The night air was cool against his skin as Nolan pushed open the heavy wooden door leading to Eve's room.
She was standing by the window, arms folded, her silhouette illuminated by the moonlight. She didn't turn around when he entered.
"I said forget it, Nolan."
Ignoring her words, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a quiet click. "No."
Eve tensed. "No?"
He took a slow step forward. "You're right."
That made her turn, her brows knitting together in confusion.
"What?"
He didn't repeat himself. Instead, he reached for her, fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of her sleeve before sliding down to her wrist. A slow, deliberate touch.
"I should've told you where I was going," he admitted, his voice low. "I should've listened to you. And I should've worn the damn coat."
Eve stared at him, her anger flickering, uncertain now.
"You think saying that will make me forgive you?"
Nolan leaned in slightly, the distance between them closing inch by inch. His free hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb tracing the curve of her cheek.
"No," he murmured. "But this might."
And then he kissed her.
It was slow at first, careful—like testing the edge of something sharp. But when Eve didn't pull away, when her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt instead, the hesitation melted away.
Her lips parted beneath his, and Nolan took the invitation for what it was, deepening the kiss, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer.
Eve made a soft noise in the back of her throat, her earlier frustration slipping away into something warmer, something needier.
Her back hit the wall, and Nolan barely gave her a moment to breathe before he was there again—his hands braced against the wood, caging her in.
"You're impossible," she whispered between kisses.
Nolan's lips ghosted along her jaw, down the curve of her neck, his voice a low hum against her skin. "I know."
Eve's breath hitched.
And then, all at once, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back down into another kiss, deeper, hungrier.
Neither of them was thinking about the past night anymore.
Only about this moment.
His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her nightgown, tracing patterns against her skin, drawing soft, shivering breaths from her lips. Her hands found their way beneath his shirt, fingers skating over the hard lines of his stomach, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.
She pushed him back just enough to catch his gaze. His eyes were dark, heavy-lidded with something dangerous and consuming. She swallowed hard, her lips swollen, her breath unsteady.
"Bed," she whispered, barely audible.
---
Sometime later, when the moon was higher and the air between them had finally settled into something softer, something quieter, Nolan found himself lying beside Eve, their bodies tangled together beneath the sheets.
Her fingers traced lazy circles against his chest, her head resting just below his collarbone.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then—
"Hey, Nolan?"
"Mm?"
"Did you see our book lists yet?"
He cracked one eye open, giving her a tired glance. "No. Why?"
Eve reached over to the bedside table, grabbed a folded piece of parchment, and handed it to him.
Nolan scanned the list lazily—until his eyes landed on a name.
Then he stopped.
Blinking, he sat up slightly, holding the list closer.
"Gilderoy Lockhart?"**
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