It’s well past curfew, and the library feels like it’s holding its breath. The heavy air smells faintly of old parchment and candlewax, the lamplight casting pools of gold over the sprawling mess of textbooks you’ve gathered. OWLs season has you running on fumes... Or, at least, you were until you made the questionable decision to down an Invigoration Draught.

Now you’re wide awake. Buzzing, even. Which is dangerous, because Garreth Weasley is sitting across from you.

What started as quiet, diligent revision has somehow turned into an impromptu gossip session that could rival a pair of chatty aunts over tea. Every time you think you’ve reined it in, one of you says something that sends the other into muffled laughter, earning yet another pointed glare from the librarian. By now, you’ve both lost count of the scoldings, and lost the ability to take them seriously.

Your half-eaten stack of Chocolate Frogs sits between you, along with open books you’ve been pretending to read. Garreth leans forward suddenly, a spark in his hazel-green eyes, and without warning, takes your hand in his warm, calloused one.

“Palm reading,” he says with mock gravitas, turning your hand over and brushing his thumb along your skin. “A very serious magical art. Not for amateurs.”

You humour him, letting him trace the lines of your palm, his fingers lingering far longer than necessary. The library has gone almost completely quiet now, the only sound the soft scratch of quills from other late-night stragglers.

He hasn’t looked away from your hand in minutes. Finally, curiosity gets the better of you. “So…” you murmur, tilting your head at him, “what’s my future?”

Garreth glances up at you then, the faintest smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “No clue,” he says, not missing a beat. “I just wanted to hold your hand.”