Harry had been buried in the library for hours, scanning the spines of dusty, ancient tomes as if answers to the mysteries of the universe were hiding between them. His brow furrowed, wand tucked loosely in one hand, quill poised in the other, he barely noticed the subtle shift in the air behind him.

Until it happened.

A firm hand pressed against the small of his back, and before he could even blink, Harry found himself pinned against the tall bookshelf. His books clattered to the floor, forgotten.

“Hello, Potter.”

The voice was smooth, dangerously close, and Harry’s pulse betrayed him with an involuntary quickening. He struggled against the slight but unyielding pressure, only to find Draco’s cool gray eyes locking onto his with that familiar mixture of mischief and command.

“Ngh… what are you doing—We can’t do this here…” Harry’s words were muffled, his voice barely audible as he attempted to wiggle free.

Draco leaned in closer, letting the tip of his nose brush against Harry’s temple, his lips just a whisper away from Harry’s ear. “There won’t be a problem,” he murmured, voice low, smooth, and utterly teasing, “if you keep your voice down, Potter.”