If Harry had to sum up a Niffler in one sentence, it would be: Adorable chaos gremlins with an unholy addiction to shiny things.
Alternatively: The reason goblins probably have aneurysms every time someone brings one into Gringotts.
He was currently watching his assigned Niffler—whom he had mentally dubbed Klepto—as it scurried around the enclosure, its little black nose twitching like a bloodhound on the scent of gold. It had already attempted to rob Ron twice.
"Oi!" Ron yelped, slapping at his robes as Klepto burrowed into his pocket like a tiny, furry burglar. "Get outta there, you little thief!"
"Technically," Hermione said, not looking up from her parchment as she carefully sketched her own Niffler, "that's exactly what they do. Nifflers have an innate ability to sense and retrieve valuable objects."
"Yeah, Ron," Harry smirked. "It's not stealing if it's instinct."
"Says the guy who swiped my Chocolate Frog five minutes ago," Ron muttered, finally yanking Klepto out of his pocket. The Niffler just blinked up at him innocently, gold coin in one tiny paw.
Jean, who had paired up with Harry for the assignment, was crouched nearby, sketching their Niffler with a level of concentration that suggested she was either really dedicated to the assignment or pretending to be so no one questioned why she and Harry were whispering about battle strategies.
"Think they'd make good team mascots?" she asked, her tone casual.
"Only if we want to go bankrupt," Harry muttered back, subtly pressing his fingers against Klepto's fur. The second his skin made contact, he focused—not on petting, but absorbing.
A rush of awareness flooded his senses, like someone had just plugged his brain into a new operating system. Suddenly, he could feel things he shouldn't. The faint metallic vibrations beneath the ground. The pull of every single valuable object within a five-foot radius.
Jean's necklace. The sickles and knuts in Ron's pocket. The silver threading in Hermione's sweater buttons. The expensive belt buckle on Malfoy's trousers (which, frankly, said a lot about his priorities).
"Harry?" Jean asked under her breath, sensing the shift in him.
"Still here," he murmured, trying not to let on that he was currently experiencing the world through the eyes of a living treasure detector.
Jean flicked him an amused glance but didn't push. Instead, she kept sketching, playing along.
Meanwhile, Hermione—who had teamed up with Neville—was finishing a ridiculously detailed anatomical drawing, complete with labels like digger paws, kleptomaniac snout, and tiny, criminal hands.
"Honestly," Neville mused, watching his Niffler attempt to dig through solid rock, "I don't see why Hagrid doesn't just let us adopt these instead of, say, Hippogriffs."
"Because," Hermione said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, "Hagrid's idea of 'adorable' tends to involve fire hazards."
Neville nodded solemnly. "Right. Never mind. I'll take the Nifflers, thanks."
Before they could continue discussing the ethics of Hagrid's pet choices, a familiar drawl interrupted them.
"Ugh, honestly, why are we even doing this?"
And there was Draco Malfoy, striding toward them like someone had personally insulted his family legacy by making him touch a Niffler. Behind him, Pansy Parkinson was inspecting her manicured nails like the very air of the enclosure was offensive. Crabbe and Goyle stood behind them, staring at their own Niffler with the kind of dumbfounded awe usually reserved for toddlers discovering their toes.
"If we wanted to play with vermin," Malfoy sneered, "we could've just gone to the Weasleys' house."
Ron turned red. "Say that again, ferret—"
"Leave it, Ron," Hermione sighed, already preemptively tired.
"I mean, really," Pansy continued, flicking her hair dramatically. "This is disgusting. What am I even supposed to do with this—this thing?"
Jean, still sketching, didn't even look up. "Maybe draw it?"
Pansy turned, clearly ready to unleash peak Slytherin pettiness—only to stop short when she actually looked at Jean.
Jean, who was all confidence, effortless beauty, and the kind of self-assured smirk that screamed I don't have time for your nonsense, but I'll put you in your place anyway.
Pansy faltered. Just for a second. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Well, excuse me if I don't have time to sketch filthy little creatures."
"Funny," Jean finally looked up, meeting Pansy's gaze with a slow, assessing once-over. "I thought you had plenty of time to be one."
Harry nearly choked. Hermione actually laughed. Ron let out an undignified snort.
Pansy's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. She looked scandalized.
"I—you—"
Malfoy, sensing incoming disaster, cut in before she could fully explode. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with. Crabbe, Goyle, you two—draw or whatever it is we're supposed to do."
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a look. Then turned back to their Niffler.
Crabbe poked it. "What's it made of?"
Goyle frowned. "I dunno. Fur?"
Harry turned to Jean, shaking his head. "We need a better selection process for new recruits."
Jean smirked. "Yeah, I don't think Malfoy and Co. are exactly MageX material."
Hermione, still sketching, sighed. "Thank Merlin for that."
Meanwhile, Harry was still adjusting to his newfound Niffler instincts. The gold in Malfoy's pocket called to him. He could feel the sickles Pansy had tucked away. The glint of silver on Goyle's belt buckle.
He could steal everything in less than five seconds.
Was it a little unethical? Maybe.
Was it tempting? Absolutely.
Jean shot him a warning look. Don't.
Harry grinned at her. Wouldn't dream of it.
(Mostly.)
But for now, he focused on the actual mission: training MageX. Because as fun as Nifflers were, they weren't exactly going to help in a fight against mutant-hating extremists or rogue Death Eaters.
"Alright," he said, bringing the conversation back on track. "So about the training—what are we thinking?"
Jean tilted her head. "We'll need a mix of combat, strategy, and teamwork. Cedric, Daphne, and Neville have power, but they need refinement. Luna's got instincts, but she needs structure. Tracey… she's a wildcard. She's got magic, but no powers. We need to train her like a support fighter."
Hermione, ever the strategist, tapped her quill against her parchment. "Maybe we could set up different battle scenarios? Simulations?"
"Like a Danger Room?" Jean mused.
Ron frowned. "That sounds… ominous."
"That's because it is," Harry said with a grin. "But it's also exactly what we need."
Jean smirked. "Then I guess we better start planning. Because something tells me we won't be herding Nifflers forever."
And with that, they got to work.
—
As they trudged up the winding staircase to Gryffindor Tower, parchment sketches of Nifflers clutched in their hands, the air buzzed with the aftermath of their Care for Magical Creatures class—and Harry's most recent, utterly bizarre, talent. If "talent" was even the right word. "Gift" might be a better one, but, honestly, he wasn't sure if "sensing treasure" was exactly hero material.
"So, Harry," Jean started, her long strides making it clear she was walking slightly faster than the rest of them, her tone casual but curious. "Aside from your weird ability to smell gold, what else did you get out of that whole Niffler thing? Burrow through walls like an actual animal?"
Harry hesitated, trying to piece together exactly what had changed in him. "Well, I mean, I do feel… faster? And like, lighter on my feet. I don't know how else to explain it." He shrugged. "It's like, suddenly, I just know how to move quicker. Not to mention, I think I could probably dig through stuff if I tried—like with my hands, not paws."
Ron's eyes widened like he'd just discovered Harry had learned to fly on a broomstick without a broom. "Wait, burrow? Like dig under the ground? You're telling me you're basically a Niffler and a mole in one? How fast can you move? You could probably do a lap around the castle in, what—two minutes?"
Harry scratched his head. "I don't know about two minutes. But yeah, I could definitely—"
Before he could finish, Ron grabbed his shoulder, his eyes practically sparkling with evil genius. "Okay, think about it, mate. If you can smell gold, we're going treasure hunting. I'll bring a shovel, you bring your new 'abilities,' and we'll raid Hogwarts. I'm talking treasure hunting in the Forbidden Forest, the Quidditch stands, the lake. You ever see how many coins people drop there during the matches?" He practically vibrated with excitement.
Hermione, walking slightly behind, immediately shot them both a glare. "No, Ron. Absolutely not." She rubbed her forehead in that way she did when she was about to give one of her "I'm so clever, I should be a professor" lectures. "You are not using Harry as a glorified metal detector to loot the school."
"I mean, if Hogwarts didn't want me to loot it, they shouldn't have gifted me a best mate with superpowers," Ron fired back, completely unfazed by Hermione's glare. "You ever hear of destiny, Hermione? Harry and I—we're treasure hunters. This is fate. Plus, think of how many Sickle and Galleon-sized problems it could solve. I wouldn't have to be poor anymore!"
Jean snickered beside Harry, nudging him with her elbow. "I mean, who needs a vault full of gold when you could just—oh, I don't know—scavenge your way to fortune, right? Like a Niffler. You two are basically partners in crime."
"You know," Harry said, glancing down at his sketch of the Niffler, "there's more to it than just gold. It's like—there's this… awareness. Like, I can sense where valuables are. Right now, I'm kind of aware that there's a ring, an old gold ring, jammed between the floorboards on the staircase. Probably some lost old student's heirloom or something. And over by the third step, there's a Knut. No idea how that got there, but, uh... it's there." He waved his hand vaguely in the air.
Ron froze mid-step, looking like Harry had just told him he could turn water into wine. "Wait, what? You can smell that? Like, you can sense it right now?"
"Yeah, I mean, it's not exactly like sniffing it out," Harry said, trying to sound casual. "It's more like… a pull? Or like it's calling to me, you know?"
Ron's eyes lit up. "So we're talking—like, real-life treasure hunting? Like an actual metal detector, but with you as the detector? Mate, this is brilliant. You, me, the Forbidden Forest. We could find—"
"Ron," Hermione cut in, sharply enough that Ron nearly tripped on the stairs, "you cannot just loot Hogwarts. This isn't some treasure hunting game."
Ron turned to her with the kind of look a toddler might give their mother when they've been denied candy. "You say that, Hermione. But imagine—think—no more being poor. You can buy all the books you want, the best seats at the Quidditch matches, and—get this—Hogsmeade candy all year long. We could even get ourselves a boat. Like those goblins who go on expeditions. Harry's the treasure hunter, I'm the assistant. Simple."
Hermione folded her arms and gave him her patented "I'm-not-impressed" stare. "If you want a boat, Ron, maybe start with getting your grades up instead of attempting to loot the school like a common thief."
"Fair," Ron said with a dramatic sigh, but his grin didn't fade. "I'll get the grades. The gold? Harry's got that covered."
At that, Jean, who had been silent for a few moments, raised an eyebrow. "But what else did you pick up from the Niffler thing, Harry? I mean, you can sense treasure, burrow, move faster, and—let's not forget—now you've got a grip like a vice."
Harry flexed his fingers, then suddenly latched onto Ron's sleeve. Ron yelped, trying to tug away, but Harry's grip wouldn't budge.
"Oi!" Ron managed to get out. "What is that?! You've got hands like a bloody vice!"
"Whoa," Harry muttered, surprised by how tight his grip was. "Okay, yeah. Definitely stronger than I thought. This is gonna be awkward if I accidentally start, you know, breaking stuff or squeezing someone's head like a watermelon."
Jean leaned in with a smirk. "Well, that's an interesting power, Harry. Maybe a bit too interesting. What else?"
"Nothing else that I've figured out yet," Harry said, pulling his hand away from Ron's sleeve. "But—" He paused, looking around, as if the next idea had just clicked into place. "I don't know. It's kind of like Nifflers have this bottomless pouch, right? They just stuff things in there and they never seem to run out of space."
Ron's face lit up again, but this time in awe. "You mean… you've got, like, a Niffler pouch inside you? You could store stuff?"
"Possibly?" Harry said, a little uncertain. "I mean, I haven't exactly tried stuffing anything in there yet."
Ron immediately reached into his pocket. "Do you think it'd work with chocolate frogs? I've got one here, mate. Test it out!"
"I'm not shoving chocolate frogs down my pants, Ron," Harry replied, shaking his head, laughing despite himself.
Neville, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke up. "You know, I could really see this working for important stuff. Like if we ever need to find something really valuable, you'd be the one to track it down." He looked at Harry seriously. "You could even use it in battle, right? Get in close, sense the gold, then just… grab whatever you need."
Harry smiled. "Well, when you put it that way, maybe I am going to be a professional treasure hunter."
"Treasure hunter with superpowers," Jean teased, looping her arm through his. "I can't wait to see McGonagall's face when she hears you're part Niffler now."
"I swear, if she assigns me more detention because of it, I'm quitting," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.
Neville just laughed, shaking his head. "At least Hagrid will think it's brilliant. He'll probably want you to help him with his dragon hoard or something."
And with that, the group continued up the stairs, leaving the idea of treasure hunting—possibly starting with a hidden stash of Chocolate Frogs—hanging in the air. But no one could deny it: this adventure was only just beginning.
—
The Gryffindor Common Room was buzzing with the kind of chaos that only first-year students could create. It felt like the entire castle was preparing for some kind of spontaneous, magical riot. Well, that might've just been Harry's imagination running wild. Or maybe it was just the Niffler in him, twitching at every shiny object that might be hiding in someone's pocket.
But today? Today was about something else. Something important. October 27th. The first Hogsmeade weekend of the year. And—Jean's 14th birthday. The girl was practically beaming when she'd announced it over breakfast. Apparently, turning 14 meant she could officially become more mischievous without the "awkward teen" label, or at least that's what Jean had claimed.
"Right," Ron said, throwing himself down onto the couch, his voice thick with excitement. "Hogsmeade. First visit. What are we doing first? Zonko's? Honeydukes? I'm not saying we get to the joke shop first, but… we could."
Hermione, ever the voice of reason, gave him a disapproving look. "I don't think pranking people is the best way to celebrate Jean's birthday, Ron. Maybe we should start with Honeydukes—"
"That's what I said!" Ron grinned, proudly leaning back like he'd just discovered the secret to eternal happiness. "Gotta get the good sweets in before we hit Zonko's for the fun stuff."
Jean, who had been quietly sitting by the fire, rolled her eyes so dramatically Harry thought her head might've spun right off her shoulders. "You're both ridiculous. I'm going straight to the bookshop in Hogsmeade. Honestly, how old are we? We can't live off candy and pranks forever."
"You know you could, right?" Neville chimed in, his face lighting up like he'd just discovered fire. "I mean, it's Hogsmeade… you can definitely get away with living off candy there."
Jean gave him a sidelong look, clearly trying to hide her smile. "Fair point," she said, but then turned to Harry, who was deep in thought. It wasn't that he didn't want to go to Zonko's or Honeydukes—no, Harry was all in for sweets and magic trickery. But this was Jean's birthday, and he wanted to make it special. He was already formulating some plan in his head (probably something involving Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and a lot of jokes about Gilderoy Lockhart).
"You guys are making it sound like there's only one place to go," Harry said, breaking into a grin. "How about starting with a few sweet things, then getting something unique from the magical trinket shop?"
Jean raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful smile. "You are full of ideas today, Harry. We might just take you up on that."
As the group continued to chatter, getting even more excited about their plans, a voice suddenly cut through the noise like a knife made of irritating.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Gryffindor Gang, planning an epic birthday bash." Cormac McLaggen, ever the guy who thought his opinion was worth more than anyone else's, sauntered over with his chest puffed out and a grin that suggested he was far more pleased with himself than anyone else would ever be.
Jean, rolling her eyes for the fourth time that day, crossed her arms. "Oh, it's you," she said, voice thick with sarcasm. "What is it this time, McLaggen? Gracing us with your presence just in time to ruin everything?"
Ron snorted loudly. "You're lucky you're breathing, mate," he muttered, eyeing McLaggen like he was the last rat on the sinking ship.
McLaggen, however, didn't seem to notice. Or care. He was too busy staring at Jean like she was the only thing worth looking at. "Well, I couldn't help but overhear that it's your birthday, Jean. How could I not help but suggest that your big day be extra special? I mean, a birthday date… what's the point if you're not going with someone who can really show you a good time?"
There was a collective groan from everyone except Hermione, who, much to her credit, raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. Jean, on the other hand, didn't even look phased. If anything, she looked amused.
"A date?" Jean said, as though the idea had just popped into her head like the world's greatest plan. "I mean, I suppose that could make the day even more fun." She turned, locking eyes with Harry and flashing a devilish grin. "Harry, would you like to be my date for my birthday in Hogsmeade?"
There was a beat of stunned silence. Harry, normally cool and collected (when it wasn't the end of the world), blinked. Then blinked again. He didn't even know what just happened. Jean—Jean—had just asked him to be her date. For her birthday. And she was serious.
"Well, uh…" Harry stammered, his brain feeling like it had just gone into emergency shutdown mode. This was not what he had been expecting today. "Uh, yeah. Sure. I mean, I—I'd love to."
The room seemed to hold its collective breath. Ron was staring at Harry like he'd just sprouted wings and taken off to fly. Neville's eyes flicked between Harry and Jean, and it wasn't clear if he was more confused by the whole idea or impressed by the audacity of it. Hermione, however, seemed more amused than anything else.
"I can't believe this is happening," Ron muttered, his voice high-pitched like he was about to have an aneurysm. "I mean, Harry Potter is going on a date. And it's with Jean. On her birthday."
"I never thought I'd see the day," Neville agreed solemnly.
Hermione's eyes sparkled with barely contained laughter. "You know, Harry, it's very brave of you to volunteer for such a thing."
Jean was now positively grinning. "I'm glad you're up for it, Harry. It's gonna be fun."
As for Cormac? Well, he looked like he'd just been smacked in the face with a cold shower. "Wait—what?!" His smug grin faltered as he looked from Jean to Harry, trying and failing to process what had just happened. "I—I'm right here, you know."
Jean didn't even glance at him as she gave a breezy wave. "You heard him, McLaggen. I'll be going with Harry."
And, just like that, the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year turned into something even stranger than Harry had ever imagined.
"So, we're all set for Hogsmeade?" Ron asked, still clearly dazed. "You've got the date. Do I need to give Harry a pep talk, or…?"
Harry just sighed, leaning back in his chair as he tried to wrap his head around everything. His first date. With Jean. Her birthday. In Hogsmeade.
This was going to be something, all right.
—
As soon as the word got out that Jean Grey had asked Harry Potter out for her birthday, the Gryffindor Tower buzzed like a hive of enchanted bees. Gossip spread faster than an untamed Firebolt. By dinner, the entire house was practically vibrating with the news. Harry might've hoped for a quiet evening, but he wasn't going to get that. Not when Fred and George Weasley were involved.
The twins made their grand entrance through the portrait hole, practically blocking the view of the common room with the sheer volume of food and drink they were hauling in. Fred, always the ringleader, looked like he'd just won the Quidditch World Cup. And, in his mind, he probably had.
"Alright, move over, mere mortals! We've brought enough snacks to keep you lot from starving through your misery!" Fred bellowed, plopping down crates of Chocolate Frogs and several dozen bottles of Butterbeer like he was unpacking for a week-long holiday.
George didn't waste any time. "Ron, mate, don't just stand there. This isn't your average party food. Step aside and let us handle this!"
Ron, already looking slightly uncomfortable at the attention Harry was getting, stepped aside reluctantly. He caught Harry's eye and gave him a look that screamed I don't know if I should be proud of you or worried. Harry could practically hear his friend's internal monologue: It's Jean Grey, mate. Jean Grey—and you, you idiot, didn't even realize you liked her until she asked you out!
Fred and George immediately led the charge, turning the common room into a full-on celebration. The twins were experts at this kind of thing—chaotic, loud, and somehow organized despite the madness. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie followed close behind, their arms full of more treats, and joined the crowd quickly.
Fred, grinning like the Cheshire cat, looked over at Harry, who was now surrounded by people offering their congratulations and teasing him endlessly. "Well, well, well! Who's the lucky guy who finally bagged the mysterious Jean Grey?" he said, clapping Harry on the back so hard it almost sent him face-first into the nearest table.
"Thought she'd never ask, mate," George added, waggling his eyebrows. "We knew you were all mopey about it, but to think you actually needed her to make the move—classic Potter."
Ron, who was trying to seem happy for Harry, threw in his two cents. "You've been moaning about her for ages, Harry. And you didn't even see it? The way you look at her when she wasn't looking? Merlin, mate, it was as obvious as a Hagrid-sized pumpkin."
Harry, who was still reeling from the whirlwind of what just happened when Jean asked him out, could only manage a small laugh. "Yeah, well, I'm still kind of processing it myself," he admitted, trying not to blush like an embarrassed Weasley. "But, uh, thanks for the… support?"
Fred and George exchanged a look, then burst into laughter. "Mate, it's a party, not a support group," Fred said, gesturing toward the growing chaos in the room. "The whole house knows now. If we didn't make a big deal of it, we'd be letting down the collective Gryffindor spirit."
Ron, ever the awkward supportive friend, shot Harry a grin. "You've got to admit, this is huge. Like, bigger than when you saved the Philosopher's Stone. Who knew Jean Grey had it in her to make a move like that?"
Neville, who had been standing nearby, cleared his throat and looked at Harry with a mixture of pride and awkwardness. "You—uh, you must've been a nervous wreck when she asked, huh? I mean, I would've been. Not every day someone like Jean Grey notices you."
Harry, still processing everything, nodded, trying to hide his disbelief. "Yeah, you could say that. I definitely wasn't expecting it."
Just then, the trio of Angelina, Alicia, and Katie came to a halt in front of Jean, who was already laughing at something Hermione had just said. They all took a moment to eye each other, clearly preparing for what could only be described as girl talk.
Hermione, her eyes lighting up with that mischievous spark she always got when she knew something Harry didn't, leaned toward Jean with a knowing smile. "I'm proud of you," she said, giving her friend an enthusiastic nudge. "You did it. You finally went for it!"
Ginny, always a bit more straightforward, crossed her arms and smirked at Jean. "Harry's an idiot when it comes to this sort of thing. But don't worry, it's clear he's into you. He just doesn't know how to show it yet. He's still figuring out how not to be a complete prat."
Jean gave her a half-laugh, raising an eyebrow. "You mean the guy who needed me to ask him out to get it through his thick skull that I liked him?" She grinned. "Not my first choice in dating tactics, but hey, it worked."
Alicia, always one to enjoy a little banter, leaned in. "It's a Gryffindor thing. They're all like that. Trust me, the minute he realizes what's going on, he'll be an absolute mess."
Katie nodded sagely, her smile full of warmth. "You two are perfect together. But don't go easy on him. Let him sweat it out a little. He deserves it for being so slow on the uptake."
Jean's grin grew even wider. "Oh, don't worry. I'm definitely not letting him off the hook."
As the night went on, the common room became a cacophony of laughter, teasing, and general mayhem. Fred and George's party planning skills were in full force, and the entire Gryffindor house was celebrating like they'd just won the Triwizard Tournament. But through all the noise, Harry couldn't help but feel a little nervous excitement brewing in the pit of his stomach. This whole 'dating Jean Grey' thing was a lot to take in, and he was beginning to suspect he had a whole new set of problems to deal with.
Ginny and Hermione exchanged a quiet look across the room. They both knew the truth—they were not immune to Harry's charm. But they also knew that sometimes, people had to go through their own journeys. And as long as Harry was happy, they'd be supportive. Even if it meant hiding the fact that they both secretly wished they were the ones he was dating instead.
But for now, the only thing that mattered was that Harry had a date with Jean Grey. And Harry? He was about to find out that being the 'guy who gets the girl' wasn't always as easy as it seemed. Especially when that girl was Jean Grey.
And let's just say, the ride had only just begun.
—
Sirius Black sat across from Amelia Bones, trying to look like a professional, but honestly, he was feeling more like a kid at his first job interview. You know, the one where you spend the whole time wondering if everyone can tell that you have absolutely no idea what you're doing? Yeah, that was Sirius right now.
He was supposed to be focusing on the Peter Pettigrew manhunt—big deal, important, world-changing stuff. But no, his brain was completely distracted by the Godfather Sense—yes, he had his own sense for these things, and no, he couldn't explain it, but it was there. And today, it was tapping him on the shoulder like a waiter asking if he wanted more bread. Something big was happening with Harry, something... awesome.
"I swear, I can feel it," Sirius muttered, squinting at some paperwork that looked entirely unrelated to anything. He just didn't have the focus for this. "Something's happening. I don't know what, but Harry—he's up to something. Spectacular. Like, 'something only a wizard with serious swagger would do.'"
Amelia didn't look at him like he'd just announced he was going to turn into a Hippogriff and fly away. In fact, she barely even raised an eyebrow—the sign of an actual adult.
She glanced up from her papers with an amused smile that somehow made Sirius feel like a puppy that had just learned how to do a trick.
"Auntie Sense," she said, her voice light but firm. "It's not as dramatic as your... 'Godfather Sense,'" she added, giving him a side-eye that was almost a compliment. "But I get it. When Susan's about to do something reckless, dangerous, or just... well, Susan, I can feel it. Like, deep down in my bones. It's not magic, not like you and Harry. But it's there."
Sirius blinked at her, still not fully processing what she was saying. "You—what? Wait, you've got a sense like mine? Really?"
Amelia just raised an eyebrow, looking like she'd been preparing for this kind of question her whole life. "It's not magic, Sirius. It's the kind of thing that happens when you care about someone. Like a parent would, but I'm an aunt. So... Auntie Sense."
"Auntie Sense?" Sirius echoed, still in shock. He was pretty sure that wasn't a thing in any magical textbook he'd ever read. "You mean to tell me you've got some weird, mystical connection to Susan, where you just know when she's about to get herself in trouble?"
Amelia leaned back in her chair, giving him a knowing smile. "It's not mystical, Sirius. It's just... a thing. You know, that feeling when someone you care about is doing something wild. Like sneaking off to meet a dangerous wizard or, in Susan's case, talking back to me in a way that's almost certainly going to get her into trouble."
Sirius' mouth hung open. He closed it, opened it again, and finally blurted out, "You—you've got a 'spidey sense' for trouble?"
Amelia chuckled, clearly enjoying this way too much. "I don't know if 'spidey sense' is the right term, but sure. We can go with that." She winked at him. "And if Susan gets herself into some serious mess because she's been listening to you for advice, I'm going to have to blame you, you know."
"Me?!" Sirius exclaimed, putting his hands up in mock defense. "I'm a great influence, thank you very much." He tried to look innocent, which was about as effective as a werewolf trying to play hide-and-seek.
Amelia raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Sure you are. Just like I'm sure Susan never tries to sneak out at night to 'save the day'—in the most Susan way possible."
Sirius grinned. "Fine. I'm not subtle. But I worry about the kid. You know, he's got that spark. And it always leads to something crazy. But today, something's different. Something's big. I can feel it. Whatever it is, it's gonna be insane."
Amelia leaned back, her posture relaxing just slightly. "He's your godson. Of course you're going to feel it. It's natural. But you're right about one thing—whatever Harry's about to do next, it's going to be big. And knowing him, he'll probably pull it off."
Sirius let out a long breath and gave her a look that could only be described as nostalgic. "He always does. But if he doesn't—well, that's why I'm here, right?"
"You're here to make sure he does," Amelia corrected, her voice soft but firm. "Just like you always have been. And you'll keep doing it, won't you?"
"Wouldn't dream of anything else," Sirius said with a grin that was pure mischief. He raised his mug in a mock toast. "To weird, unexplainable connections with people we care about."
Amelia clinked her mug against his with a smile that was half fond, half amused. "I'll drink to that."
The two of them sat there for a moment, the weight of their strange, inexplicable senses settling between them like some sort of unspoken bond. It was a little surreal, honestly. One moment, they were discussing murderers and manhunts, and the next, they were sharing an understanding about their weird family connections. It wasn't magic. It wasn't complicated. But it worked. And sometimes, that was enough.
Sirius leaned back, flashing her another smirk. "So, when Susan does something crazy, like getting caught in the middle of an explosive situation—do you get that panic feeling? You know, the one where you want to pull your hair out and scream 'I told you so!'?"
Amelia's gaze narrowed slightly, a spark of maternal annoyance flickering. "Not unless she's been listening to you," she said with mock severity. "And if that happens, you and I are going to have words."
Sirius held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll try to be less of a bad influence on the future of the Bones family." He waggled his eyebrows. "For now, anyway."
Amelia's smile was a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You'll be good... for now," she said, her voice laced with mock threat. "But you'll always be the fun one. Just don't teach Susan how to fly on broomsticks without a helmet, alright?"
"Deal." Sirius grinned like a mischievous schoolboy, and just like that, the conversation drifted back into the comfortable silence that only came from people who truly understood each other.
Whatever was happening with Harry, wherever he was, Sirius could feel it. It was going to be something. And he didn't need to know all the details to know one thing for sure:
Harry was going to be just fine.
Probably.
---
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