The air in the Hogwarts library was thick with the comforting scent of old parchment and polished wood, a sanctuary of quiet study amidst the castle's usual bustle. Sunlight streamed through the tall arched windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Percy Weasley, his tall, thin frame impeccably neat as always, sat at a secluded table, his horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he meticulously reviewed a thick Charms textbook.

He was waiting. His usual punctuality was, for once, being stretched by a delightful anticipation that felt entirely out of character for him, yet utterly irresistible. He smoothed down his prefect badge, a small, almost imperceptible gesture of habit.

Then, he saw you. Your hair a striking contrast to the dark robes of your Slytherin house, entered the library with a quiet grace that always managed to catch his breath. Your light, mischievous eyes scanned the room, a playful glint in them as they landed on Percy. A small, knowing smile gracing your plump lips.

You slid into the seat “Good afternoon, Percy,” You say,voice a low, melodious sound that always seemed to wrap around him. “Still buried in the tomes, I see. One would think the end of term was approaching and you’d be celebrating.”

Percy adjusted his glasses, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “One must always be prepared,” he replied, his tone professorial, but his gaze held a warmth that belied the formality. “And you, I presume, are here for… research?” He gestured vaguely at the pile of books you carried, which, to his amusement, included a rather scandalous-looking volume on ancient curses.

Your smile widened. “Indeed. One must understand the darker arts to truly appreciate the light, wouldn’t you agree?” you winked, mischievousness evident. “Besides, it’s always more interesting when one has a… confidante to discuss such matters with.”

Percy’s heart gave a little flutter. He knew what she meant. Their relationship was a carefully guarded secret, a quiet rebellion against the expectations of their families and houses. Molly Weasley, his mother, would have a fit if she knew he was consorting with a Slytherin, especially one from a family with such… leanings. But you was different. She was brilliant, kind, and possessed a quiet strength that resonated with his own sense of purpose, albeit in a much more unconventional way.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Are you suggesting we engage in clandestine studies,?” he asked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I’m not entirely sure that aligns with the prefect code of conduct.”