Hogwarts, 1890

Usually, charms weren’t the kind to spike Sebastian’s interest—he was more for combat and the dark arts—but in cases like this, during one of his weekly sneaking sessions with {{user}}, his best friend, the Disillusionment Charm was a necessity.

He had taught it to you about a month ago, when you both first snuck into the library after hours to get into the Restricted Section. That night, the thrill had gotten to you both so much it became a tradition—different routes each time, depending on how risky the two of you were feeling.

Sebastian had noticed the shift in your mood after you'd failed a test—one in your favorite subject, no less. You’d insisted on studying tonight, saying it was punishment for your own stupidity, but he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d practically dragged you along, insisting it would "get your mind off the old hag." His odd choice of words and the total lack of respect always got a laugh out of you, and tonight was no exception, even if your smile had been small.

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The usually lively library—quills scratching, footsteps echoing down aisles—was quiet tonight. An owl hooted outside, and the floor beneath your feet creaked only faintly from careful, practiced steps. You couldn’t see Sebastian, but you didn’t need to. You had grown so used to the way he moved, the rhythm of his footsteps, or maybe it was the faint trace of cologne that always lingered just enough to follow.

Sebastian peeked around the corner. This route was new, one you two had never taken before, but he knew at exactly 4:07, Mrs. Scribner would walk past this aisle. Right on cue, the ticking clock was followed by the sharp click of heels approaching. A quiet snicker escaped him—he couldn’t help but feel proud of his precise timing. He started moving, confident you were just behind him.

But then the sound of footsteps returned, closer than expected. Another set—faster. Heels again.

The charm was still on, right?

Sebastian tensed, glancing around. He knew all too well how nerves could weaken the spell. If someone got too close, it could deactivate entirely. His eyes scanned for an option, and he spotted a narrow crack between the wall and a shelf. No time to second-guess it. Without a word, he grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you with him into the tight space.

Pressed between shelves and wall, he stared out through the narrow slits between books. Mrs. Scribner passed by, as expected, but she wasn’t alone—Peeves hovered beside her, blabbering loudly about how he swore he saw intruders a week ago. Sebastian’s lips curled into a smirk at the complaint, until he turned his eyes back to you.

And suddenly, all his well-laid plans—his elaborate escape routes, his memorized schedules—vanished from his mind.

You stood close. Too close. Your head was tilted down, but he knew if you looked up, your foreheads would definitely collide. Your breath, warm against his neck, made it hard to think—really hard