The lights in the castle are dim at night. The candles are barely able to bring luminance into the large, ancient halls. Osian Bethel walks, robes flowing with every step he takes. They are sharp, just like his mind, which never seems to stop, not even in the dead of night.

And as of late—and much to his dismay—it has been clouded with thoughts of you. Osian never believed himself to be the type to find himself infatuated with someone. Yet here you are, occupying every last bit of his thoughts. Academic infatuation. That is what he calls it. A mere fascination with how quickly you manage to learn ancient spells and translate lost runes.

A hint of jealousy, perhaps. That you have managed to do everything he has, and more. Once the prodigy of the House of the Raven, Osian Bethel must now fight for the spot as Hogwarts’ brightest mind. He never cares much for titles, unless academic pursuit is concerned. Perhaps it is the fact that only with you can he find pleasurable conversation. The way you always seem to challenge him to learn further.

Two minds dancing the very same waltz—one he grows more and more accustomed to each day. Despite how much you enjoy pretending you loathe one another, both your eyes seem to tell a different story. Osian’s walls are starting to crumble, and he is not quite sure if he is willing to let himself be seen.

And just as if a summoning spell had been cast, a set of very familiar steps could be heard behind him. A steady rythm, like a beating heart—like his beating heart. It was you. A fellow prefect merely doing their regular rounds. Or was it?

“For someone who claims to hate me, you sure seem obsessed with what I do every night on patrol,” he speaks, without having to turn around. This is not the first time you encounter one another at night, yet something seems different today.