by the occasional glare Harry sent his way.
Had this been Malfoy, Harry would be getting just as many sneers and disparaging looks as Harry was giving glares, but Nott simply was not giving him the time of day.
It baffled Harry.
An hour or so later, Harry began shoving his things into his bag, glad that he’d managed to finish his assignment and was already coming up with a way to avoid people when he heard a soft clink on the hard wood table in front of him, again, making him flinch.
Silently berating himself for being so jumpy – how did Nott end up sneaking up on him, again?! – he stared at the small glass pot in front of him. It looked small enough to be mistaken for the lip balm tins that they sold at the corner store, but why had it been placed in front of him had Harry looking up at the tall Slytherin who’d set it there.
His confusion must have been evident on his face because Nott nodded towards Harry’s arm.
“It’s nothing,” Harry said, sounding a bit too defensive as he tugged his sleeve down and quickly buttoned the cuff at his wrist.
Theo didn’t say anything for a moment, but slid it across the table, closer to Harry with two fingers. “I didn’t say it was.”
“What is it?” Harry asked, snatching up the pot to unscrew the lid and sniff at the obviously well-used balm inside.
“It helps,” Nott said quietly, his gaze intense as he flicked his eyes from Harry’s arm to the place where Harry’s arm was unconsciously holding his side, making the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck rise. Could Nott tell he was still recovering from Big D’s going away gift? Would he tell anyone? He paled a little at the thought of the likes of Malfoy hearing about his wretched home life and then taking steps to bring bullying to a new level.
Nott didn’t seem to require a response since he walked away with a flat “See you at double potions.”
