(...) three pieces of Moonstones, roughly the size of a standard marble. Departing from the procedures of preparing the Draught of Peace, the Moonstones are left as it is instead of being ground into powdered form [5]. The reason behind this treatment is because Potion No. 86 needs a smaller dose of them, mixed in during a longer interval, lest they will be—

“May I sit here?”

The scratching of Chaewon's quill upon her parchment halts mid-sentence. The four words—delivered by a familiar voice in an all the more familiar tone—cause the slightest lift on the corner of her lips, the stress of studying slowly ebbing away from her being as she looks up, ready to greet her usual library friend,

“You know you really don't have to—”

Then she sees her, really sees her, and the last word has to be choked out from ,

“—ask.”

Honda Hitomi, fifth year Ravenclaw. The other usual occupant of the table Chaewon is studying at. Dazzling eyes, pinchable cheeks, knowledge wider than the largest Quidditch field—

(—as well as an absolute health hazard for Chaewon's heart.)

The Ravenclaw tilts her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “I just want to make sure I always provide an exit just in case you really don't want to see me someday,” she says, shoulders rolling in a simple shrug. She bends down to shift her bag off from her shoulder and onto the table, the dark strands of her hair falling over lightly with the motion. If the shining stars were to rain upon the Earth someday, Chaewon thinks the sight would be as enthralling as this, if not a little less.

“Right,” she belatedly says.

Perhaps it's the sudden tightness to her voice, or the long interval between Hitomi's explanation and her reply, but Hitomi peers at her curiously as she settles into her seat, hands already rummaging to pull out some parchments from inside her bag.

“Are you okay?”

Chaewon isn't sure if the slight lift of the younger's eyebrow is out of concern or amusement.

“Moonstones,” she sputters out, choosing to fall back to the essay she's working on as she gestures to the parchment before her, “horrible stuff.”

“Ah. You're working on a Potions essay?”

“Twelve inches. On its effect in Potion No. 86. They didn't even bother giving the poor concoction a name—”

“Sounds pretty gruelling to look for sources that way—”

Chaewon points the feathery end of her quill towards the younger, head dipping in firm agreement. “It's the absolute worst.”

The tightness of anxiety around her neck loosens as she regains control of herself, and she carefully drops her gaze back onto her essay again, before Hitomi's dark hair could hold her attention captive for the second time.  “What's got you to come here today?” she lightly asks, wrenching her focus back to the line she's temporarily left off unfinished. What is it that she wanted to write again? The potion needs Moonstones in a smaller dose and a slower pace—
 

(...) lest they will be too volatile for human's digestive system [6]. The reduced surface effect therefore has been observed as—
 

“You stared for quite a while, just now. Does black hair look bad on me?”

—the key to increase the success rate in brewing, achieving the intended golden colour, instead of a depressing black that admittedly could look less depressive and more mesmerizing on some people such as—
 

What the . Chaewon drops her quill, puffing out a frustrated air that sends a few strands of hair over her face astray, was I really going to write her name, in an essay, for Potions—

“My apologies,” Hitomi says, no doubt noticing the sudden pause and the display of irritation, but perhaps missing out entirely that it is not at her Chaewon's frustration is directed towards. “Don’t mind the question, and I will stay quiet.”

“No,” she sighs, wearily staring at the mocking words before her, “it's not you.” It’s entirely Chaewon’s fault for being so prone to getting derailed into the thoughts of the Ravenclaw student, but Hitomi doesn’t need to know that.

Take a deep breath, Eunbi's voice rings in Chaewon's ears, count to five. Feel the vowels in your throat, make sure they no longer feel like they could burst from your mouth.

She draws out her wand, murmuring an incantation to erase the written section up until the phrase golden colour. The faint sound of pages being flipped over comes off louder in Hitomi’s silence, and Chaewon clears ,

“You've always changed your hair colour every three weeks.”

She doesn't lift her head, glancing instead at the hand on the table across her place, the fingers pausing from turning a page at her words.

“Yes,” comes the neutral reply, with the barest hint of a questioning lilt, perhaps a little wondering on where Chaewon is going with this. They have been gravitating to the same table in the library for six months, and one of the little things Chaewon has learnt is that Hitomi likes to try out a new hair colour after a set duration of time.

(It's hard not to notice, especially when she's always gone through this very same embarrassment, a short moment wherein she kind of just malfunctions, because every new colour gives her a startle, small quiet epiphanies about the myriad of feelings the younger girl evokes within her—)

“Well, I,” Chaewon stows away her wand and picks up the quill again, her lips, “I kind of forgot. That today is your changing day.”

“Ah.”

The single syllable is spoken calmly, like they're only engaging in idle conversations and Chaewon wasn't this close to combusting a moment ago. The Slytherin takes a deep breath, mentally cautioning to herself not to uncharacteristically blurt her words—

“Blacklooksamazingonyou.”

She doesn't know whether Eunbi will be proud of her or not; the sentence doesn't come out in bursts—but it's rapped rapidly until they almost blur into one long word seemingly invented to name a newfound phobia.

There's a faint chuckle from the person across her, however, a light tone weaved into the upcoming reply as Chaewon struggles not to hit herself with the Disillusionment Charm,

“Is that so?”

(May she please be allowed to hit herself with the Disillusionment Charm?)

“Yeah,” she faintly replies, pressing the tip of her quill deeper into the parchment, watching as the black ink bleeds into the sheet. “Very much so.”

“Mmm.” Beneath the table, Hitomi finds her foot with her own and gives it a little nudge. Another small thing Chaewon has picked up on—feet-nudges is Hitomi's silent way of asking for her to look up.

So she does, and immediately holds her breath in. Because the younger is looking at her with a smile that—always makes her wonder if the Sun has personally come down to bless Hitomi with its light, or if it has scorned her instead for having the power to beam so bright—

“Thank you,” the Ravenclaw says, cheeks gathering up as she gives a pleasant grin, and then continues with a teasing tone: “Your ears are red.”

“They're not,” Chaewon denies, even as her left hand shoots up to cover the mentioned organ, left ear warm under her palm. She pointedly indicates at the unfurled parchment before Hitomi, “Shut it and do your work.”

“Of course,” Hitomi easily agrees, producing out a peach-coloured quill, one Chaewon has gifted her with for her birthday. The warmth spreads rapidly from her ears, down to her shoulders and then to every fibre of her being—to the tune of the quiet hum Hitomi is doing, pausing only for the hummer to flick a gaze over her.

“Ah,” the Ravenclaw says, “about the substitution of hellebore syrup with honey for your potion—?”

“I’m bloody stumped,” Chaewon says, exhaling loudly. “Stupid honey.”

“Well, I read about a similar case once in one of Dagworth-Granger's researches—”

"Should be in this book?" Chaewon taps one of the books piled up to her left, and Hitomi squints briefly to read the title, followed up with a tiny nod.

"That's the one, I think."

"I skimmed through the first reports with no result—"

"It's discussed in one of the researches near the end, so try to look through the last ten?"

“Got it.” Chaewon pulls out said book to mark where she should start, shoulders relaxing imperceptibly. She's originally planned to gloss over that point, something she's sure would land her under Exceeds Expectations—and that's if the rest of her essay holds up to the Potions Professor's standard.

“Hope I remembered right, it's been a while.”

“Thank you, Hitomi—”

“Don’t mention it,” Hitomi replies, voice cheerful. “I’m just glad I could help.”

“You're a life-saver,” Chaewon mutters. When you aren't killing me with your beauty, that is.

“What?”

The one-word question spoken with disbelief causes Chaewon to look up. Hitomi is looking at her with wide eyes, a flush stealing across her cheeks.

“What what?” Chaewon asks back, eyebrows narrowing in confusion with the slight sinking of her stomach.

“You just,” Hitomi swallows, “you just said—”

“That you're a life-saver?”

“No, after—" Hitomi exhales slowly, shaking her head and lowering her gaze onto her parchment. “Actually—never mind.”

After?

But Chaewon wasn't saying anything after. She has only thought—

Oh.

(Are you ing kidding—)

“Did I really say that out loud?”

Hitomi stays silent, not confirming nor denying. For the second time, Chaewon contemplates hitting herself with the Dissillusionment Charm, or dropping out of Hogwarts to enrol into Beauxbatons—

“Well, it's true,” she says finally, because it, Slytherins aren't born to be cowards, “I think you're really—” her heartbeat skips pathetically inside her chest, “—I think you're really beautiful.”

Hitomi doesn't say anything to that, although she does cover her face with one palm, avoiding Chaewon's gaze for a prolonged breath.

And then, in the quietest voice possible,

“Am I allowed to hit myself with the Disillusionment Charm?”

Chaewon snorts, embarrassment fading slightly, and she nudges the younger's foot under the table, trying not to melt into her chair as Hitomi adorably peeks at her from between her fingers.

“If I can't, then neither can you.”

And it takes a while (for their mutual embarrassment to cease), but they gradually ease back into their routines—working on their respective assignment, the space between them mostly occupied with silence.

Silence and brief glances, silence and tiny nudges of feet under the table, silence with quiet smiles and unseen hearts occasionally fluttering with giddiness. Cited words from various researches come and go, but the comfortable warmth lingers, lingers, stays—

—and Hitomi doesn’t need to know that.

(Yet.)

[ ♡ ]