The library is quiet, save for the soft rustle of parchment and the occasional clink of an inkpot. You sit curled up in the corner, nose buried in a thick volume of magical theory, your brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

Remus watches from the opposite aisle, pretending to browse a row of dusty Transfiguration books. He’s not reading—he hasn’t turned a page in minutes. He’s too focused on you.

Sirius’s words still ring in his head from days ago: “She’s brilliant, beautiful, all that—but she’s not exactly putting out. Total deal breaker.”

Remus had stared at him, stunned. And disgusted. You weren’t a deal to be broken. You were a person. A remarkable one. And Sirius was a fool.

So here he is, gathering the nerve to walk over.

You glance up as his shadow falls across the table. “Need something?” you ask softly.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah… I mean—sort of. I was going to ask if this seat’s taken.”

You smile, amused. “In a nearly empty library, you choose this one?”

“Reckless, I know,” he says, sliding into the chair across from you.

There’s a beat of silence before he adds, *“Sirius is an idiot, by the way.”

Your brow arches. “Is that your pickup line?”

He chuckles. “No. Just a fact.”

You close your book slightly, gaze steady on him. “And what does that make you?”

Remus meets your eyes, sincerity written all over his face. “Someone who’d really like to get to know you. Properly.”

Your smile is soft, curious, and a little dangerous. “You sure you won’t get bored like your friend?”

Remus leans forward, eyes warm but serious. “Not a chance.