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𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞:
𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔰

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𝕿HE OPENING RIFF OF MEN AT WORK'S 'DOWN UNDER' FILLED THE HEADPHONES. George's lips quirked up as he nodded slightly to the beat. A grin slowly spread across his face, lighting up his features with that mischievous warmth you had come to know so well.

"Alright, not bad," George admitted, his voice tinged with reluctant approval. Both of you were seated on the windowsill of the abandoned classroom, legs dangling over the edge. "Bit weird, but catchy."

"They're one of my uncle's favorites," you chuckled, leaning back triumphantly against the stone wall that framed the window. "Practically grew up with them."

The song faded, and the next track — a classic by Ray Charles — started up. George, ever the entertainer, immediately began tapping his hands on his knees, mimicking drum beats, and crooning exaggeratedly off-key to 'Hit the Road Jack'.

You clutched your sides, laughter spilling out of you. "Please, never do that again."

"Never say never," he quipped, pulling the headphones off briefly to wink at you. "What's next?"

"The best," you replied, grinning as you reached into your bag and pulled out the tape you'd saved for last. "The Temptations. They're the group you caught me listening to the first time you found me here."

"Oh, them, huh?" George leaned closer, curiosity lighting his features as you swapped the cassette. "I remember that one song being good."

As 'Ain't Too Proud to Beg' began to play, George's playful demeanor softened. He leaned back slightly, the teasing glint in his eyes giving way to genuine interest as the gentle harmonies filled his ears.

"Wow," he muttered, almost to himself, his voice quieter than usual. "I think I like them the best."

"Really?" you asked, watching him carefully. George leaned his head back against the cool stone wall, the headphones snug over his ears as the Temptations' smooth harmonies played on. His fingers began to drum lightly on the windowsill, keeping time with the upbeat rhythm.

You watched him closely, your heart catching in your throat every time he smiled at a particular lyric or hummed along to the melody. It wasn't often you saw George this calm — focused on something other than his next prank or joke.

When the song ended, George pulled the headphones down around his neck, his grin firmly in place. "Alright, you've got me. These guys are brilliant."

"You don't have to sound so shocked," you laughed, though you couldn't help the pride in your voice.

"What was the first song of theirs that you showed me again?" George asked, leaning forward to peer into your bag. His proximity made your breath hitch. "The one from last time?"

"'My Girl,'" you answered, your voice a touch unsteady. "It's their most popular song."

"You got that one on you?" He inquired, leaning even closer to rummage through your tapes with unselfconscious ease. "I wanna listen to that one again, just to remember what it sounded like."

Your cheeks warmed at his closeness, the subtle scent of fresh parchment and faintly burnt wood teasing your senses. Quickly turning back to the player, you fumbled with the buttons, grateful for the distraction.

"Yeah, I've got it here," you replied, forcing your tone to remain steady.

As the familiar opening chords of 'My Girl' filled the headphones, George leaned back against the wall, utterly at ease. His eyes drifted shut as he took in the music, a soft smile lingering on his lips before he started mouthing the lyrics that he vaguely remembered: "I guess you'd say, 'What can make me feel this way?' My girl, my girl, my girl, talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl."

You, on the other hand, found it impossible to focus on anything but the way the light from the window played across his face, and the quiet flutter of your own heartbeat, racing in secret.

The History of Magic classroom buzzed with quiet chatter as Professor Binns floated at the front of the room, droning on about goblin rebellions. His monotonous voice faded into the background as your group gathered at the back, sitting in your usual spots. The atmosphere was warm, comfortable, and filled with whispered exchanges and muffled laughter.

"Alright, new topic," Kyra declared, leaning forward on the desk, her mischievous grin promising she was about to stir things up. Her hazel eyes darted around the small group. The flickering light from the enchanted lantern above cast playful shadows across her face. "Let's talk about fears."

"Fears?" Seamus echoed skeptically, one eyebrow arching as he leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms, his expression somewhere between amused and intrigued. "What, like spiders and stuff?"

"Sure," Kyra hummed with a casual shrug, her tone light but insistent. "Or something bigger. It doesn't have to be creepy crawlies. Think outside the box."

Neville shifted uncomfortably in his chair on the other side of Dean. His fingers fidgeted with the corner of his textbook, the anxious motion drawing your attention. You caught the faint furrow of his brow and the way his gaze dropped toward the table.

You offered him a small, reassuring smile from across the table, a silent gesture that seemed to settle him slightly. The tension in his shoulders eased just enough for him to glance back at you with a tentative nod.

Kyra, oblivious to the quiet exchange, scanned the group eagerly, her grin widening as if she were challenging them to bare their deepest secrets. Seamus rolled his eyes but leaned forward, clearly ready to contribute, while Dean stifled a chuckle and mumbled something under his breath about "this should be good."

"I'll start," Kyra announced, twirling her quill between her fingers with a dramatic flair. Her grin was bright, her confidence unshakable as she leaned back in her chair, relishing the attention of the group. "I hate dark water. Like, swimming in the ocean when you can't see what's underneath? Nope. Not happening."

Alana, perched gracefully on the edge of her seat, let out a quiet laugh under her breath. "You're scared of fish?" She teased, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Her tone was light and there was a playful glint in her eye.

"Not fish," Kyra shot back, her grin widening. She sat up straighter, pointing her quill toward Alana as though accusing her of underestimating the gravity of the situation. "It's the idea of something grabbing your foot and pulling you under. The idea of the unknown. Like, what if you drown and you can't see anything but the abyss? It's creepy."

Dean, who had been absentmindedly sketching on the corner of his parchment, chuckled at that. He set down his quill and leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the table. "That's fair," he admitted, nodding. "The ocean is pretty terrifying."

"What about you, Dean?" Alana asked, her head tilted slightly as her curious gaze settled on him.

Dean hesitated, his hand resting on the edge of the table as he glanced at each of you. Finally, he let out a sigh, his lips quirking into a half-smile. "Alright," he began, his tone both sheepish and amused. "I'm scared of disembodiment. You know, like a dismembered hand walking on its own because it's possessed by a spirit or something."

The group reacted immediately, a mix of disgusted groans and laughter breaking the tension.

"That's quite literally terrifying," you muttered, your voice low but laced with genuine agreement. Your reaction earned a quiet laugh from Seamus, who gave you a quick nod.

"No one has to hear you out on that one, mate," Seamus added, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "I think everyone understands."

Amidst the laughter, you caught Neville fidgeting slightly out of the corner of your eye. His hands were clasped tightly together, his thumbs nervously rubbing against one another. Gently, you turned to him, your voice soft. "What about you, Neville?"

Neville looked up at the mention of his name, his cheeks flushed a faint pink as if he were suddenly aware that all eyes were on him. He offered a small, awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "Um... probably Professor Snape," he admitted after a moment, his voice almost drowned out by the sound of the group's renewed laughter.

The laughter wasn't cruel — it was lighthearted and understanding. Neville chuckled too, though he still seemed slightly self-conscious. "No, seriously," he added, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "He terrifies me."

"That's not even a fear," Seamus interjected, his tone teasing but good-natured. "That's just self-preservation."

"I'll go next," Alana offered, her voice steady but tinged with a hint of reluctance. She shifted in her chair, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear as she spoke. "I'm scared of heights. I can't stand being up high unless there's something solid under me and a good railing around me. Like, what if I fall?"

Her admission hung in the air for a moment, met with understanding nods rather than judgment.

"Fair enough," Kyra commented with an easy shrug, her tone light. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as her curious gaze flicked to the next person. "What about you, Seamus?"

Seamus straightened in his seat, his expression betraying nothing. He let the silence linger for a beat longer than necessary, then deadpanned with impeccable timing, "Explosions."

The group erupted into quiet laughter, trying their best not to interrupt the ongoing lecture. Even Neville, who had been quiet for most of the conversation, chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Alright, alright," Seamus said with a sheepish grin, holding his hands up in surrender. "Maybe not explosions." His grin faded slightly as his tone turned thoughtful. "But... failure, I guess? Like, messing something up so badly that I can't fix it."

His voice softened, and the playful atmosphere of the group shifted, replaced with a quiet, contemplative energy. Seamus glanced down at his hands, tapping a finger on the edge of the desk as if the admission had cost him more than he cared to show.

"That's... pretty relatable," you agreed gently, your voice breaking the silence. You nodded in understanding, your gaze meeting Seamus's briefly before looking away, sensing the weight of his words.

Kyra, always one to steer the conversation back on track, turned to you with a curious look. "What about you?" she asked, her tone light but genuine.

You froze for a moment, suddenly hyper-aware of the attention in the group. The gazes of your friends — curious, expectant — felt heavier than they should have. Your fingers twisted a quill in your lap, the soft scratch of the feather against your thumb grounding you slightly.

"I... don't know," you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a murmur. The truth was, you did know — well, you had an idea — but saying it aloud felt like stripping away armor you didn't realize you'd been wearing. You glanced around the room, the faces of your friends kind and patient, before drawing in a steadying breath.

"I guess I'm afraid of being invisible," you admitted quietly. "Not like literally invisible. I mean, like... being overlooked. Forgotten. Like I could disappear and absolutely no one would notice, or care."

For a moment, no one spoke. Your heart pounded as you waited for someone to break the silence. Finally, Kyra leaned forward, her expression softer than usual. "That's... pretty deep," she muttered, her voice gentle.

Neville nodded slowly. "I think everyone feels that way sometimes," he agreed, his own voice quiet but understanding.

"Yeah," Dean added, offering you a reassuring smile. "I don't think you have to worry about that, though. You're kind of hard to miss."

His attempt to lighten the mood earned a few chuckles, including one from you. "Thanks, I think?" You replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Seamus leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. "Well, if you ever feel invisible, just hang out with me. I've got a talent for getting us both noticed, whether we want to be or not."

"Just because I don't want to be invisible doesn't mean I want attention," you clarified with a chuckle, the tension easing in your chest.

The greenhouse was unusually quiet, sunlight streaming through the glass panels in golden streaks that bathed the rows of exotic plants. You and Neville were seated at one of the worktables near the back, where your Mimbulus Mimbletonia sat proudly in its pot. It had grown noticeably since you'd planted it, its lumpy surface dotted with tiny, green nubs—evidence of its slow but steady progress.

"Alright," Neville began, adjusting his herbology journal and dipping his quill into the inkpot. "Let's start with the basics. Height, color... uh, and any new sprouts since last time."

You nodded, leaning forward to inspect the plant. "It's grown about an inch taller, I think," you mentioned, tilting your head to double-check. "And... those bumps weren't there before." You pointed to a cluster near the base.

"Right," Neville agreed with a small smile, jotting it down quickly in his notebook.

The two of you fell into a rhythm: You calling out data to record, Neville marking it down and occasionally asking questions about the plant's properties. At first, it was the usual awkward sort of silence that always seemed to settle between you two, but it didn't take long for things to feel easier.

"Did you know..." Neville began, breaking the silence as he reached to adjust the sunlight exposure on the plant. "That if we water it just a little too much, it'll squirt stink sap everywhere?"

"I think I remember Professor Sprout mentioning that," you chuckled, nodding slowly.

Neville chuckled too, his cheeks turning slightly pink. "Yeah. I think it happened to Seamus one time..."

"It definitely happened to Kyra," you agreed, both of you laughing at the vague image of Seamus and Kyra getting doused in stink sap.

The two of you worked steadily, occasionally exchanging thoughts about the project or lighthearted comments about Herbology in general. It surprised you how easy it was to talk to him like this, especially compared to the first few sessions when you barely knew what to say.

When the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the greenhouse, Neville closed his journal with a satisfied sigh. "I think that's everything for today."

"Yeah," you agreed, stretching your arms with a yawn. "It's coming along nicely, isn't it?"

"Definitely," Neville said, glancing fondly at the plant. Then, almost shyly, he added, "It's nice working with someone who actually cares about this stuff."

His words caught you off guard, but you smiled. "Of course, Neville. You're a great person to work with."

For a moment, the two of you simply sat there, a comfortable silence settling between you. Outside, the sky was painted in soft hues of orange and pink, and the warmth of the greenhouse felt just a little cozier than usual.

The Astronomy Tower was empty, the usual noise of students lost to the whispers of the night. The large windows allowed the moonlight to spill in, casting soft shadows over the scattered parchment and half-filled ink pots. You and Blaise were both huddled over a large piece of parchment, mapping the constellations while occasionally consulting your textbooks for information on magical phenomena associated with them.

You could feel the weight of the silence, though. Blaise was focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he neatly marked down symbols next to each constellation. You, on the other hand, felt more like a fish out of water. The quiet moments with him always left you feeling strangely nervous and his calm demeanor only amplified your nerves.

Trying to focus on the task at hand, you shifted slightly in your seat. "So, um... do you think this constellation connects to the, uh, magical flux at the Forbidden Forest?" You asked, your voice a little shakier than you intended.

You immediately regretted it.

What if it didn't?

What if he thought you were silly for asking?

Blaise glanced over at you, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, I think it does. Good catch," he commented, his tone easy and reassuring, as though he hadn't even noticed your nervousness. You gave a tight smile, feeling the warmth of his words but still feeling unsure.

"Hey," Blaise piped up after a moment, pushing away from the table. "How about a break? I've been sitting in the same position for hours."

You looked up, startled by the idea of stepping away from the project, but nodded anyway. "Sure," you agreed quietly, watching him stand and make his way to the balcony. He glanced over his shoulder as if expecting you to come along.

Despite your confusion, you began to stand and followed him as he led you toward the open balcony. The cool night air greeted you as soon as you stepped outside, and you both moved to sit at the edge of the balcony. The view was breathtaking, the grounds of Hogwarts stretching out below in a blanket of darkness, punctuated by the twinkling lights of distant stars.

Blaise swung his legs over the side first, his boots hanging loosely in the air, and you followed suit, letting your legs dangle off the edge. For a moment, you were simply caught in the stillness, the only sound being the soft rustling of the wind.

After a beat, Blaise broke the silence, pulling a small