The drone of Professor Binns' monotone voice filled the room, lulling the class into a collective stupor. Dust motes floated lazily in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the high, arched windows of the classroom. A few students scribbled half-hearted notes, while others openly rested their heads on their desks, hoping the ghostly professor wouldn't notice- or care.

Oscar sat toward the back of the room, his chair tilted back on two legs as he lazily twirled his quill between his fingers. He wasn't paying attention either, but he rarely did in this class. History of Magic was a lesson he endured, not enjoyed. His gaze wandered across the room until it landed on Carlos, seated to the right of him.

He was hunched over his parchment, his injured shoulder clearly bothering him. The sharp angles of his face were drawn tight in concentration as he scratched away with his quill, clearly focused on his own work rather than the lesson.

Oscar frowned slightly. It wasn't unusual for Carlos to work during class, but there was something different about him today. He seemed off, somehow. There was an exhaustion in the way he moved, a heaviness in his posture that Oscar couldn't ignore.

For a while, he watched as Carlos' handwriting became less steady, his head dipping lower and lower toward the desk. At first, Oscar thought Carlos was just bored- understandable, given Binns' ability to make even the most exciting magical events sound as thrilling as drying paint. But then, he noticed the telltale signs: the way Carlos' eyelids fluttered, the slight slump of his shoulders, the way his quill stopped moving entirely.

Carlos wasn't just bored. He was on the verge of nodding off.

Oscar leaned forward, lowering the front legs of his chair to the ground with a soft thud. He glanced around the classroom to make sure no one was paying attention, then grabbed his wand and subtly aimed it at Carlos' parchment. With a whispered incantation, the quill in his hand resumed writing, copying the notes from the blackboard.

Carlos startled slightly, blinking rapidly as he realised what had happened. He looked down at the parchment, his confusion evident. When he turned his head and caught Oscar's eye, Oscar raised an eyebrow and smirked, holding up his wand as if to say, You're welcome.

Carlos' cheeks flushed, but instead of snapping at his like he might have on another day, he simply gave a small, tired nod of acknowledgement.

A few minutes later, when Professor Binns floated to the far side of the room to lecture a particularly inattentive student, Oscar seized the opportunity. "You look like death warmed over," he whispered, his tone teasing but not unkind.

Carlos shot him a glare, though it lacked its usual heat. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Seriously, though," Oscar pressed, lowering his voice. "What's going on? You're not... y'know, you." He gestured vaguely, as if that explained everything.

Carlos sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just didn't sleep much last night."

"That much is obvious," Oscar said. "What's the deal? Bad dreams? Or just lying awake thinking about how great I am?"

Despite himself, Carlos let out a small, tired laugh. "Neither. Just... a lot on my mind. This thing doesn't help," he pointed at his sling.

Oscar nodded slowly. "Yeah, well, whatever it is, you're not going to get anywhere if you keel over in the middle of class. Here." He slid a chocolate frog from his pocket and placed it on Carlos' desk. "Eat this. You look like you need it more than me."

Carlos hesitated for a moment before picking up the frog and unwrapping it. He broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth, the sweetness helping to chase away some of the lingering fatigue.

"Gracias," he muttered, his voice softer than usual.

"Don't mention it," Oscar said, leaning back in his chair. "But seriously, get some rest tonight, alright? You're no good to anyone if you're running on fumes."

Carlos nodded, grinning at Oscar's muggle expressions, though he didn't say anything more. Oscar stayed beside him for the rest of the lesson, quietly keeping an eye on him.

When the lesson finally ended, he walked with Carlos out of the classroom, their conversation quiet but companionable. He still looked exhausted, but there was a faint spark of gratitude in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"Hey," Oscar said as they reached the corridor. "If you ever need to talk- or, y'know, just sit around and not talk- I'm here. For what it's worth. You know that. I actually kind of enjoy our little conversations."

Carlos glanced at him, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

It wasn't much, but for Oscar, it was enough. The usual bustle of students heading to their next lessons surrounded them, Carlos had his bag slung over his uninjured shoulder, his steps slower than usual. Oscar fell into step beside him, adjusting his own bag lazily and glancing sideways at him.

"Are you going to your next class, or do you need me to cover for you while you go pass out in a broom cupboard?" Oscar asked, half-serious.

Carlos smirked faintly, though his exhaustion was still evident. "I'll manage, gracias. Not planning to add truancy to my list of issues today, although Fernando seems to be encouraging it."

"That's what you always say, and then you go and do something stupid, like skipping meals or almost getting yourself killed. Sound familiar?" Oscar shot back.

Carlos rolled his eyes but didn't respond immediately. They exited the castle, heading toward the grounds, where the crisp afternoon air did little to lift his mood. The silence between them wasn't awkward, but it was charged with an unspoken weight, as if both of them were waiting for the other to say something more.

"You know," Oscar began after a while, breaking the quiet, "You're not great at this whole 'asking for help' thing."

Carlos gave him a sidelong glance. "And you are?"

"No, but at least I'm consistent about it," Oscar said with a shrug. "You, on the other hand, seem to think you've got to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, which is impressive, considering one of them is practically useless right now."

Carlos huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Estoy bien, Oscar."

"Yeah, because estoy bien looks exactly like someone who's about to pass out in the middle of Binns' lecture," Oscar retorted. "Look, I'm not saying you've got to spill your deepest, darkest secrets or anything, I already know one of them. But maybe- just maybe- you don't have to do everything on your own."

Carlos' jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, Oscar thought he'd gone too far. But then Carlos sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I wish it was all that easy," he said quietly.

"Nothing ever is. But you're not going to get through it by shutting everyone out, either."

Carlos stopped walking, turning to face Oscar. His eyes, though tired, held a flicker of something unspoken- gratitude, maybe, or relief. "I'm trying," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just...I've never... I don't know how."

Oscar nodded, his expression softening. "That's a start. And, for what it's worth, you've got people who care about you. Don't forget that. I'll help you."

They found a bench near the edge of the lake and sat down, the water's surface rippling gently in the breeze. For a while, neither of them spoke. The quiet was almost peaceful, interrupted only by the distant sounds of students laughing and shouting from the Quidditch pitch.

"You're different lately," Oscar said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Not in a bad way, necessarily. Just... different."

Carlos glanced at him, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Oscar said, leaning back against the bench. "You're quieter, more... I don't know, reflective? I'm more used to you swearing your head off in Spanish at me. It's like you've got this constant storm in your head, and you're trying to keep it from spilling out."

Carlos looked away, his gaze fixed on the lake. "Maybe I do."

Oscar studied him for a moment, his usual sarcasm giving way to something gentler. "Whatever it is, you don't have to face it alone. I mean it."

Carlos didn't respond immediately, but his hand tightened slightly on the strap of his bag. "Gracias," he said eventually, his voice so quiet it was almost lost to the wind.

"Don't thank me yet," Oscar said with a smirk, though his tone was uncharacteristically earnest. "I'm not exactly great at this whole 'being a good friend' thing, but I'm trying, too."

Carlos finally looked at him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're not as bad at it as you think."

Oscar's smirk widened. "Careful, or I might start to think you actually like me."

"Don't push it," he said, but the teasing edge in his voice made it clear he didn't mean it.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the grounds, Oscar stood and stretched, gesturing for Carlos to follow.

"Come on," he said. "If we sit here any longer, we'll turn into statues."

Carlos rolled his eyes but stood as well, wincing slightly as he adjusted his bag to avoid his injured shoulder. "We'd make amazing statues, no?" Oscar snorted, shaking his head with laughter.