The letter felt heavy in her pocket, a square of parchment that seemed to weigh more than the desk she sat upon. She had tucked it away before the bell rang, hiding the evidence of her father’s distance and his specific, narrow expectations. The afternoon had passed in a blur of quiet, unhurried intimacy, but the stillness of the classroom felt different now that the sun had dipped below the horizon. The warmth of the wood beneath her was fading, leaving only the cool, hard reality of the classroom. She looked at the blackboard, where the chalk dust still hung in the air, a fine layer of grit that coated the edge of the desk.
Harry was still there, though he looked smaller in the dim light of the flickering lamps. He was not the boy who had been a distraction or a conquest; he was simply a boy sitting in a chair, waiting for the world to resume. The silence was not a void, but a pause. He looked at her, his eyes searching her face for the girl who had been counting the minutes.
"You are very quiet today," Harry said.
"The letter changed things," she replied, though she did not tell him the contents.
"It is just a letter, Draconia."
"It is a record," she corrected him, her voice flat.
"It is a piece of paper."
"It is the way he sees me," she said, and she felt the urge to stand, to move, to be anywhere but perched on this expensive wood.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor, a rhythmic tapping of leather on stone that signaled the end of their stolen time. The sound grew louder, approaching the heavy oak door of the classroom. She heard the scrape of a chair in the hallway, the rustle of robes, and the unmistakable voice of a friend.
Greta appeared in the doorway, her hair slightly dishevelled from the walk through the castle. She did not look like a girl who had been searching for a lost person; she looked like a girl who was on a mission. Her eyes scanned the room, landing on the desk where Draconia sat.
"There you are," Greta said, stepping into the room.
"I am here," Draconia answered, smoothing the fabric of her skirt.
"We thought you had vanished into the dungeons."
"I was simply enjoying the quiet."
"The quiet is over," Greta said, walking closer to the desk.
"Is it?" Draconia asked, her tone laced with a hint of a smirk.
"The evening meal is being served in the Great Hall," Greta said, reaching the edge of the desk. "Everyone is waiting."
"I am not hungry yet."
"You must be hungry eventually," Greta insisted, her gaze darting to Harry, who sat watching them with an expression of mild amusement.
"Harry, tell her to leave me alone," Draconia said.
"She is not going to leave you alone," Harry said, a small grin tugging at his lips.
"She is very persistent," Draconia remarked, looking back at her friend.
Greta did not move from her position by the desk. She stood with her arms crossed, her expression unyielding. She was a solid presence, a girl who did not believe in the subtle art of the disappearing act.
"You cannot stay here all night," Greta said.
"I have decided that the night is mine," Draconia replied.
"The night belongs to the house, and the house wants you in the hall," Greta said.
"I am not a subject of the house," Draconia said, her voice sharpening.
"You are a student, and you are late," Greta countered.
The two girls stared at each other, one seated on the high perch of the desk and the other standing on the floor. The height difference made the power dynamic feel lopsided, yet Greta’s stubbornness levelled the field.
"I will come when I am ready," Draconia said.
"You always say that," Greta said, stepping closer to the desk.
"Because it is true."
"It is not true because you are sitting here in the dark," Greta said.
"The dark is better than the light," Draconia said.
"The dark is just empty," Greta said, her voice softening slightly. "Come, Draconia. Please."
"Do not use that tone with me," Draconia said, though there was no real bite in it.
"I am not using a tone, I am telling the truth," Greta said.
"The truth is that I want to stay here," Draconia said.
"You cannot stay in a vacuum forever," Greta said.
"I am not in a vacuum, I am in a classroom."
"It is the same thing when no one is looking," Greta said.
"I am looking," Harry said, breaking the tension between the two girls.
Greta turned her gaze to Harry, her eyes narrowing. She did not seem to care for the audience, or perhaps she simply did not care for the intimacy of the moment. She wanted her friend, and she wanted her friend now.
"Harry, do not encourage her," Greta said.
"She is quite convincing," Harry said.
"She is being difficult," Greta said.
"She is being herself," Harry added.
"That is the same thing," Greta said, turning back to Draconia. "Now, come. The walk to the hall is long."
"I am not ready to walk," Draconia said, her fingers tracing the edge of the wood one last time.
"You will walk eventually," Greta said, her voice firm. "You can stay for five more minutes, but not ten."
"Five minutes is a very arbitrary number," Draconia said.
"It is enough time to gather your things," Greta said.
"I have nothing to gather," Draconia said.
"You have your dignity, which is currently sitting on a desk," Greta said.
"My dignity is fine," Draconia said, standing up slowly.
The movement caused the desk to creak, a low groan of timber that seemed to echo in the empty room. She felt the weight of the letter in her pocket, the way it pressed against her thigh as she stood. She felt exposed, as if the act of standing had stripped away the shield of the desk.
"Are you coming or not?" Greta asked, her hand outstretched.
"I am coming," Draconia said, though she felt a sudden resistance to the idea.
"You are always reluctant," Greta said.
"I am simply deliberate," Draconia said.
"That is a fancy word for slow," Greta said, her eyes fixed on Draconia’s face.
"It is a word for someone who knows what they want," Draconia replied.
"And what is it you want?" Greta asked, her voice dropping an octave.
"To be left alone," Draconia said.
"You will never be left alone," Greta said.
"That is a bleak prospect," Draconia said.
"It is a realistic one," Greta said.
"Do you always have to be so blunt?" Draconia asked, stepping down from the desk.
"Someone has to be," Greta said.
The two of them stood in the middle of the room, the silence of the classroom returning as Harry watched them. The moment felt heavy, a collision of Draconia’s desire for autonomy and Greta’s demand for social cohesion. Draconia looked at the blackboard, at the smudged numbers that had witnessed her afternoon, and felt a pang of loss. She wanted to stay in the shadow of the desk, but Greta was a force that could not be ignored.
"Are you coming?" Greta asked one last time.
"Yes," Draconia said, though the word felt hollow.