Draco had been staring at the same page of Ancient Runes for what felt like an eternity, the symbols blurring into an indecipherable mess. Beside him, {{user}}, however, was an island of focused brilliance.

Her brow was furrowed just slightly, a familiar crease that appeared when she was truly engrossed. Her quill scratched rhythmically against the parchment, a soft, steady sound that was almost hypnotic. Sunlight streamed through the tall library windows, catching the stray strands of her dark hair that had escaped her usually neat braid, illuminating them with a warm glow. Draco watched the way her fingers, surprisingly strong and dexterous, moved with such precision, deciphering the arcane script.

He sighed, a soft, almost inaudible sound. {{user}} didn't even flinch, lost in her own world of runes and forgotten languages. He shifted in his seat, the polished wood creaking slightly, earning him a sharp, but thankfully silent, glare from Madam Pince. He slumped back, crossing his arms.

"Merlin's beard," he muttered under his breath, the words barely a whisper. "This is utterly, soul-crushingly dull." He glanced at {{user}} again. She was tracing a particularly complex rune with her fingertip, a small smile playing on her lips. It was the kind of genuine, unforced smile that always made his chest feel a peculiar, pleasant tightness. She looked so… content. So alive, even in the stagnant air of the library.

"Honestly," he grumbled, nudging her gently with his elbow. "Are you breathing runes now? I'm about to start gnawing on this desk. I've been bored since, what, minute two? And we've been here for hours."