Echos of endless days

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qui de nous deux - M

• • •

The next day, Grace squints against the bright light streaming in, its intensity almost blinding. With a groan, she burrows deeper under the sheets, curling into a tight ball.

A dull throb echoes in her head, a harsh reminder of the champagne she'd indulged in the night before.

Fragments of the previous evening flicker back into her mind—the dinner, the bridge, the biting cold, the scent of his cologne. Achilles.

Frowning, she rubs her eyes and peeks out from under the covers. The sun is already high, and the day is well underway. Grace struggles to piece together the end of the night, her memories hazy but warm.

She recalls their bodies close together, his jacket draped over her shoulders, him guiding her back to her dorm.

With a sigh, she finally throws the sheets aside, her bare feet meeting the icy floor. She slips on her pyjama shorts, a blue sweatshirt, and thick socks, then heads toward the common room, craving the warmth of the fireplace.

The room appears deserted until her gaze lands on Achilles, lounging comfortably in a chair by the fire, a book resting against his bent knee. He looks up as she approaches, his expression shifting from surprise to a soft smile as he takes in her dishevelled appearance. "Sleep well?"

"Please, not so loud," she groans, pressing her fingers to her temples, desperate for relief.

Achilles chuckles, clearly amused. "I warned you about the champagne."

"Yes, well, now I regret it," she concedes, wincing at the memories.

Grace watches the flickering flames, searching for the right words. "I'm sorry if I was... too much last night."

He raises an eyebrow and closes his book, giving her his full attention.

"I'm not really used to drinking," she admits.

"Please never say that again. You weren't too much. I enjoyed every moment," he replies, locking eyes with her, his gaze steady.

She smiles at his words, feeling a warmth spread through her. "I had a good time too."

A part of her is still surprised at how much he seemed to understand her, even without the need for many words. The way he'd seen through her façade, recognizing her vulnerabilities.

"I was thinking of taking a walk to Hogsmeade to soak in the Christmas spirit. What do you think?"

She narrows her eyes playfully, a smirk creeping onto her face. "Is it a date, Belmont?"

Achilles rises, glancing at his watch. "It can be whatever you want, Grace." The way he said it sent a shiver down her spine.

As he moves toward the boys' dorms, he pauses at the door. "I'll swing by in thirty minutes."

Not needing any further encouragement, Grace jumps up to take a quick shower, slipping into a cosy sweater and her warmest coat.

The day in Hogsmeade unfolds beautifully, filled with laughter and light. And the week that follows only deepens their connection.

A comfortable routine develops between them. They rise at dawn to study in the vast, silent hall, both having selected similar subjects for their NEWTs.

Grace finds joy in watching him study, his brow furrowed in concentration, the once-hot cup of coffee forgotten and now cold. They'd often take turns quizzing each other, their sessions igniting into friendly debates, with Grace frequently emerging victorious, much to Achilles' mock dismay. Yet, he couldn't help but grin at her triumphant smile.

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