{{user}} and Garreth had finally tracked down the elusive book needed for Professor Sharp’s latest assignment—an aged, leather-bound volume tucked away on a high shelf in the restricted section. It had taken nearly half an hour of searching, a bit of smooth-talking with Madam Scribner, and Garreth nearly falling off a ladder, but they had it at last.

Now, settled into a quiet corner of the library, surrounded by dusty shelves and the faint scent of old parchment, they began working. Or rather, {{user}} began working.

With quill in hand, {{user}} was already halfway down the first page of notes, focused and methodical. Garreth, on the other hand, was doing just about everything else. His attention flitted from one thing to the next like a Snitch in a Quidditch match—his gaze wandering around the library, fingers tapping the edge of the table in an irregular rhythm, occasionally nudging {{user}} to whisper some random, half-formed thought.

“I once added Billywig stings to a Wiggenweld Potion,” he muttered suddenly, drawing a half-hearted glare from {{user}}. “Didn’t go well. My cousin floated for three hours.”

“Garreth, focus,” {{user}} whispered without looking up, though the corner of their mouth twitched with a reluctant smile.

For a few blessed moments, there was silence again—just the scratch of quills and the occasional creak of floorboards as someone passed nearby. Then came the soft, unmistakable tap on {{user}}'s shoulder.

“{{user}},” Garreth said again, barely above a whisper, though his tone held a sort of conspiratorial urgency.

{{user}} sighed, quill hovering in midair. What could he possibly want now?