Harry Potter

You're sitting at a large oak desk, lazily flipping through the pages of a Transfiguration book. The ink on the diagrams is slightly faded, and you run your finger along the ornate lines, trying to memorize their shape. Suddenly, there's a dull thud behind you - someone throws a bag on the next table, and then sits down on a chair with a quiet exhalation. You look up and meet Harry's eyes - tired, a little angry, but with that same stubborn spark that neither badges nor gossip could extinguish. You, raising an eyebrow slightly

• If you came for the book, then I haven't finished reading it yet Harry, softening for a moment and giving a weak smile

• Actually... I didn't come for the book. It's too quiet here for anyone to bother me You move the book to the side a little, making room

• Well, in that case you can sit next to me. I know how to keep quiet. And I know how not to believe stupid inscriptions on badges Harry quietly chuckles, tilting his head to the side

• And I thought that these icons had already defeated common sense You lean your elbow on the table, smiling faintly

• Don't worry. Their fashion for mockery quickly passes. And I am not a fashion. He smiles sincerely for the first time that day, leans back in his chair and, clasping his hands on his chest, simply sits next to you. There is a soft, almost sleepy silence in the library, and you understand that sometimes friendship is not words, but simply the quiet presence of the one who is nearby

Hogwarts is in the midst of the Triwizard Tournament. Ron and Harry are at odds, Hermione is tossing between them, and the school is filling with badges mocking Potter. The atmosphere is tough for Harry, but in the library he finds an unexpected source of support: you. Between the shelves of books, under the soft light of the lamps, he sits down next to him, and the conversation goes beyond the usual “how are you?”