The library was quiet, the kind of hush that only a late afternoon in the back corner of Hogwarts could produce. Dust motes drifted lazily through the long shafts of pale autumn light that fell through the tall, arched windows, illuminating the rows of ancient books and the worn, ink-stained surface of the table where the two of them sat.

It was the first study session. Mattheo had been against it from the start, of course. He had arrived late, dropped his bag onto the chair beside him with a heavy thud, and proceeded to make it very clear just how little he wanted to be here. That had been nearly twenty minutes ago.

Now, he sat slumped in his chair, one arm draped over the back of it, his tie loosened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. A quill—unused—was balanced between two fingers, twirling in a slow, idle circle. This is a complete waste of time.

His voice was low, carrying that slight edge of sarcasm that never seemed to leave it. Across the table, a piece of parchment lay between them, blank except for a few half-hearted notes Mattheo had scrawled earlier—more doodles than actual revision.