Entranced (Draco Malfoy)

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The library was quiet, steeped in the kind of stillness Dove Taylor craved. She walked slowly between the towering shelves, letting her fingers graze the spines of the books as she passed. Every so often, she would pull one out, glance at the title, flip through the pages, and then sigh before slipping it back into place.

Her thoughts were orderly, focused on a single goal. She wanted a book she hadn't read yet, something worth sinking into. Something that would capture her attention and keep it. So far, nothing had managed to.

A pair of voices drifted through the shelves, breaking her focus for a moment.

"Harry, you must study. Do you want to pass your O.W.L.s?"

Dove's lips twitched into a smile. That voice was unmistakable. Hermione Granger. The two girls weren't close friends, but they'd always shared a quiet understanding. They had met on the very first day of classes in this same library. Hermione had been in search of knowledge, and Dove had been looking for stories. They had both found what they needed in that moment, and since then, there had been a kind of distant camaraderie between them.

Dove wasn't the type to chase high marks just for the sake of achievement. Her grades were solid, enough to keep her parents proud and herself satisfied. But what she really wanted was to learn about what interested her. Creatures. Magic. History. Things that sparked her curiosity and gave her something to wonder about. She didn't want to memorize every spell in existence. She wanted to understand the world behind the words.

"Yes, Hermione, I do!" Harry's voice cut through her thoughts, laced with exasperation. "But why does studying have to be so bloody awful?"

Dove bit back a quiet laugh. She turned away, careful not to make a sound. Even if she and Hermione were friendly, she wasn't sure how to handle Harry Potter. He made her nervous. Not because of who he was, exactly, but because of what he represented. Power. Destiny. Chaos. Dove feared things she couldn't understand, and Harry Potter had always been a little too unknowable.

She drifted deeper into the rows of shelves, away from the voices, back into the familiar silence. Her eyes landed on a red book. She picked it up, hopeful, and flipped it open. Her expression quickly fell. It was another poorly disguised critique on Muggle society, written from a wizard's narrow perspective. The same tired bias. Either too patronizing or too cruel, never balanced. She closed the book and returned it to the shelf with more force than necessary.

Maybe one day, she would write a proper book on the Muggle world. One that didn't treat it like a curiosity or a cautionary tale. If the war didn't end first. If Voldemort didn't silence voices like hers before they had a chance to speak.

"Can't find anything to read?"

The voice was smooth, like cool glass. It shattered her thoughts.

Dove jumped slightly and turned. Her heart picked up its pace, quickening as it always did when she found herself face to face with him.

Draco Malfoy.

"I... no. Not yet," she said, stumbling over the words and immediately regretting it.

He stepped out from between two shelves, dressed in his usual black robes, a green and silver tie marking his house. In his pale hands was a book. A blue one, not too thick, and clearly selected with purpose.

"Would this suit your fancy?"

She blinked. For a second, she didn't understand. Then her eyes fell to the book and her breath hitched.

"A book?" Her voice came out too loud. She winced, the blush rising to her cheeks before she could stop it.

He offered it without comment, simply waiting. She forced herself to look at his face, but only for a second. Any longer, and he might think she was staring. He'd smirk. He'd say something clever. And she didn't want to give him that satisfaction, even if she couldn't deny how sharp and handsome his features were in the soft library light.

She stepped forward slowly, hesitant. Her fingers brushed the edge of the cover as she took the book from his hands, careful not to touch him.

"Why did you bring me this?" she asked, eyeing the cover but not opening it.

"I've seen you pacing this aisle for days," he said. "You always look like you're one shelf away from giving up. So I thought I'd save you the trouble."

His eyes flicked down to her hands, to the way she avoided contact. Something unreadable passed over his face.

"When you're finished, write to me. I have more," he added. His voice was quieter this time.

She could barely form a response. The heat in her cheeks deepened.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Would you like me to walk you to your common room?"

Dove blinked again and checked her watch.

"Is it that late?"

"Quarter past eight," he replied, already moving a step closer.

She nodded and murmured her agreement, then turned toward the door beside him. They walked side by side down the corridor toward the kitchens. Her thoughts were racing, but the silence between them felt oddly natural. Still, she didn't want the moment to slip into nothing.

"How do you know I'll like this book?" she asked, gripping it tightly with both hands to still the small tremble in her fingers.

Draco turned his head, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"It's about merfolk."

As if that explained everything. And to him, it did.

He had been watching her. Not just recently, but for a while. Two years, if he was honest with himself. He had noticed her taste in books. She read about magical creatures, about ancient beings and forgotten histories. She liked the wild things. The misunderstood ones. She never touched books on unicorns—too polished, too perfect. And she despised anything that spoke of Muggles with the usual wizarding arrogance. Not because she disliked Muggles, but because she hated the lies people told about them.

Dove stopped walking.

"How do you know I love merfolk?" she asked, more surprised than accusatory.

Draco halted as well. For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then, without warning, he reached out and gently traced a line along her cheek. Her breath caught.

It had been a long time since he touched her. Longer still since it felt like this—intentional, soft, lingering.

"There are many things I know about you," he murmured.

His eyes were warmer than she had ever seen them, like embers in a quiet hearth. She found herself leaning into his touch without thinking, drawn to it like a moth to a dim flame. Her gaze finally rose to meet his, and it struck her all over again how familiar those silver eyes had become, even in her dreams.

"Dove? Dove Taylor, is that you?"

The voice snapped the moment in half. Hannah Abbott, a fellow Hufflepuff Prefect, had just stepped out of the common room, squinting into the dim corridor.

"Yes, Hannah, it's me!" Dove called out, her voice steadier than she expected. "I'll be just a moment."

Draco leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

"I can make a distraction, if you'd rather stay. I'm a Prefect too, you know."

He tried not to look too proud, but he failed a little. Dove caught it and smiled.

"I know," she said softly.

He blinked.

"You do?"

"You're not the only one who notices things."

They shared a quiet look. Then, before she could lose her nerve, Dove rose onto her toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. She lingered for a heartbeat, then stepped back.

"Goodnight, Draco."

He didn't move, didn't even breathe.

"Goodnight," he echoed.

She turned and walked toward her friend, the book pressed tightly to her chest. As she slipped into the common room and disappeared from view, Draco lifted a hand to his cheek, still warm where her lips had touched.

For the rest of the night, he would carry that moment like a secret. Like a story only he was allowed to read.