The next morning, Hogwarts was alive with the sounds of chattering students, their voices echoing off the stone walls as they scurried to breakfast. The Great Hall was already bustling, but Harry, Ron, and Jean weren't quite there yet. They were still making their way through the winding corridors, passing portraits that winked and nodded as they went by.
"So, what new classes are you two taking?" Harry asked, his eyes flicking over to Ron. They were descending the staircase from the Gryffindor Tower, and the smell of bacon and eggs was enough to make Harry's stomach growl.
Ron, of course, was already wearing the expression of someone who was seriously questioning their life choices. His bag hung lopsidedly on his shoulder, as though it was already protesting the workload ahead. "Divination and Care of Magical Creatures," he said with a shrug. "Thought they'd be fun. Not too hard, right?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Divination? Really? You're going to try and predict how many times you'll fall asleep in class this year?"
Ron grinned, totally unfazed. "Yep. If I can predict it, maybe I'll finally wake up before the end of class." He gave Harry a side glance. "I mean, what are you signing up for, Mister 'I'm-the-new-Gryffindor-hero'?"
Harry shot him a mock glare. "Oh, I'm taking Care of Magical Creatures too. Can't resist a chance to befriend a hippogriff or something. I also signed up for Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. But don't get me wrong—I'm really excited about the homework."
Jean, who had been listening to their back-and-forth with that mischievous glint in her eyes that always meant trouble, spoke up. "I'm really excited about Potions and Transfiguration. They're both pretty much the magical equivalent of Chemistry and Physics, right?" Her smile was bright and confident as she twirled a lock of her golden hair. "And I can't skip out on Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin seems like his lessons will be legendary, and I'm dying to see if I can actually use a Patronus by the end of the year."
Harry felt his heart do an awkward little thud when Jean flashed him a smile. He tried to ignore the sudden rush of warmth creeping into his cheeks. "Yeah, Remus is the best. Definitely a hundred times cooler than Snape, who's probably already brewing up some nightmare potion to ruin our day."
Ron snorted at the mention of Snape. "I swear, he's got a cauldron bubbling up some new disaster potion every year. Maybe he'll come up with one that makes your hair fall out if you don't get the right answer." He shook his head. "If he had a decent sense of humor, he could at least make it fun."
Harry snickered, already imagining the dungeons filled with clouds of smoke, Snape's cold eyes glinting as students scrambled to avoid exploding cauldrons. "I can't wait to see how bad the disasters get this year. But hey, we'll survive, right?"
Jean laughed, shaking her head with a playful sigh. "Oh, definitely. As long as we don't actually blow up the castle." Her tone was teasing, but there was something about the way she said it that made it clear she could probably handle whatever Hogwarts threw at her.
Ron had that look on his face, the one that said he was definitely imagining the worst-case scenario—probably involving exploding cauldrons, fire, and a very, very irate Snape. "It's gonna be a long year, I can already tell," he muttered.
Just then, the trio turned a corner, and the Great Hall came into view. The long tables were already filling up with students, the air thick with the scent of sausages, toast, and something that suspiciously resembled treacle tart.
"Race you to the food?" Jean challenged, her eyes sparkling as she winked at Harry and Ron.
Before either of them could respond, she was already dashing toward the door, laughing over her shoulder. Ron blinked in surprise, then looked at Harry. "She's not really serious about that, right?"
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "You underestimate her."
"She's got spirit, I'll give her that," Ron said, a grin spreading across his face. "And now I'm starving. Come on, mate, let's go claim a spot before she clears the whole table."
They ran after Jean, who had already skidded to a halt at the nearest table, practically piling food onto her plate. The fact that they were all still laughing as they sat down was a reminder that Hogwarts, no matter how unpredictable or crazy, always felt like home.
And for Harry, that feeling was more comforting than anything. After all, he didn't just have friends by his side. He had a whole new life ahead of him—a life filled with magic, mystery, and, knowing his luck, probably way too much homework.
—
The Great Hall was, as usual, a scene of glorious chaos. The long Gryffindor table was piled high with all the breakfast foods that could make you believe Hogwarts was trying to start an unofficial food fight at 8 a.m. Pancakes, sausages, eggs, pastries that could probably make you cry with happiness—basically, breakfast heaven.
Jean, Harry, and Ron found their usual seats at the Gryffindor table. Jean slid in smoothly next to Harry, as if she'd been doing this for years, but there was a faint spark of excitement in her eyes. She looked like someone who had just been let loose in a candy store and was now figuring out which sugar rush to dive into first.
"Alright, so, Jean," Ron started, with his usual mouthful of food (because it's not breakfast if you're not at least one bite behind the conversation). "What do you think? Quidditch tryouts. Are you in?"
Jean glanced over at him, pretending to think hard about it, but the glint in her eyes betrayed her. "Quidditch, huh? Well, flying's always been fun, but I don't know if I'd be any good at the whole... "competitive deathmatch on broomsticks" thing. I mean, I've never chased a moving ball at 150 miles an hour, but I'm sure I'd figure it out."
Harry couldn't help but grin. He could practically feel Ron's excitement trying to leap out of his ears. "Are you kidding? You'd be great! You've got the talent. You know, the whole 'awesome at flying' thing. Plus, it'd be hilarious to see you beat Ron's face in a race, wouldn't it?"
Ron nearly choked on his toast. "Hey, I'm good at flying! I've just got this special 'don't crash into anything' technique that's, you know, highly underrated."
Jean rolled her eyes with a smile. "That's totally the technique I'm going for. Avoiding crashing—very high stakes."
"Yeah, well," Ron said with his mouth full, "if flying doesn't work out for you, we've got other options. You could always join me in Divination. I'm pretty sure we'd have a knack for confusing Trelawney into thinking we're actually making prophecies."
Jean's laughter was the kind that made Harry wish he could capture it in a bottle and sell it as a remedy for bad moods. "You do have a way of confusing people, Ron. You're a natural." She made a face. "But I think I'll skip the whole predicting doom for my homework gig."
"Oh, come on," Ron said, half-mumbling into his food, "just imagine the fun we could have. We'd have Trelawney so turned around she'd probably start seeing our futures instead of her own. 'Oh no, Ron Weasley, you're going to be eaten by a giant spider next Tuesday!'
"I think we both know that's a little too close to my actual future for comfort," Jean said with a mischievous grin. "And anyway, I'd rather stick with the whole Quidditch thing. Besides, I think flying has a bit more appeal than making bizarre predictions about people's deaths. But thanks for the offer."
Ron looked disappointed, like he had just been handed a broken wand for Christmas. "Alright, alright, but if you change your mind, I'll be waiting with a tea leaf reading ready. You'll regret it when you realize how wrong you were."
Harry, who had been quietly stuffing his plate (because honestly, he was pretty sure Hogwarts food was magical for a reason), grinned. "Jean, listen to me, Quidditch is your thing. And if you don't make the team, we'll just have to work out some kind of... cool team name for you and Ron."
"Oh!" Jean said, sitting up straighter, her eyes lighting up. "Like what? 'The Mighty Broomstick Avengers'? 'Team Rocket's Secret Plan to Fail Miserably'?"
Ron snorted, nearly spitting out his juice. "'Team Rocket'—really? You've been hanging out with Harry too much, I see. You're starting to think in cartoons."
Jean gave him a cheeky smile. "Hey, cartoons are the best form of education. You should try it sometime, Ron."
Harry leaned in, getting caught up in the fun. "I'm telling you, 'The Grumpy Broom Riders' would be a killer name. We'll add in a little chant, make it sound like we actually know what we're doing."
"Or," Ron said, his face suddenly lighting up, "how about 'The Quidditch Rejects'? That way, if we fail miserably, at least we have it in writing."
Jean tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, 'Rejects' has a nice underdog vibe to it... but I think 'Flying Failures' might be a more fitting description. What do you think, Harry? You've got the fly-thing down."
Harry threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Don't look at me. I'm just here for moral support... and to make sure Ron doesn't accidentally kill the team with his broom."
"That's a low blow," Ron grumbled, but he was clearly trying not to smile. "Fine. You both make fun of me. I'm gonna need to find someone who appreciates my flying technique... or my incredible food-eating technique, which I'll have you know is almost Olympic-worthy."
"Right, right, 'almost Olympic,'" Jean teased, grinning as she loaded up her plate with another helping of pancakes. "But really, Ron, you should be more focused on not crashing into walls next time. That might help the team... and your reputation."
Ron groaned and reached for another sausage. "You're all heart, Jean. No wonder Harry's got a crush on you."
Jean raised an eyebrow. "Who said I wasn't interested in his flying skills, Ron?"
Harry felt his face turn bright red, and he immediately began choking on a bit of scrambled egg. "What? No—no, no crush here. I—uh, I've got things to do. Like eat. Breakfast. Food. Delicious food. You know."
"Sure, mate," Ron said, grinning ear to ear. "We totally believe you."
Jean was still laughing, and Harry couldn't help but feel a little bit lighter. If this was what the school year was going to be like—magic, laughter, and endless banter—he could definitely get behind it. Sure, he had a few more things on his plate (like how to control all the bizarre new powers he was picking up from magical creatures), but in this moment, with pancakes and friends around him, life didn't seem so bad.
"Anyway," Harry said, finally managing to get his voice back, "Quidditch tryouts. Team names. Divination with Ron. This year's going to be brilliant."
Jean smiled at him, her eyes gleaming with the kind of mischief that meant they were all in for a ride. "Brilliant? That's the understatement of the century, Harry."
And just like that, with the sun shining through the windows of the Great Hall and the chatter of excited students buzzing around them, it felt like Hogwarts was the start of something truly epic.
—
Oliver Wood had that look on his face—the one that made you think Quidditch was the most important thing in the world. He strode into the Great Hall with that air of determined leadership that only someone who had been captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team could pull off. The man had a one-track mind, and that track was always Quidditch.
"Harry," Wood said, his voice practically vibrating with energy, "got any ideas about substitute players? We're heading into the season, and I need to make sure we've got backups in case of emergency."
Harry, casually strolling next to Jean (who was lingering just a bit too close for comfort, but maybe that was just Harry's brain playing tricks), gave a thoughtful shrug. "Well, for starters, Ginny Weasley is a broomstick pro. She's definitely got Chaser potential, and hey, she could probably fill in as a Seeker if we're in a pinch." He gave a quick nod. "We'll want to keep an eye on first and second years, too. You never know when one of them might surprise us."
"Good call," Wood replied, already taking mental notes. But Harry wasn't finished.
"And Jean's pretty athletic too," Harry added, motioning to his friend, who was currently trying to subtly not trip over her own feet. Classic Jean. "She's got a background in football back in America. I'll have to teach her the ropes of Quidditch, but I bet she'll catch on fast."
Jean immediately went a shade of red that could've rivaled Ron's hair, clearing her throat to distract from her embarrassment. "Ugh, please don't remind me," she said, half-laughing, half-groaning. "I hope I don't embarrass myself out there. And just so we're clear, it's soccer, not football. Not sure how my soccer skills will translate into flying around on a broomstick."
Katie Bell raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Soccer? That's actually brilliant. The footwork and agility you've got on the ground could definitely help with those tricky aerial maneuvers." Her smile was one of approval, the kind that only comes when someone knows something good is about to happen.
Alicia Spinnet, who was busy checking over her broom, nodded in agreement. "Exactly. Flying's just like soccer—except you're doing it way higher and way cooler."
Angelina Johnson grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "And don't worry if you're nervous. We've all had our first practice. You've got a whole team of misfits to learn from."
Fred and George Weasley, being the troublemaking duo that they were, could not resist the chance to add some extra... flair to the conversation.
"If we spot any younger troublemakers with actual potential," Fred began, looking deviously at his twin, "we'll make sure they're not just good at Quidditch but also at dodging our pranks."
"And," George added with a devilish smirk, "we'll make sure they've got the essential skills in chaos. A good Seeker also needs to be a good target."
Wood rolled his eyes, but the smile creeping onto his face betrayed the fact that even he couldn't completely suppress the joy of having two pranksters on his team. "Alright, alright, keep it up. If you can get Jean up to speed, we might actually have a new secret weapon."
Harry turned to Jean, feeling his pulse race a little faster as he gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you don't fall flat on your face. You've got tons of potential."
Jean met his gaze for a second—just long enough to make both of them aware of the brief electric current between them—before quickly looking away, her cheeks flushed in that telltale shade of red. "Thanks, Harry. Soccer jokes aside, I'm actually excited to try this out."
At that moment, Ron, who had been watching the exchange with an expression that could only be described as 'confused but amused,' chimed in. "I'm just hoping the food's as good as everyone says. I mean, a hungry wizard's a grumpy wizard, right?"
Hermione, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow. "You always think about food, Ron. Maybe we should focus on making sure you don't end up throwing your dinner at someone this time."
Ron opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything, Ginny Weasley—who'd just entered the hall with a slight smirk on her face—interrupted.
"This one," Ginny said, flicking a finger at Ron's head, "spent an entire match in the air—on a broom, mind you—just because he thought he saw a pie floating by. I'm honestly shocked you haven't ended up in the Hospital Wing from an ill-timed snack attack."
Ron looked completely affronted. "That was one time!" he protested, but the smirk on Ginny's face was so wide, he might as well have been talking to a wall.
As the group sat down at the Gryffindor table, the buzz about the upcoming Quidditch season grew louder. Talk of strategy, training schedules, and even secret formations (thank you, Fred and George) filled the air. But for Harry and Jean, there was another, more awkward current running through their conversation. The unspoken tension between them—part excitement, part nerves—was about as thick as a double helping of treacle tart.
"So," Jean began, nervously fiddling with the edge of her napkin. "What else should I know about the team?"
Harry tried to keep his tone light, like really light, as if they weren't both aware of the elephant in the room. "Well, we've got some great players. Katie Bell's an amazing Chaser, Angelina Johnson's got some wicked aerial moves, and Alicia Spinnet—she'll show you the ropes, no problem."
Jean nodded, though she seemed less interested in the logistics of Quidditch than in... well, other things. "I guess I've got to prove myself first before I can actually be one of you guys."
"Not at all," Harry said quickly. "You'll fit in fine. We're all part of the team, even if we can't quite figure out who's the best at pranking."
Jean smiled shyly at that, but there was something in her eyes—something that made Harry wonder if maybe, just maybe, this year would be more than just Quidditch, magic, and awkward moments.
But before they could dive any deeper into that thought, Fred leaned across the table and gave a dramatic sigh. "Well, I think we've all agreed on one thing: Jean's going to make the team—and maybe cause some serious damage to the pitch if we're lucky. Now, who's ready for food?"
And just like that, the mood lightened. Because if there's one thing you can count on in the wizarding world—besides chaos, danger, and talking portraits—it's that the Weasley twins will always manage to bring the fun.
And as Harry stole a glance at Jean, he couldn't help but smile. The upcoming Quidditch season? It was going to be legendary.
—
The Gryffindor table was buzzing like a blender on high speed—students yammering about their schedules, the latest gossip, and of course, breakfast. Ron was doing his usual "mug of orange juice in one hand, forkful of scrambled eggs in the other" routine, somehow managing to look like he was trying to inhale both at once. It wasn't so much eating as it was an advanced form of egg-based combat.
"So," Ron said around a particularly ambitious mouthful of eggs, "what happened at the meeting? Did you decide what classes to take?" Toast crumbs flew everywhere, which would probably take house-elves hours to clean up later.
Hermione, who always looked like she'd just come from a motivational speaking seminar (or possibly an espresso-fueled marathon), plopped down beside him. "Ron, could you please try not to talk with your mouth full? Honestly, it's like watching a particularly confused squid attempt a conversation."
Ron mumbled something about being attacked by his eggs, but Hermione wasn't listening. She was already full of plans and ideas. "The meeting was productive, Ron. I've decided to take on all the optional subjects this year."
Harry nearly choked on his own toast. "All of them? Hermione, that's a serious commitment. You sure you can handle that? It's like signing up for every menu item at the Three Broomsticks."
Hermione ticked off her list, fingers moving as if she was organizing her entire future with the same ease she applied to spellwork. "Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, and yes,"—she paused dramatically—"even Divination."
Ron stared at her, stunned. "You? Divination? The person who actually believes in logical things like 'predicting the future with tea leaves' is a waste of time?"
Hermione just shrugged, unbothered. "Well, you know, maybe there's more to it than I thought. What if I'm wrong, Ron? What if there's something to all those stars and crystal balls?"
Jean, who had been silently absorbing the conversation like someone who could easily take over a Quidditch team with her mere presence, chimed in with a knowing smile. "Impressive, Hermione. That's quite the load you've taken on."
Hermione beamed at Jean, clearly pleased with her support. "Exactly. It's all about being prepared for anything this year."
Harry, always curious, raised an eyebrow. "So, why Muggle Studies? You already know all there is to know about Muggles. You could write a book on it. You could probably do a TED Talk on it."
Hermione, who had clearly planned this response in advance, gave him a cool look before answering. "It's about seeing things from a different perspective, Harry. I want to understand it from a wizarding point of view. We don't always appreciate how Muggles think. There's a whole other layer there."
Ron, who clearly had no such ambitions to better understand Muggles, gave an exaggerated sigh. "Does this mean you're finally going to explain how that 'lectricity stuff works? You know, the things that make the lights turn on without a wand."
Harry snorted into his pumpkin juice. "It's electricity, Ron."
Ron gave him a shrug. "Yeah, that's what I said. Look, just explain it in simple terms, alright? Don't get too fancy with your 'wires' and all that mumbo jumbo."
Hermione smiled, shaking her head. "Of course, Ron. I'll do my best."
—
Harry's eyes, ever the detective, zeroed in on the small, hourglass-shaped pendant hanging around Hermione's neck. It wasn't the kind of thing you'd find at a regular market stall, that was for sure. He could feel it—a faint, almost electric hum coming from it, like it was vibrating just below the surface of reality. And of course, being Harry Potter (or Hadrian Wayne, depending on how you looked at it), he couldn't ignore the magic buzzing in the air.
Jean, sitting beside him, noticed his distracted stare and leaned in, her voice low, though there was a hint of curiosity behind her eyes. She was a telepath herself, so it wasn't like she needed to guess what Harry was thinking—she knew.
"Harry's wondering about the pendant. Is there something we should know?" Jean whispered, her voice carrying that mix of quiet confidence and calm reassurance that always seemed to put people at ease. If you didn't know her better, you might even mistake it for disinterest, but you'd be wrong. Jean Grey was always on top of things.
Hermione, already flustered by Harry's intense focus, instinctively reached for the pendant, her fingers grazing its cool surface. "It's a Time-Turner," she said, her voice steady, but there was an unmistakable glimmer of hesitation in her eyes. "Professor McGonagall lent it to me to manage my schedule."
Ron, who had been munching on a pumpkin pastry with the kind of enthusiasm that could only belong to a teenager who'd never met a snack he didn't love, stopped mid-bite. He glanced between Hermione and Harry with a confused expression. "Time-Turner? What, you mean like those things that mess with time? Blimey, Hermione, you've got a time machine hanging around your neck like it's no big deal?"
Jean's eyes widened in genuine awe. "A Time-Turner?" She repeated, leaning forward slightly, her golden hair catching the light. "That's incredible! But isn't it risky to mess with time? I mean, last time I checked, the universe doesn't like it when you start poking holes in the space-time continuum." Jean raised an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. Her voice was soft, but Harry knew that tone—she wasn't exactly kidding around.
Hermione, for her part, looked a little uncomfortable now that the attention was fully on her. She bit her lip and nodded seriously, the air around her suddenly feeling a bit heavier. "It can be dangerous, which is why it's closely regulated. I have to follow strict rules to avoid creating paradoxes." She glanced at Ron for confirmation, and he nodded vigorously, eyes wide, though probably more from the threat of accidental time-destruction than from real understanding.
Ron, who had clearly not been paying attention to Hermione's earlier explanation, raised a hand, half of a pastry still hanging from his mouth. "Wait, so if you mess with time, can you, like, go back and stop my mum from embarrassing me with her knitting jokes at the Weasleys' last family gathering? Because that would be brilliant."
Hermione's brow furrowed as she tried (and failed) to suppress a chuckle. "That's not exactly how it works, Ron," she said, though her tone was fond. "I can only go back a short time. It's not like I can just rewrite everything."
Harry, not one to let any juicy bit of information slip by, leaned in, his expression a mixture of curiosity and seriousness. "Hermione," he said telepathically, his voice low but clear in her mind. Just be careful with the Time-Turner. We don't need any time-travel disasters on our hands. Trust me, I've been there.
Hermione's shoulders relaxed just a little, and she nodded, the hint of a smile pulling at her lips. "I will, Harry. I promise," she thought back, grateful for his concern. She always knew that, no matter what, Harry had her back.
But Harry wasn't done. Oh no, he never was. His curiosity was like a hungry beast, and this Time-Turner was the next meal. He leaned a little closer, eyes glinting with the kind of wonderment that was hard to fake. "So, Hermione, can I take a look at the Time-Turner later? I'm really interested in how it works."
For a moment, Hermione hesitated, glancing at Jean as if she needed confirmation. Then she looked back at Harry, and it was clear she was weighing the risks. "I'm not sure, Harry," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Professor McGonagall entrusted it to me. I need to be careful with it. I'll think about it."
Harry, who had been hoping for a yes, gave a good-natured sigh. "Sure, Hermione. Just let me know if you change your mind." He leaned back in his seat, trying (and failing) to look casual, though the spark of excitement in his eyes was hard to miss.
Jean, ever the voice of reason (and sarcasm), grinned knowingly. "I'm sure Hermione will let you see it when the time is right," she said, her tone playful but not unkind.
Hermione offered her a small, grateful smile, as though she'd just been handed the perfect out. "Thanks, Jean," she said, grateful for the reminder. Her gaze lingered on the pendant for a moment longer before she tucked it back under her robe, as though making sure it was safe.
Ron, still processing everything, looked from Hermione to Harry and then back to Hermione again. "Right, so if you're careful with time and all that," he started slowly, "what happens if you mess up? Do you like… explode or something? Like a massive time bomb?"
Jean snorted with laughter, shaking her head. "Now that's a question I never thought I'd hear at Hogwarts."
Hermione just smiled wryly. "No explosions, Ron. But I'd rather not find out what happens if I did mess up."
As the conversation flowed on, the Time-Turner hovered between them like a cautionary tale, a shiny little reminder that not all magic was as simple as casting spells and brewing potions. In Hogwarts, time was a tricky thing to manage, and Hermione had been entrusted with a tool that could change everything. But as Jean had so thoughtfully pointed out: some things were better left untouched, no matter how tempting the curiosity.
—
As the last crumbs of breakfast were swept away with exaggerated carelessness, the Great Hall erupted into its usual chaos. Students hustled through the aisles, bags slung over their shoulders, laughing and chatting like they had all the time in the world. Professor McGonagall, in full no-nonsense mode, marched up and down with a stack of timetables. Her eyes scanned the room with the precision of a hawk on a diet—clearly, any attempt at mischief was doomed before it could even be conceived.
"Here you go, Miss Granger," McGonagall said, thrusting the timetables at Hermione, who took them with an almost military precision and began handing them out with the grace of someone who'd mastered the art of distributing paper at a wizarding post office.
"Thanks, Professor!" Hermione called after her, though McGonagall was already moving on. Hermione looked down at her timetable, practically glowing with excitement. "Ancient Runes first up. Looks like we're starting with something that actually requires a brain."
Harry looked at his own timetable and grinned. "Ancient Runes, huh? Great. We're going to be cracking codes like ancient treasure hunters. This day's looking pretty decent."
Jean leaned in, her blue eyes practically sparkling. "I've been dying to get into that class. I can't wait to dive into the ancient scripts. It's like reading a secret history of the wizarding world."
Hermione smiled at Jean's enthusiasm. "Exactly! There's so much history packed into those runes. It's like unearthing hidden secrets every time you decipher a symbol."
Ron, however, looked like he'd just been handed a timetable full of cruel, unnatural punishments. "Divination first thing in the morning?" he groaned, glaring at the paper like it had personally insulted him. "What was I thinking? I might as well have signed up for 'How to Be Confused and Disoriented for Fun.'"
Harry nudged him playfully with his elbow. "Well, it could be worse. Maybe the tea leaves will reveal the mystery of why you're always late to breakfast."
Ron shot him a deadpan look. "Right. Tea leaves. That's definitely going to help me solve the eternal puzzle of my missing socks." He paused, as if considering the deep philosophical implications of mismatched socks. "I don't even own matching socks anymore."
Harry burst out laughing. "Good point, mate. It's a tragedy, really."
Jean, who had been quietly enjoying the banter, looked over at Harry with a quick, almost shy smile that made Harry's stomach do an awkward little flip. There was something in the air between them, something not quite acknowledged but definitely there. Jean didn't speak immediately, but the way her gaze lingered on him made it clear that there was a lot going on in her head, even if she wasn't sure how to process it all yet.
Meanwhile, Hermione couldn't help but glance at Harry every so often. It was subtle, just a little flicker of something in her eyes whenever he laughed, whenever he smiled, but Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was the way he'd grown into himself over the summer—taller, more confident—or maybe it was something else entirely. Whatever it was, it made her heart do a strange little dance every time their eyes met. And she wasn't quite sure if she was ready to deal with that yet.
Hermione cleared her throat and looked at her friends. "Alright, Ancient Runes, then. This should be an enlightening start to the day." She sounded like she was talking about something exciting, like finding treasure in a dusty old attic. But with Hermione, everything was exciting if it involved books and learning.
Ron groaned. "Ancient Runes, yeah. Sure, Hermione. I'm just hoping it's not as boring as it sounds."
Jean gave Ron an encouraging smile. "Trust me, Ron. It'll be amazing. You might even find yourself decoding spells you didn't know existed."
Ron wasn't convinced, but he gave her a half-hearted shrug. "Yeah, okay. Maybe. But I'm not exactly looking forward to deciphering a bunch of squiggly lines that could be a recipe for wizard stew or a hex to turn me into a frog."
With that, they all stood up, ready to leave the Great Hall. The morning had only just begun, and yet there was a certain air of tension—an unspoken something hovering between Harry and Jean, between Hermione and Harry. All those little moments that went unnoticed by most, but not by them.
As they walked out of the Hall, Harry could feel that familiar sense of anticipation settling in. There were mysteries waiting to be solved in those runes, and mysteries waiting to be solved in his own life. He wasn't sure which one was more complicated.
But one thing was for sure—his first class of the day was going to be way more interesting than he'd ever imagined.
---
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