Paper Moons and Silver Shadows P.1 + P.2

The library had always felt like a refuge to me, the one place in the castle where silence wasn’t strange but expected. That night it was quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like you’re trespassing simply by breathing. I slipped between the rows, fingers trailing along cracked spines, until I spotted him.

Draco Malfoy.

He sat alone at the far table, a single lamp casting pale gold across the open book in front of him. His posture was impeccable, shoulders straight, chin tilted just slightly down as though the weight of his name demanded nothing less. But there was something in the way his fingers curled against the edge of the page, too tense, too deliberate, that made him look less like a boy studying and more like someone bracing himself against the world. I should have kept walking. Instead, my feet carried me closer. His eyes lifted, grey and sharp, catching mine before I could look away.

“You’re staring,” he said simply. His voice wasn’t cold, not quite. Just… matter-of-fact, like he was pointing out that the lamp was lit or the sky was dark.

I swallowed, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

He tilted his head, considering me. Then, to my surprise, he said, “I don’t mind.”

–––

The first few nights we shared that table, we didn’t talk much. My quill scratched softly over parchment while his eyes skimmed his text, lips moving faintly in a rhythm I couldn’t quite catch. Sometimes he muttered something under his breath, a phrase or a line, as though testing how it sounded. The words never made sense to me, but the sound of them, quiet and hesitant, felt startlingly intimate.

I found myself sneaking glances at him more often than I should have. His hair glowed almost white in the lamplight, strands falling loose to brush against his forehead when he bent lower over his book. He had a habit of tapping his fingers against the table when he was thinking, always in the same pattern: two taps, pause, one tap. Over and over.

It became familiar. Comforting, even.

At one point, I must have been staring again, because he raised his eyes without lifting his head. A ghost of a smirk tugged at his mouth. “Careful. If you look too long, you’ll forget your own name.”

My heart lurched embarrassingly in my chest. “You wish.”

But I smiled when I said it, and his smirk softened into something closer to a smile of his own.

–––

By the third night, the air had grown colder. My fingers ached from holding the quill, stiff from the chill that crept in from the windows. Across from me, Draco shifted in his chair, pulling his robes tighter around himself, though he didn’t complain. His shoulders, normally squared, had drawn closer to his ears.

Without thinking, I unwound the scarf from my neck and slid it across the table.

He stared at it like it was a trick. “What’s this?”

“A scarf,” I said. “You’re freezing.”

“I’m fine,” he replied, though his hands hesitated over the fabric.

“Take it,” I urged, and before I could overthink it, I added, “You’ll study better if you’re warm.”

His expression flickered, something unguarded passing over it before he carefully looped the scarf once around his neck. He adjusted it, fussing with the ends in a way that looked almost self-conscious.

“It smells like parchment,” he murmured after a beat, not quite meeting my eyes.

I bit back a laugh. “Better than ink, at least.”

That earned me the softest huff of a laugh, barely audible, but it warmed the entire table more than the scarf ever could.

–––

Later, when exhaustion pressed heavy against my eyelids, I laid my head down on my arms, notes crumpling under the weight. The table was cool beneath my cheek, and for a moment I thought I might actually fall asleep there.

A gentle nudge at my elbow stirred me.

“You’ll ruin your notes,” Draco said quietly.

I cracked one eye open. His face was closer than I expected, eyes studying me with that same unsettling precision.

“Let them be ruined,” I mumbled, too tired to lift my head.

His lips twitched. “You’re hopeless.”

“You’re bossy,” I shot back, though it came out muffled against my sleeve.

For a moment, I thought he might retort sharply, but instead his expression softened. Almost fond. He leaned back, shaking his head as though amused by a secret only he knew.

–––

When we finally packed our things, the castle was hushed and dark. The corridors stretched ahead, shadows bending with every torchlight flicker. Draco walked beside me in silence, close enough that our sleeves brushed now and then, like an accident he didn’t care to correct.

At the entrance to the stairwell, he hesitated. His eyes lingered on mine a second too long, then dropped to the floor before climbing back up again, steadier this time. “Same time tomorrow?” His voice was quiet, but there was a thread of expectation in it, as though he already knew my answer.

I nodded, warmth curling in my chest despite the draft whispering down the hall. “Same time.”

Something unreadable flickered across his face—something softer, something he didn’t quite let settle before he turned away. But as we parted, I caught the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth, the promise of a smile not fully given.

Later, as I walked back to my dorm, the night air nipped at my throat where my scarf should have been. I should’ve missed it, but I didn’t. The thought of him keeping it—choosing to—was enough.

And for the first time in a long while, the silence of the castle didn’t feel empty. It felt like waiting.

P.2

The following evening, I arrived earlier than usual, my footsteps echoing faintly through the quiet corridors. The castle felt colder tonight, heavier somehow, as if it knew what had passed and what might come. I gripped my books a little tighter and pushed open the library door.

Draco was already there, perched at the same far table, quill hovering over parchment. His head lifted just enough to glance at me, and that gray gaze made my stomach twist in ways I didn’t care to admit.

“Early,” he remarked, voice flat but not unfriendly, a small smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“I like to claim a good spot,” I said, sliding my bag onto the chair beside me. “You’d think someone would’ve staked out this table before me.”

“Apparently not,” he said, the faintest teasing lilt in his voice. He leaned back slightly, but his eyes didn’t leave me. “Though it does seem like you plan to take over the library, one table at a time.”

I laughed softly, warmth curling through me despite the chill in the air. “I could make that my goal.”

By the second hour, we had settled into our usual rhythm—quills scratching, pages turning, quiet breaths almost synchronized. I found myself brushing my sleeve against his deliberately, lingering just a moment too long. He didn’t flinch; instead, I caught the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips.

A cold draft swept through the room, and I shivered. He noticed immediately, lifting his eyes from his parchment.

“You’re cold again,” he said, tone flat but eyes soft.

“I am,” I admitted, tugging at my sleeves. Without thinking, I reached into my bag and held out the scarf again.

He paused, then smirked, a spark of mischief in his gray eyes. “You really like seeing me wear this, don’t you?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “I… maybe.” I felt my cheeks heat. “It’s practical, mostly.”

“Practical,” he repeated, looping the scarf around his neck with a careful tug. He leaned forward slightly, closing the space between us. “I suppose I should thank you for my warmth… and for the scent of parchment clinging to me.”

“Better than ink,” I murmured, and he let out a quiet laugh, a sound that felt like it wrapped the table in warmth, like it had for me the night before.

By the third hour, the library had emptied, leaving only the soft hum of candles and our quiet scratches. He leaned over, quill tapping lightly against his parchment, and murmured, “Careful. Your notes might start taking after you and fall in love with me instead.”

I choked back a laugh, shaking my head. “I think that’s your job, not mine.”

“Maybe,” he said, voice low, almost a whisper, “but I like the idea of competition.”

We stayed like that for a long while, the quiet stretching and folding around us, moments passing in seconds that felt like hours. Every brush of our sleeves, every lingering glance, felt like a challenge and an invitation all at once.

When the library bell signaled closing, we packed our things slowly. He watched me, gray eyes tracking my movements. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked, softer than before, the thread of expectation in his voice unmistakable.

“I’ll be here,” I said, letting my smile reach my eyes, warm and teasing. “If you’re lucky, you might even get to read some of my notes.”

He smirked faintly, that unreadable expression tugging at his mouth, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the castle itself held its breath, waiting with us.

Later, as I walked back to my dorm, the night air nipped at my throat where my scarf should have been. I should’ve missed it, but I didn’t. The thought of him keeping it—choosing to—was enough. And for the first time, the silence of the castle didn’t feel empty. It felt like waiting, like something was coming, slow and inevitable, and I couldn’t wait to see him again.