The library still hummed faintly with life when you slipped inside, parchment and quills clutched in your arms. A few scattered students bent over their books near the front tables, the steady scratching of quills echoing through the vast room.

Fred was already waiting for you, lounging against a shelf as though he had every right to be there. His grin widened when he spotted you.

“Brought your books, then?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Of course,” you said, though the both of you knew full well that studying had never been the real intention.

Fred offered his hand, and with a quick glance toward the nearest group of Ravenclaws, you let him tug you past the rows of tables. Deeper and deeper into the library you went, until the candlelight thinned and the shelves rose around you like secret walls. Only then did you drop your things onto a corner table.

“Best seat in the castle,” Fred murmured, sliding into the chair beside you, his knee knocked against yours under the table.

You unfolded your parchment, dipping your quill in ink, if only to keep up appearances. “We should at least pretend,” you whispered.

“Oh, I’m very good at pretending.” Fred leaned close enough that his breath brushed your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Want me to demonstrate?”

You elbowed him lightly, but it only made him laugh softly. He sprawled in his chair, impossibly at ease, his hand wandering across the table until his fingers brushed against yours. He didn’t move them away.

“Fred,” you said, eyes fixed stubbornly on your parchment. “We’ll get caught.”

“Caught studying?” His tone was mock-innocent, but his thumb was already tracing idle circles on your hand. “Scandalous.”

You tried to hide your smile, but it was impossible when he was watching you so closely. And when he leaned in — slow, teasing, as though daring you to stop him, the last of your resolve slipped.

His lips found yours, soft at first, then firmer when you leaned into him. The world shrank down to the quiet, forbidden warmth of him. Ink dried forgotten at the edge of your parchment; your quill rolled to the floor.

Somewhere nearer the front, a chair scraped against stone. You both froze, breathless, waiting, but no one came down your row. Fred’s forehead pressed against yours, his grin wicked even in a whisper.

“Told you the library was good for something,” he murmured.