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The next day, Sai woke up with a groan, her head pounding like the sound of Peeves banging pots in the corridors. She blinked up at the ceiling for a moment before dragging herself out of bed and shuffling to the mirror.

One look, and she sighed. Her lipstick was smudged, her hair a tangled halo, and faint red marks dotted her neck like confessions she hadn't meant to write. She didn't remember everything from last night, but enough to blush.

"Bloody hell," she muttered, splashing water on her face and digging through her cabinet for something—anything—to dull the hangover.

Poppy Pomfrey was out of the question. No way was she walking into the Hospital Wing and telling the matron she got wasted at a Gryffindor party and maybe (maybe?) made out with the enemy.

Swallowing the headache potion with a gulp of lukewarm water, she sat on the bed for a moment, gathering the strength to face the day. After all, Hogwarts didn't wait for personal crises.

After lunch, she had a free period. A blessed, unsupervised, guilt-free hour to be unproductive. She made her way to the library—not for homework (Merlin, no), but for... well, other literary indulgences.

Everyone in Slytherin knew that when Sai Panday went to the library, she wasn't brushing up on her Transfiguration theory. She was hunting for the most scandalous romantic fiction hidden in the dusty corners of the shelves.

"Which one had that scene in the greenhouse again?" she whispered, running her finger along the spines.

She bent down to look through the lower shelves—her personal treasure trove—and spotted a familiar book. The cover was ridiculously suggestive: a silhouetted couple in a very compromising position.

She grinned and picked it up.

But just as she turned to go, a shadow fell over her, and a familiar scent—like cinnamon and firewood—invaded her senses.

She looked up and nearly dropped the book.

Potter. Of course.

His emerald eyes flickered to the book in her hand, then back to her. His smirk was slow, wicked, and far too confident.

"Well, well," he drawled, stepping closer. "Didn't peg you as the steamy literature type."

"Who said I was hiding it?" Sai snapped, trying to keep her voice steady.

Harry's gaze didn't falter. "You always this bold before breakfast?"

"Bold enough to tell you to get lost."

But Potter didn't budge. One hand lifted, not touching, but hovering by her throat—like the figure on the book's cover. Sai swallowed.

His voice dropped lower. "You sure you don't remember what happened last night?"

"I remember... bits," she said slowly, her cheeks heating.

"Bits?" he echoed, his smile teasing.

"Yes. Bits. And that's all that matters."

He leaned in, just a whisper away. "Because if you remembered everything, you might not be holding that book right now."

She shoved the book against his chest, flustered. "Why are you here, Potter?"

"I was looking for something to read," he said innocently, even as his eyes trailed down her body. "But it seems the better story is already here."

Sai's heart betrayed her with a thud. "You're unbelievable."

"Only when I'm sober," he replied cheekily.

She rolled her eyes and turned away, hoping he didn't notice the way her hand trembled slightly.

Harry moved beside her. "You know, for someone who says she hates me, you sure enjoy sparring with me."

"It's because I love violence," she muttered.

"I remember," he said. "Especially the way you nearly hexed me when I called you sweetheart."

Sai's steps faltered.

Harry leaned in again, softer this time. "I meant it, by the way. You were... stunning. Last night."

Silence settled between them, thick and charged.

Sai bit her lip. "You're just saying that."

"I'm not."

She didn't know what compelled her to speak next—maybe the vulnerability, maybe the leftover firewhiskey, maybe just the way he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the castle.

"I think I liked you last night," she admitted.

Harry blinked. "You... did?"

"I think I did," she repeated, quieter now.

A pause. Then Harry took the book from her hand, flipped it open to a random page, and chuckled.

"Is this your favourite scene?" he asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she replied, snatching it back.

But her hands brushed his in the process. And for a moment, they just... stood there. Holding a book between them, surrounded by silence and unspoken things.

"Next time you're in the mood for fiction," Harry said, backing away slowly, "maybe try real life instead."

With a wink, he turned and disappeared down the aisle.

Sai stared after him, heart pounding, heat in her cheeks, and a book clutched to her chest.

For once, the fantasy wasn't as interesting as the boy with the green eyes.

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