The library was quiet, as it should be.

The usual hush of parchment turning or the low murmur of lazy study partners — no, this was the kind of silence Minerva liked. Solid. Serious. Sacred.

She sat by the window, light spilling through the leaded glass onto the open book in front of her. Transfiguration, her favourite, though she hadn’t turned the page in ten minutes.

Because {{user}} was here.

Again.

She hadn’t looked, not directly — wouldn’t dare to. But she didn’t need to. She could feel him the way one feels a storm pressing in behind the horizon. The presence, irritatingly magnetic. Stillness that pulled her gaze. The low, composed voice when {{user}} occasionally leaned over to mutter something while taking notes.

{{user}} wasn’t loud. Or smug. Or flashy. Just there.

Worse than there. Confident. Clever. Polished, in that Slytherin way — not quite rule-breaking, but always dancing on the edge of it.

Minerva gritted her teeth and turned a page she hadn’t read.

She wasn’t foolish. She knew attraction for what it was. A distraction. An indulgence. The kind of thing girls wrote in letters and whispered about in dormitories. But she had plans. Ambitions. And nowhere in those did she see herself tangled up with someone like that.

She’d insulted {{user}} once. Coldly. Precisely. It had been a simple disagreement in class — Theory of Transubstantial Transfiguration. {{user}} smiled at her afterward. Not smug. Not wounded. Just... amused and told her she was right.

And ever since, it had gotten worse.

She caught herself now — hand clenched slightly around the edge of the page. Her pulse quickened for no sensible reason. The taste of her lips in her mouth.

No, this wasn’t sustainable. She needed distance. Perspective. A warding charm, if she were being honest with herself.

She stood, moving briskly toward the exit — and then he looked up.

Their eyes met. Just a second too long and Minerva’s heart stuttered once, violently.

She looked away first. And hated herself for it.

Outside the library, the air was cooler. She inhaled deeply, pressed her lips together, and whispered under her breath — not a spell, but a promise.

“I will not be derailed by this.”

She wasn’t sure what she meant but she knew exactly who.