Harry woke up before the sun had even considered showing its face, the kind of early morning that only madmen, wizards with too many secrets, or, apparently, Harry Potter, would willingly endure. The castle was eerily quiet, and the dark sky through the window looked like it was still holding its breath, waiting for something. Harry glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. If this was a normal Saturday morning, he'd still be drooling on his pillow. But not today. Today, there were people to meet. Important people. Or at least, people who were important to him.
He turned to Ron, who was asleep like a rock… a snoring, blanket-hogging rock. Seriously, the guy could sleep through a herd of stampeding centaurs. Harry poked him in the side. "Ron, wake up. We've got to get dressed. We're meeting people."
Ron's response was a muffled grunt that sounded almost too much like "It's Saturday, mate," before he curled up into what could only be described as a human burrito.
Harry sighed, but there was no time for this. "Ron. C'mon. If we don't get moving, we'll miss the sunrise. And you know how McGonagall gets when we're late."
Ron's groan was so exaggerated, Harry half-expected him to start quoting some ancient curse he'd read about in a Quidditch rulebook. But instead, Ron shifted just enough to send his pillow flying. "Fine. Fine. I'm up," he grumbled, sitting up in bed, looking like a cat who'd just learned about water. "But if I miss breakfast for this, I'm hexing you with something Fred and George taught me."
Harry couldn't help but laugh. "No worries, mate. I'm sure breakfast will still be there when we get back. It's not going anywhere."
Ron, who was now halfway through pulling on his robes, shot him a bleary-eyed look. "You sure about that? Because the idea of missing a full English—"
"Ron," Harry said, cutting him off with an amused smirk, "there's no way you'd skip breakfast for anything."
"True," Ron admitted, pulling on a sock that, to be honest, looked a little too eager to join its matching pair. "But I reserve the right to be grumpy when I don't get my sausages."
With that settled, Harry moved to Neville's bed. If there was anyone who needed convincing to leave a warm bed, it was Neville Longbottom. As Harry gently shook Neville's shoulder, he couldn't help but notice that Neville had somehow managed to tuck himself in so thoroughly that he looked like a little plant nestled in a pot.
"Neville," Harry whispered. "It's time to get up. We're meeting people on the grounds."
Neville's eyes fluttered open slowly, and his face had that look of utter confusion that only comes when you're suddenly yanked from the cozy comfort of sleep into the cold, harsh reality of having to be awake. "What? What's going on, Harry? I'm... am I late for something? Should I be… should I be holding my wand?"
"It's fine, Neville," Harry said, chuckling softly. "We're just meeting people. Get up, get dressed."
Neville blinked a few more times, looking around the room in a daze as if he expected a Snitch to come zooming past at any moment. "Oh. Right. Meeting people," he said with a slow nod, still looking like he had no idea who, what, or where he was. But, to his credit, Neville was nothing if not dependable. As he swung his legs off the bed and stood, Harry noticed the assortment of plants on Neville's bedside table. Some of them were stretching their leaves toward the faint light coming through the window like they had a meeting of their own to attend.
Neville, wearing the same expression he always did when he was still a bit half-asleep, grabbed his robes and began fumbling around for socks like they were some rare treasure. "Hold on, I—" he muttered, patting down his pockets. "I'm sure I put my wand somewhere. I swear, I had it last night…"
"You're fine," Harry said, shaking his head fondly. Neville's knack for misplacing things was legendary, but it was part of his charm. "Just make sure you don't leave it behind in the common room like last time."
Neville grimaced, remembering how he'd once lost his wand to a rogue book from the library. "Not funny, mate."
"Okay, maybe a little funny," Harry admitted with a grin, watching Neville finally pull on his robes without tripping over his own feet, which was honestly impressive at this hour.
With the boys finally dressed and ready—Ron was grumbling about needing a coffee, Neville double-checked his pockets for his wand—Harry led the way as they made their way out of the dormitory, trying not to wake anyone else.
"I still don't understand why anyone would willingly get up this early when they don't have to," Ron muttered as they made their way down the hall.
"Because, Ron, we're not just meeting people," Harry said with a mischievous grin. "We're about to see something amazing. Trust me."
Ron stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing. "That sounds suspiciously like you're about to tell me some grand tale about a secret plot involving dark wizards or an underground Quidditch match."
"Well, not quite," Harry said with a laugh. "But if you're not careful, you might miss the sunrise, and that's even worse than a secret plot."
"Fine," Ron said with exaggerated resignation, "but when I get a bowl of porridge in me, you're on your own for whatever this is." He looked up at the looming stone walls of Hogwarts. "Though, I suppose if we survive whatever this 'meeting' is, maybe I'll finally forgive you for dragging me out of bed."
Harry smiled, walking ahead of his friends. "Deal."
—
By the time Harry and his crew made it to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione and Jean were already there. Hermione was sitting with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed—seriously studying something as usual—while Jean was leaning casually against the fireplace, a grin on her face like she'd just cracked the code for perfect happiness.
"Ready?" Jean asked, her voice practically glowing with energy, as if she'd just eaten a box of sugar-covered enthusiasm. Her smile hit Harry like a jolt of electricity, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe. Which, given how often he forgot how to breathe when Jean was around, was a pretty bad habit. "The sun's up, and I'm feeling like today's going to be amazing."
Harry opened his mouth to respond, but instead he just nodded. His brain had switched into 'fight or flight' mode—seriously, why did she have to look that cute?—so all he managed was, "Yeah, let's go."
He tried to keep his voice casual, but on the inside, he was freaking out. The whole 'we like each other, but no one's actually saying it' thing was honestly more awkward than trying to kiss a Pygmy Puff in front of a crowd. Ugh, smooth, Potter, really smooth.
Jean chuckled lightly, clearly noticing his nervousness, but it wasn't teasing—more like... comforting. Seriously, what is she doing to my insides?
Behind them, Neville was muttering under his breath, holding up his robes with one hand while clutching a rogue sock in the other. "I could've sworn I grabbed my wand... Maybe it's under my bed? Or maybe in my shoes? Or..." He trailed off, getting distracted by his own inner turmoil. Harry didn't know if Neville was more likely to invent a new spell or just randomly blow something up every time he went looking for his wand.
"Mate," Ron groaned from somewhere behind Neville. "It's too early for this much drama. Can't we just skip to the part where we're eating bacon?" His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and he looked like he hadn't slept in three days. Typical Ron.
"I'm with you on that one," Neville agreed, still clutching his sock like it was his life's work.
"Come on, Ron," Harry teased, grinning. "You're the one who insisted we leave at the crack of dawn to watch the sunrise. You can't back out now."
"I was hoping for breakfast," Ron grumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Not a philosophical lecture about sunrises or some wizards' cult meeting at the edge of the grounds."
Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not a cult, Ron. It's just... important."
Jean shot Ron an amused look. "You know, I love how you manage to be both cynical and charming at the same time, Weasley. It's like a superpower."
Ron blinked and then gave a cheeky grin. "Well, I do my best."
Harry tried not to laugh. They were almost at the meeting place now, so he turned his attention back to Hermione, who was walking just a step behind Jean. She was glancing between the two of them, a mixture of curiosity and something that looked like... concern? She was the smart one of the group, always reading between the lines. But there was a slight crease in her brow, and for a moment, Harry wondered if maybe she was picking up on something he wasn't brave enough to admit. Was Hermione thinking about the crush thing too? Maybe?
Before he could dwell on it, Jean said, "Come on, guys! The sun's starting to rise. And trust me, you won't want to miss it." She sounded so excited, Harry could barely keep his focus.
Together, they finally stepped outside into the chilly morning air, the sky still painted in deep shades of purple and orange as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon. Harry led the way, hoping to at least appear confident, but the butterflies in his stomach weren't helping with that. Every time he glanced at Jean, it felt like his heart was trying to leave his chest. Maybe he was the one who needed a pep talk. But from who? He was standing with Jean—she was literally glowing in the early light, and he was fumbling with his words. Fantastic, Potter, real smooth.
Ron, meanwhile, had somehow managed to wander off the path and was now standing in the middle of a puddle. "You didn't mention anything about a wet morning adventure, Harry!" he shouted, trying to yank his shoes out of the water with no success.
"I did not sign up for this!" Ron's voice sounded like someone had just told him he was going to be cursed for the next hundred years.
"See what I mean, Harry?" Neville said from behind them, his sock still in hand. "It's always an adventure with Ron." His tone was slightly exasperated, but there was affection there too.
"I don't know about you lot," Ron muttered, "but I'm definitely skipping the next pre-sunrise quest."
"You're the one who wanted to be a hero," Harry pointed out, grinning at his best friend's misery.
Jean shot a quick glance at Harry. "I think Ron's going to need a nap by the time we're done here. Maybe we should carry him back in a wheelbarrow."
Neville chimed in, "Can we actually get a wheelbarrow?"
Harry chuckled as the group continued on toward the designated meeting spot. The air was getting cooler as the sky brightened, and it felt like something was just on the edge of happening—like they were about to take part in something that would shape the rest of their year. Harry didn't know exactly what it was, but for the first time in a while, he was genuinely looking forward to whatever was about to come.
Sure, his heart was doing some weird flip-flops every time Jean smiled at him, and sure, Ron was still grumbling about breakfast, but there was a new kind of adventure waiting for them this time. And for once, Harry was kind of excited to face it all—awkward moments, romantic tension, and all.
—
As Harry and his ragtag group trudged their way across the chilly morning grounds of Hogwarts, he couldn't help but think about how much he'd missed this—sort of. Sure, it was freezing, and he wasn't exactly a fan of the early hours, but there was something undeniably cool about this whole "we're in it together" vibe.
Up ahead, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott were already waiting for them. Susan's smile was as bright as ever, like she was a walking sunbeam, and Harry could feel his stomach do a small flip as her gaze lingered just a second longer than usual. He quickly cleared his throat and tried to look casual, but he was pretty sure he was failing miserably.
"Morning!" Susan called out, her voice all sunshine and energy.
"Morning," Harry muttered, his voice cracking slightly. He blamed it on the cold.
Hannah, as usual, was all calm grace, her usual serene expression making Harry wonder if she ever felt stressed at all. She gave them a polite nod, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
Ron shuffled along beside Harry, still in his usual state of "not a morning person," his hair looking like it had been through a storm. "Seriously? I drag myself out of bed for this, and you're telling me I have to hang out with—" He gestured vaguely at the Slytherins, who were now slowly making their way over, looking unimpressed but determined to show up. "—them?"
Hermione's eyes were already narrowed at Ron, the "don't-start" look very much in place. "Ron, don't start. We're here to work together," she snapped, her voice like steel but with just the right hint of concern.
Ron huffed but wisely kept his mouth shut as they all waited for Daphne and Tracey to join them. The two Slytherins arrived with the kind of indifference that screamed, "We could be doing literally anything else right now, but here we are." Daphne's cold gaze swept over them all, and Harry could tell that she was still not exactly thrilled to be working with Gryffindors.
"Alright, everyone," Harry said, taking a deep breath to muster some semblance of authority. "Thanks for coming. We've got a lot to cover, so let's just dive in."
Daphne shot him a look that was somewhere between "I'm giving you a chance" and "Don't expect me to be impressed." Tracey, on the other hand, was eyeing the group with the kind of curiosity that suggested she was at least mildly interested in what was going on.
Ron, still clearly grouchy about being awake, scratched the back of his neck. "I swear, Harry, if this isn't something really important, I'm gonna need, like, at least three extra sausages at breakfast."
"Don't worry, Ron," Harry said with a smirk. "You'll get your sausages. And your beauty sleep, don't worry."
Jean, who had been standing next to Harry, flashed him a smile that was so warm and infectious it almost made him forget how cold it was. Her bright green eyes twinkled with that natural energy that Harry found both comforting and terrifying at the same time. "Hey, Harry," Jean said, her voice full of that upbeat, I've-got-this vibe that made everything seem easier. "You ready to take charge?"
"Yeah," Harry replied, though his voice didn't quite have the same level of confidence. He coughed to clear his throat. "Alright, everyone. First things first. Daphne, Tracey, can we start with a quick run-through of your… mutation?"
Daphne raised an eyebrow, her lip curling slightly. "Oh, sure. Let me just pull my ice powers out of my sleeve like some kind of magician." She raised her hand with a dramatic flourish, and a gust of icy wind swept across the group, making everyone shiver. Frost slowly began to form on her fingertips, each snowflake a delicate masterpiece of frozen magic.
Neville, whose attempts to be "serious and mature" had taken a temporary detour when he realized he was holding a single sock in one hand like it was an ancient relic, couldn't resist. "So, uh, does that make you the Ice Princess of Hogwarts?" he asked, clearly amused by the whole thing.
Daphne shot him a look that could've frozen the lake. "If the crown fits."
The frost on her hand crystallized into an intricate snowflake that she flicked away with a sigh. "It's not always fun," she muttered. "I can't control it sometimes. It just… happens."
Harry stepped forward, trying to make this feel like a real team effort. "Hey, that's exactly why we're here, right? To figure this out together."
Hermione, who was already scribbling frantically in her notepad, piped up without looking up. "We'll research cryokinesis. There's got to be something in the library we can use."
Jean nodded, her voice soothing but firm. "We'll all help. Practice makes perfect, right?"
Daphne's lips twitched. "Thanks. I... appreciate it."
Tracey, leaning forward with her arms crossed, looked interested now. "So, what about you guys? What are your mutations?"
Harry glanced at Susan and Jean before speaking up. "Well, I'm sort of a work in progress," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I can absorb the abilities of magical creatures and artifacts, but I've got to be careful with it. If I'm not careful, it could go sideways."
Susan smiled, her eyes gleaming with the usual brightness that had always reminded Harry of how much she cared. "I can detect lies. It's a bit of a curse sometimes, but it helps. Like, I can tell if someone's lying to me, which is—yeah, a lot."
Jean laughed softly, her smile growing. "As for me, I've got telekinesis and telepathy. So, I can move things with my mind, and I can hear thoughts without saying anything. It's cool but kind of exhausting, you know?"
Tracey's eyes widened a bit. "That's... wow. Kind of intimidating, though."
Hermione, still scribbling notes like her life depended on it, added, "It's a lot, but we'll figure it out together. That's what friends are for."
Ron, who had started to look genuinely interested now, chimed in, "Yeah, we've got each other's backs. We'll make sure we all get through this."
And just like that, as the first rays of the sun poked over the horizon, the group stood united. They may have been a bunch of misfits, but they were in this together, and that made everything feel just a little bit more possible.
—
Harry, Ron, Neville, Jean, and Hermione found themselves racing through the corridors of Hogwarts like they were late for a Quidditch match—or maybe more like they were running from a pack of Hungarian Horntails. The chilly morning air nipped at their cheeks, and Harry had the distinct feeling he might freeze before he even made it to the Great Hall. But, of course, nothing could slow down Hermione, who was already twenty steps ahead, muttering to herself about something in The Daily Prophet that seemed particularly pressing—probably some new "crisis" in the wizarding world.
"No time for reading, Hermione!" Harry called out, half-laughing, half-breathless. "You can't solve the world's problems before breakfast!"
"I'm just trying to keep us informed!" Hermione shot back without looking over her shoulder. "You can't say I didn't warn you when something huge happens."
"If it's the world-ending thing you predicted last week, I'm ignoring it," Ron chimed in from behind, puffing out air like a dragon. "You said the same thing last time, and it was just a new line of biscuits at Honeydukes."
By the time they burst into the Great Hall, the smell of sizzling bacon and toast practically tackled them to the ground. The place was buzzing, as always—students scattered like a bunch of angry bees to their house tables, their chatter as loud as a Hippogriff at feeding time.
Harry felt himself ease a bit. Despite the chaos, Hogwarts always had a way of feeling like home. That, and the fact that breakfast at Hogwarts was basically a religion. The moment his plate was stacked with eggs, bacon, and toast (maybe a little too much toast—Harry wasn't about to judge), he dug in like he hadn't eaten in days.
Meanwhile, Hermione, still obsessing over her book, barely looked up as she grabbed a piece of toast and pointedly crunched it as if it were a piece of parchment. Neville, across the table, was trying his hardest to balance his breakfast without breaking anything. He had a tendency to lose control over things at the most inconvenient times—last week, he'd somehow turned his fork into a ferret, and it had taken him a full ten minutes to retrieve it from under the table.
"You've got toast on your chin, Neville," Harry said, trying not to snicker as Neville wiped furiously at his face with the back of his hand.
"Do I?" Neville said, blinking like he'd just been hit with a spell that scrambled his brain. "I swear it wasn't there a second ago."
"Do you ever not have toast on your face, mate?" Ron asked, with a grin that was somewhere between fond and exasperated.
"That's the mystery of the century, isn't it?" Harry shot back, elbowing Ron playfully.
Just then, the table seemed to grow three sizes larger as Cormac McLaggen strolled over with all the subtlety of a fire-breathing dragon. His smug grin stretched across his face like he was the star of some poorly written soap opera.
"Well, well, if it isn't the famous Jean," Cormac said, as though he were addressing royalty rather than someone trying to eat in peace.
Jean, sitting next to Harry, glanced up at him with a polite but distinctly unamused expression. She looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, and Harry couldn't blame her. If Cormac had been any more self-important, he'd need his own postage stamp.
"Morning," Jean replied, her voice calm but with a hint of steel. She glanced at Harry, then back at Cormac, as if making it clear she wasn't interested in his attention.
Ron, who had been in the middle of taking a particularly large bite of bacon, nearly choked. He swallowed hard, glaring at Cormac with the kind of intensity usually reserved for Death Eaters.
"Honestly, mate," Ron muttered, "if his ego gets any bigger, it's gonna start blocking out the sun."
Hermione, who was more aware than she let on, gave Harry a sideways glance. She'd noticed the tension in the air between him and Jean—mostly because it was about as subtle as a Hippogriff in a tutu.
"I don't think you're doing any favors by making that obvious," Hermione said quietly, her eyes flicking between Harry and Jean before turning back to her book. "But, you know, no pressure."
Harry blinked at her, momentarily thrown off. "What? I wasn't—"
"You so were," she interrupted, not looking up from her reading.
But before Harry could answer, Cormac was back at it. "So, Jean," he began, leaning in closer like a guy who just learned the word "flirtation" in a textbook. "What do you think about a little walk after breakfast? I know the best place for a quiet chat."
Jean's expression was like ice. "I'm not interested, McLaggen," she said, so coldly that even Harry shivered. "Please leave."
Cormac blinked like she'd just slapped him with a bucket of cold water. Harry, who had been gripping his fork so hard he thought he might break it, resisted the urge to glare at the guy. His jealousy was about as subtle as Ron's hatred for spiders, but he tried to play it cool. It wasn't like he had any claim on Jean... yet.
"Well, I tried," Cormac said with a shrug, walking off like he hadn't just been turned down by the only person at the table who didn't think he was "the man."
"I swear, if he doesn't get the hint, I might have to put him in a full-body bind," Harry muttered under his breath, barely resisting the urge to throw his toast at Cormac's retreating back.
Jean chuckled softly, clearly amused by Harry's irritation. "I think he got the hint," she said dryly, then returned to her breakfast like it had never happened.
Ron, who had been silently cheering her on in his own way, shot Harry a look. "You're lucky I like you, mate," he said, grabbing another slice of bacon. "Otherwise, I'd really be tempted to hex McLaggen. Just to see if it actually worked."
As the chatter of the hall continued around them, Harry couldn't help but smile. Sure, he was tangled up in the mess of teenage crushes and unwanted attention, but that was just part of Hogwarts. Besides, he had his friends by his side—and with them, he was pretty sure he could handle whatever weirdness the day threw at him. Even if it involved Cormac McLaggen and his overinflated ego.
—
The halls of Hogwarts were as bustling as ever, students darting through the corridors like hyperactive Nifflers on a sugar rush. Harry, Jean, Hermione, Susan, and Hannah, all in various stages of late-morning disarray, navigated the crowd on their way to Arithmancy, their first class of the day. If Hogwarts was a maze of enchanted stone, then mornings were a maze of teenagers in a hurry. Every now and then, someone would stumble into them, causing the group to briefly split up before coming back together again.
"Are we ever going to make it through a single hallway without bumping into someone?" Hermione muttered, not looking up from her book. "It's like a game of human bumper cars around here."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Harry replied, grinning as he dodged another clueless first-year. "I'm starting to think it's the universe's way of making sure we don't skip class. Constant obstacles."
Jean, walking beside him, raised an eyebrow, her usual calm demeanor contrasted by a slight smirk. "I think you might be onto something there, Harry. Maybe the stairs aren't the real trap—maybe it's just bad timing and people with no sense of personal space."
"Well, that's what I get for being a Gryffindor," Harry said, making a dramatic face. "Always in a rush, always saving the day, and always getting in the way of other people's walks."
"Please," Hermione snorted, "You couldn't even get through a simple game of Wizard's Chess without a whole lecture on strategy. You're the definition of 'trying to save the day' while tripping over your own feet."
"Hey, I won," Harry protested. "That's all that matters."
Jean gave him a pointed look but said nothing, knowing full well that Harry's ego didn't need feeding. Instead, she looked ahead, catching a glimpse of Daphne and Tracey near the classroom. They exchanged a nod and made their way over, slipping into the seats next to them just as Professor Vector entered the room.
Professor Vector—who looked like someone who could probably calculate the trajectory of a falling star while simultaneously stopping a rampaging troll—gave the class one of those intense, laser-focused stares. You know, the kind that could stop a dragon mid-roar. If you weren't already intimidated by her perfectly pressed robes and no-nonsense attitude, her sharp, angular face would do the trick.
"Welcome to Arithmancy," she said, her voice cool and commanding, making everyone sit up a little straighter. "Today, we begin unraveling the mysteries of magical numerology. Some of you may find it… fascinating. Others, less so. But I assure you, you will leave here with a better understanding of how numbers shape our magic."
A silence fell over the class, everyone's attention locked on Professor Vector. For once, even the talkative students seemed oddly quiet. I guess her intense stare could do that to people.
Hermione's hand shot up like a rocket, and Harry knew, deep down, she wasn't asking a simple question. She was about to hit them with an intellectual one-two punch. "Professor Vector, could you explain how the Fibonacci sequence affects the resonance of protective spells?" she asked, her voice brimming with that mix of determination and curiosity that Harry had come to expect—and fear—over the years.
Professor Vector's expression softened for a split second. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Hermione to puff up a little, looking like a cat who'd just caught a particularly smug mouse.
"An excellent question, Miss Granger," she said, clearly impressed. She strode over to the chalkboard, her wand flicking in the air like she was swatting at a fly. A swirl of light followed her movements, revealing the Fibonacci sequence in all its spiral-y glory. "The Fibonacci sequence, Miss Granger, is a mathematical pattern that shows up in nature, art, and, yes, even magic. It creates harmonic frequencies that resonate with the world around us."
Hermione's eyes practically sparkled with excitement. "So, you're saying that if we align our magic with these patterns, we can make our spells… I don't know, more 'in tune' with the universe?"
Professor Vector gave a single, approving nod. "Precisely. The more aligned your magic is with natural patterns, the stronger and more lasting the effects of your spells. In protective magic, it's particularly useful, as it creates an aura of harmony that repels negative forces."
As if that explanation wasn't cool enough, Jean piped up next, her voice smooth as velvet but with a tone that carried authority. "Professor, what about prime numbers? Could they be used in potion brewing to affect the stability of ingredients?"
Harry was already bracing for another intellectual showdown, but Professor Vector's rare smile was all the encouragement Jean needed. "Another insightful question, Miss Grey," Vector said, giving Jean a look that almost made her seem… approving? Jean's brain was likely already whirling with the new knowledge, her mind as sharp as a razor blade. "Indeed, prime numbers have unique properties that can stabilize and enhance certain magical potions."
Harry leaned forward, feeling his own curiosity piqued. "So, like, if you add prime numbers into a healing potion, would it help with tissue regeneration?"
Jean looked at him, eyebrows raised. "You're asking me that?"
"I just thought, you know, it was a valid question. Not everything's about fighting or saving the day." Harry shrugged. "But now that you mention it… if prime numbers can stabilize potions, maybe they could enhance other magical effects."
Professor Vector's approving look settled on Harry, and he felt his chest puff up a little. "Indeed, Mr. Potter, prime numbers can enhance a potion's regenerative properties. It creates a foundation for consistency in healing spells."
The bell rang a moment later, and the class, buzzing with theories, began to pour out into the hall. Harry, Jean, and Hermione exchanged a few quick glances. The awkward electricity in the air was palpable, the kind that came from unspoken words and unfinished conversations. They were still figuring each other out, like characters in the middle of a romance novel where neither party had quite admitted they liked each other yet.
Susan and Hannah fell into step beside them, chatting away about the difficulty of the lesson. "I think I'm finally starting to get it," Susan said, her voice a mixture of determination and mild frustration. "But magic with numbers? It's a bit much for me right now."
Hannah laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Tell me about it. But I'll admit, I kind of like how it makes everything feel more… connected. Like magic isn't just a random, chaotic thing, but something that follows patterns. Makes it seem more like an art."
Harry couldn't help but smile. Hogwarts, with all its chaos, was a lot like that: magic, mysteries, and even awkward crushes, all tied together by invisible threads. And in that moment, he was pretty sure he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life trying to figure out how it all worked.
---
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