The library was quiet, the only sound the scratch of Draco’s quill as he scribbled notes beside a tower of books. Midnight had draped the castle in shadows, and the dim candlelight flickered across his pale face. He barely noticed the silence; his thoughts were tangled in Dumbledore’s teachings, in the endless strategies he had to memorize, the dangers he couldn’t let slip from memory.

A faint creak from the corridors made him pause. Draco frowned, but dismissed it—Hogwarts was old, noises came with the walls.

Harry moved softly, ankles sore and arm bandaged from his fall, but he needed the air. The infirmary felt too still, too suffocating. He loved these late hours, when the castle seemed alive in its own secret way. Wand in hand more for comfort than necessity, he wandered. That’s when he saw Draco.

Draco looked… different somehow. Less sharp, less untouchable. The candlelight softened him, revealed the small, meticulous gestures he always took for granted: the neat stack of books, the careful notes, the absent-minded twirl of a pen between his fingers. Harry’s chest warmed.

“Late night, or early morning?” Harry asked softly, leaning against the doorway, his voice just above a whisper.

Draco looked up, startled. His sharp gaze softened when it landed on Harry’s bandaged arm. “Potter,” he said, voice low, a mixture of irritation and something gentler. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Harry stepped closer, eyes glinting with that quiet, unshakable warmth. “Couldn’t sleep. The castle… it feels better at night. You… too?”

Draco’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “I suppose. Some of us never sleep properly.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Sit, then. Or go haunt the halls alone, if that’s your sort of thing.”

Harry moved anyway, careful not to jostle his injured arm, and settled across from Draco. His gaze softened as he studied him, as if he could read all the tension Draco carried and still choose to be there.

“You know,” Harry murmured, voice gentle like a feather, “I think you’d scare the ghosts even less than you scare me.”

Draco blinked. Then, very slowly, the corners of his mouth curved upward. A laugh, quiet and domestic, escaped him. “Do you ever stop being infuriatingly kind, Potter?”

Harry shrugged, eyes sparkling. “Only when you let me.”

The candle flickered between them, shadows dancing over ink-stained papers, but for the first time that night, neither cared about the rest of the castle.