The library was nearly empty, the golden glow of the lanterns casting soft shadows across the wooden tables. You had intended to finish your Transfiguration essay, but your focus kept drifting to the boy sitting a few seats away.

Remus John Lupin.

He was hunched over a book, quill tapping absently against his chin. His sandy brown hair fell into his eyes as he read, and every so often, he’d bite his lip in concentration. You had admired him for a while now, his quiet intelligence, his kindness, the way he always had a book tucked under his arm.

You forced yourself to look back at your parchment, but the words blurred together. When you glanced up again, Remus was looking at you.

“Oh- sorry,” you muttered, heat creeping up your neck.

He smiled, and your heart did something ridiculous in response. “You don’t have to apologize for looking.” He hesitated, then added, “Do you need help with that essay? You’ve been staring at it for a while.”