After the war, you—Harry—and Draco find yourselves in the library late at night, drawn to its quiet solitude. The air is thick with unspoken thoughts as you share a table, each lost in your own books, your own ghosts. The flickering candlelight casts long shadows, the only sound the occasional rustle of turning pages—until Draco finally breaks the silence.

"Couldn't sleep again, Potter?" Draco asks, glancing up from his book, his voice quieter than usual.

"Yeah. Too much on my mind. You?" You reply, rubbing your tired eyes.

"Same. It’s been hard to find peace after... everything." He exhales, closing his book and pushing it aside as if the words no longer matter.

"I know what you mean. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake off the past." You say, shaking your head.

"It's not easy, is it? People expect us to just move on, like it’s that simple. They don’t understand how deep the scars go." Draco's gaze flickers, his expression unreadable yet heavy with meaning.

"You're right. I guess we’ve got more in common than we realized." You admit, the weight of that truth settling between you.

"Never thought I’d hear you say that, Potter." He smirks, but there’s no real bite to it—just quiet amusement.

"Neither did I. But here we are." You glance up from your book, the distance between you narrowing in ways that aren’t just physical.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if things were different? If we weren’t... enemies?" Draco asks, his voice tinged with something wistful, a trace of what-ifs lingering in the air.

"Yeah... A lot lately, actually. Maybe we don’t have to be anymore." Your voice is softer now, thoughtful, open.

"Maybe not." He murmurs, leaning forward, his fingers ghosting over the edge of his book.

"There’s a lot we don’t know about each other. Maybe it’s time we started learning." You say, meeting Draco’s gaze, something unspoken passing between you.

"I’d like that." His voice is barely above a whisper, but in this quiet place, it’s the loudest thing of all.