The common room was quiet and empty, illuminated only by the faint orange embers flickering in the hearth and a single ball of light floating above a desk. Harry sat back in his chair, carefully inspecting the two small wooden boxes he had created.
In the first fresh moss-lined box rested the Aurora Petal, its broad surface continually shifting between deep violet, pale silver, and molten gold like trapped stardust. Abigail would be obsessed with it. She would probably spend hours looking at it. In the second box, resting on another bed of fresh moss, lay the Luminaflora Diurna. Its soft red aura glowed pulsed with a steady, soothing radiance, casting a gentle crimson halo across the dark wood of the table.
Harry pulled three sheets of paper toward him, dipping his quill into the ink, and he began writing his letters. A total of three letters, One to his parents and Abigail, one for Sirius, and one for Ginny. In the letters for his family he wrote everything. Details about how the classes had been incredibly boring, on how the castle was quite the prankster, how he had outwitted Snape, and his forest adventure. He also included demand for some of his mother's treacle tart as he had finished the batch he had brought with him.
For Ginny, his quill hovered for a second before moving in a fluid, easy scrawl.
Ginny,
One week down at Hogwarts. Snape is as dramatic as expected in Potions, and keeping Ron from accidentally setting his robes on fire in Transfiguration is already a full-time job. But apart from that, I'm incredibly bored. The castle is great, but I had not thought about actually spending the entire day in classes. So I'm about to take some pages out of the twins book and start pranking everyone.
I came across this while exploring the grounds recently and thought of the Burrow. If you want to know what it actually does, ask your mum. She will recognize it instantly.
Word of advice: when Abigail Floos over, do not let her convince you to try any absurd broom stunts or untested charms while I am not there to catch either of you. You know how she gets when there is no audience.
Harry
PS: Can Mrs. Weasley send over some of that fudge that she makes? Would definitely love that.
He folded both letters, sealing them cleanly with dark red wax stamped with his signet. Getting up from the seat, he cast a subtle Disillusionment Charm over himself, feeling the familiar sensation of cool water washing down his shoulders before blending into the shadows of the room.
Moving silently through the corridors, he made his way up to the Owlery. The high, drafty tower smelled of straw and fresh night air. Dozens of roosting owls shifted on their perches, their eyes gleaming like pale coins in the dark.
Harry undid the Disillusionment Charm and looked for Hedwig. Suddenly a snowy white figure dropped gracefully from the high rafters, landing on the stone ledge right beside him with a soft rustle of feathers.
"Hey, girl," Harry whispered, stroking her head.
Hedwig hooted softly, nipping his fingers.
"Two deliveries tonight," Harry murmured, carefully securing the larger package and two letters for his family to her left leg before attaching the smaller box for Ginny to her right. "Take the main one home first. One letter is Sirius as well. Once you rest, take this one over to Ginny at the Burrow. There is no hurry in returning."
Hedwig let out an intelligent click of her beak, nipping his fingers in agreement. Harry gave her some treats from his subspace pouch and then raised his hand over her wings. "Just a small spell to make sure you don't get too tired of the long journey."
A faint golden shimmer washed over her white feathers, suffusing her wings with enhanced speed and stamina for the flight. Hedwig puffed out her chest proudly, feeling the surge of fresh energy.
"Safe flight," Harry said gently.
With a swift leap, Hedwig launched herself into the night. She cut through the crisp air, her white outline silhouetted against the bright moon before vanishing over the distant horizon.
A few hours later, the morning sun was just beginning to spill across the slanted ceiling of Ginny Weasley's bedroom at the Burrow. Through her half-open window, the cool September breeze rustled through the Holyhead Harpies posters tacked to her walls.
Ginny lay flat on her back, staring up at the wooden beams with a look of mild irritation.
One week. It had been a full week since Ron and Harry had boarded the Hogwarts Express, and neither of them had sent a single piece of parchment back to the Burrow.
Ron she could excuse to some degree. Her brother possessed the emotional range of a gnomish radish and was likely too distracted by the food and exploding bonbons to remember he had a family. But Harry was a different story. They had spent almost the entire month of August hanging out together. Harry and Abigail had basically lived at the Burrow during the daytime, flying around the orchards, causing chaos in the garden, and eating half of her mother's cooking.
"If he thinks getting into Hogwarts gives him an excuse to go radio silent after a whole week, he has another thing coming," Ginny muttered to herself, turning onto her side.
She kicked off her blankets, sitting up with a determined huff. She was not going to waste a perfectly good Sunday sulking about boys who forgot to write. Besides, today was going to be brilliant. Luna was coming over from the Rookery after breakfast, and Abigail was scheduled to Floo in from the Dursley estate around noon. With the three of them together, they were going to tear through the orchard on their brooms and test out a few trick maneuvers she had been practicing.
A sharp, crisp thud against the window pane broke her train of thought.
Ginny snapped her head toward the glass. Sitting gracefully on the outer sill, her white feathers gleaming in the morning sunlight, was a familiar snowy owl.
"Hedwig?" Ginny gasped, scrambling out of bed so fast her knees nearly caught the bedframe.
She yanked the window open. Hedwig fluttered inside with an authoritative hoot, landing square on the wooden desk and shaking out her feathers. Tied neatly to her right leg was a small, velvet-lined box and a sealed letter bearing Harry's clean handwriting.
"You actually came," Ginny said, her voice filled with a mix of surprise and immediate satisfaction. "I knew he wouldn't completely forget."
She quickly poured a cup of fresh water from the pitcher on her nightstand and set it in front of the owl. Hedwig dipped her beak into the water with an appreciative click before allowing Ginny to stroke the soft feathers atop her head.
Ginny untied the letter and package with swift, deft fingers. She broke the red wax seal on the parchment first, scanning the lines quickly. A sharp, amused smirk spread across her face as she read his warning about Abigail.
"Like I need a reminder about how reckless Abigail is," she murmured softly, though a fond smile tugged at her lips.
Setting the letter down, she picked up the small wooden box. The wood was smooth, carved with delicate filigree along the edges. She lifted the latch and tilted the lid back.
The room was instantly flooded with a warm, crimson light.
Ginny caught her breath. Resting inside on a bed of dark green moss was a single white flower plant, its delicate petals pulsing with a steady, rhythmic radiance. A subtle crimson halo shimmered around the bloom, filling the air around her desk with a clean, soothing warmth that made her skin tingle pleasantly.
"What in the world..." she whispered, leaning closer.
She reached out with a hesitant finger, gently brushing the tip of one petal. A faint hum of pure, wild magic resonated through her hand, sending a comforting warmth straight up her arm. It felt grounded, ancient, and utterly untouched.
The sound of footsteps climbing the creaky wooden stairs echoed from the hallway outside.
"Ginny! Breakfast is almost ready, dear! Your father needs to leave for the Ministry soon!"
The door swung open, and Molly Weasley stepped into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. "Honestly, I have been calling you for five minutes, what are you..."
Molly trailed off mid-sentence, her eyes locking onto the glowing source of light on Ginny's desk.
The room fell completely silent. Molly stepped forward, her exasperated expression melting into pure, unadulterated shock. She stopped right beside the desk, staring down at the pulsating white flower as if she could hardly believe her own eyes.
"Ginny," Molly said softly, her voice carrying a rare, hushed reverence. "Where on earth did you get that?"
Ginny looked up from the desk, a cool, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Hedwig brought it just now. Harry sent it."
"Harry?" Molly blinked rapidly, looking between her daughter and the glowing bloom. She carefully reached out, hovering her hand over the flower without touching it, feeling the radiant warmth washing off the petals. "Ginny... this is a Luminaflora Diurna."
"A what?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A Luminaflora Diurna," Molly repeated, shaking her head in sheer disbelief. "They are exceptionally rare magical plants, Ginny. They bloom only in places saturated with untouched, powerful magic. Keeping one nearby guarantees deep, dreamless sleep and wards off malicious magic or night terrors entirely. Most Herbologists go their whole lives without seeing a wild specimen."
Molly looked down at her daughter, her eyes wide. "Harry found this on the school grounds?"
"He said he was exploring and it made him think of the Burrow," Ginny said casually, though a fierce spark of pride flared in her chest. She picked up the letter from the desk and tapped it against her palm. "He told me to ask you if I wanted to know what it did."
Molly let out a breath that was half laugh, half gasp. "Thoughtful doesn't even begin to cover it. You don't just stumble across one of these, Ginny. The plant itself has to accept the person harvesting it, or the bloom fades in seconds."
Molly touched Ginny's shoulder gently, her gaze softening into a warm, knowing expression. "He must have gone through a great deal of trouble to secure something like this for you."
Ginny looked back down at the glowing petals, the warm light reflecting in her brown eyes. The mild annoyance she had felt just ten minutes ago had vanished completely, replaced by a quiet solid confidence.
He hadn't forgotten her. He had been out in the wild looking for something extraordinary, and she was the person he had chosen to send it to.
"Oh, he also added a P.S., Mum," Ginny said with a laugh, holding up the parchment. "He's practically begging for a batch of your homemade fudge."
Molly blinked, the solemn awe on her face instantly melting into a triumphant, radiant smile. "Well! That boy certainly knows how to ask properly," she bustled, practically beaming as she adjusted her apron. "I'll make a double batch after breakfast. Goodness knows if he's giving Ron half of it, the boy will scoff it down before Monday!"
She gave the glowing flower one last appreciative look before turning toward the door, her steps noticeably lighter. "Don't be long, Ginny. The eggs are getting cold."
"I'll be down in a minute," Ginny called back.
As the door closed softly behind her mother, Ginny carefully set the wooden box right on her nightstand. The crimson halo cast a soft, inviting radiance across her pillow, filling the room with a clean, comforting warmth.
She picked up Harry's letter one last time, running her thumb over his familiar handwriting, a bright, unstoppable grin breaking across her face.
In contrast to this, morning at Hogwarts had arrived under a blanket of heavy overcast, the enchanted ceiling above the Great Hall reflecting a quiet, stormy gray. The massive oak doors stood pitched wide open as usual, allowing a cool autumn draft to sweep down the central aisle, carrying the scent of rain, fresh porridge, and warm toast.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, a steaming mug of dark coffee cradled in both hands. He blinked, staring blankly into the dark liquid before letting out a long, heavy yawn that made his jaw ache.
It made no sense. He had gone to bed at a reasonable hour, slept soundly, and yet his limbs felt like they were filled with lead, a subtle, lingering fatigue pulling at the edges of his consciousness.
"Late night, Harry?"
Neville Longbottom, sitting directly across from him, leaned over his bowl of oatmeal, looking at Harry with mild concern. "You've yawned three times in the last two minutes."
Harry took a slow sip of the scalding coffee, feeling the heat travel down his throat. "Not at all. In fact, I slept like a log. I have absolutely no idea why I'm this sleepy."
"Maybe it's the weather," Neville offered helpfully, glancing up at the gloomy ceiling. "My gran says gloomy mornings steal your energy."
Before Harry could reply, two heavy hands landed squarely on his shoulders, startling Neville. Fred and George Weasley materialized on either side of the bench, sliding into the empty space with identical, razor-sharp grins.
"What's this we hear?" Fred began, slinging an arm casually over the table. "The great Harry Potter, brought low by a bit of morning exhaustion?"
"A tragedy," George agreed mournfully, reaching past Harry to swipe a piece of bacon. "Or... a sign of midnight mischief? Out prowling the corridors after curfew, were we, Harry? Trying to find the secret stash of Filch's torture devices?"
Harry rolled his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck as another small yawn caught him off guard. "Nope. No midnight strolls. I was sound asleep in my bed."
"A likely story," Fred tutted, shaking his head. "Though if you ever do decide to wander out past four in the morning, do let us know. We've got a couple of narrow escape routes on the third floor that need testing."
Movement by the towering, open entrance caught his eye. Walking together through the wide doorway were Ron and Hermione, deep in conversation. Hermione was gesturing animatedly with her hand, while Ron walked beside her, looking mildly defensive with his hands shoved into his pockets.
The twins noticed them the same instant Harry did. Fred's eyes lit up like Christmas lights, while George leaned forward with an amused smirk.
"Well, well," Harry said, setting his mug down as an amused glint replaced his drowsiness. "Look who decided to make an entrance. Anything I should be aware of?"
Fred chimed in without missing a beat, "Are our eyes deceiving us, George? Has our little brother finally learned how to walk and talk with a lady at the same time?"
"It appears so, Fred," George sighed dramatically, resting his chin on his hands. "They grow up so fast. Next thing you know, he'll be asking her to help him read his own timetable."
Hermione's step faltered slightly as they reached the bench, a light blush dusting her cheeks, while Ron's ears went instantly crimson.
"Nothing's happening!" Ron snapped, his voice cracking slightly as he threw himself onto the bench opposite Harry. "I overslept, alright? And when I woke up, Harry was gone. You could've at least woken me up, mate." He grabbed a slice of toast, shooting Harry an accusatory look. "Ran into Hermione right outside the common room. That's all."
"Right, right," Fred said solemnly, patting Ron's shoulder. "Coincidences happen, little brother. No need to get all flustered."
"I am not flustered!" Ron barked, taking a furious bite of his toast.
Hermione sat down beside Neville with a huff, smoothing her robes with unnecessary precision. "If you two are quite finished being childish, some of us actually care about being on time." She turned her sharp gaze to Harry, her eyebrows narrowing. "And where were you so early, Harry? You weren't in the common room when I came down."
Harry shrugged smoothly, keeping his expression carefully neutral. "I had gone over to the kitchen to grab myself some steaming coffee as you can see." He explained, nodding towards his cup of coffee.
Fred and George exchanged a sharp, identical look across the table, their eyes widening with sudden, genuine interest.
"The kitchens?" George asked, leaning forward over his plate with an eyebrow raised. "You found the kitchens already?"
"On your first Sunday week?" Fred added, shaking his head in mock reverence. "And here we thought we were looking at a law-abiding student. How did you manage to get past the ticklish pear portrait, Potter?"
"Observation and a bit of curiosity," Harry answered casually, taking another measured sip of the dark brew. The rich, bitter warmth spread through his chest, cutting through the residual fog in his mind. "The house-elves are remarkably accommodating if you ask them politely."
Hermione frowned, her fork hovering halfway to her plate. "Wait, house-elves? The school employs house-elves to run the kitchens? Is that why food just appears on the tables during feasts?"
"Yes Hermione, I believe I told you during the start of the year's feast," Harry yawned again. "They manage the entire culinary production, maintenance, and upkeep of the castle. Very efficient, incredibly polite and they can make you anything you want to eat."
"Well, regardless," Hermione sniffed, though her intellectual curiosity was clearly piqued, "wandering off to the kitchens before dawn just for coffee seems a bit extreme. You could have simply waited for breakfast to be served in the Hall like everyone else."
"Well if you haven't noticed Hermione," Harry said, rubbing his eyes, "we don't get coffee served on the breakfast table."
"He speaks the truth," Fred declared, raising a sausage on his fork in salute. "A man who respects his stomach and his privacy is a man after our own hearts."
"Although," George added, slinging his arm around Ron's chair and making his younger brother flinch, "our dear brother here looks like he could use about three pots of that coffee himself. Look at him, Fred. He is practically chewing his toast in his sleep."
Fred let out a boisterous laugh, slapping the wooden table with his palm. "He's got you there, Granger! Hogwarts is steeped in ancient tradition, and ancient tradition dictates that eleven-year-olds drink pumpkin juice and tea. Coffee is strictly black-market goods."
"Which makes Harry an honorary smuggler," George noted approvingly, reaching across to snatch a link of sausage from Ron's plate. "We might have to invite you on our next midnight reconnaissance mission, Potter. Anyone who can negotiate dark roast from house-elves at five in the morning has a bright future in rule-breaking."
"I wasn't breaking rules," Harry replied smoothly, swirling the remaining dark liquid in his mug. "There is no actual rule in Hogwarts: A History that explicitly forbids a student from visiting the kitchens."
Hermione opened her mouth, likely to argue that the spirit of the rules certainly covered wandering the corridors before dawn, but she paused, squinting at him across the table. "You actually read Hogwarts: A History?"
"Of course," Harry said, setting the mug down. "I have the thing memorised. It was on the required reading list, wasn't it? Better to know where the ward lines and boundary restrictions are drawn than to blindly walk into a trap."
Ron groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands. "Great. Just great. Now there are two of them. I'm surrounded by intellectuals who read three-hundred-page school histories for fun."
"Oh, quiet, Ronald," Hermione said, though a pleased, satisfied alignment seemed to settle over her posture. It was clear she was thrilled to have someone else around who actually bothered to open their textbooks before term started. "It's called preparation. Though, Harry, if you're so exhausted, perhaps you shouldn't be staying up late reading or wandering around."
"I told you, I slept fine," Harry lied seamlessly.
In truth, he had been up since four in the morning, slipping out past the castle gates to the edge of the Forbidden Forest to check on Lumos and make sure the unicorn had taken to the treats he'd left.
"Right," Ron said, reaching for the butter dish. "You're just naturally a morning zombie. Happens to the best of us. Pass the marmalade, will you, Nev?"
Neville, who had been quietly eating his porridge while listening to the back-and-forth, hastily reached for the glass jar and handed it over. "Here you go, Ron."
"Thanks," Ron mumbled, slathering a thick layer onto his toast. "So, what do we have first today? History of Magic, right?"
"History of Magic with the Ravenclaws," Neville confirmed, checking his small pocket diary. "Then double Charms with the Hufflepuffs before lunch."
"And then," Ron said, a genuine grin finally breaking across his face as he gestured wildly with his butter knife, "flying lessons with the Slytherins. Finally, something where we actually get to do something proper instead of sitting around listening to ghosts drone on or writing three feet of parchment on potion ingredients."
"Wait, isn't today Monday?" Harry looked up, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "Shouldn't we have Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws first thing? Followed by History, then Charms after lunch, and ending the day with Herbology?"
Hermione turned to him, pausing mid-spread with her butter knife. "Yes, Harry, but that was last week's schedule. This week is completely different."
Harry stared at her, his mug paused halfway to his lips as his mind worked through the logistical nightmare of that statement. "We have a different schedule every single week?"
"Mate, where have you been living?" Ron looked at him in total disbelief, speaking around a huge bite of his makeshift toast-and-marmalade sandwich. "Didn't McGonagall drop by the common room on Saturday evening to explain that our batch has a rotating timetable every week? Something about balancing out the outdoor practicals with the weather and keeping the house shared classes even?"
Harry blinked, leaning back against the bench and quickly lied. "I stayed late in the library on Saturday evening."
"Oh yes, you were. Well, that explains it," Hermione said briskly, taking a neat sip of her tea. "Honestly, Harry, it's not as bad as it sounds. Since we are the only year that has a rotating schedule because our year has the least number of students and this rotation allows the professors to cool off rather than be overwhelmed with a fixed schedule. And it's fun. Imagine every week a new schedule to follow. It's going to be quite an experience."
"Which also means," Fred chimed in from further down the table, resting his chin in his hand, "you never quite know where you're supposed to be until you ask someone who actually listened."
"Precisely, brother of mine," George said, leaning back with an exaggerated, envious sigh. "Honestly, you first-years have all the luck. They just introduced this whole rotating system this term, you know. You won't find a single word about it in Hogwarts: A History or any other proper book because McGonagall and Dumbledore only cooked it up over the summer."
"It's absolute brilliance," Fred agreed, shaking his head. "It adds just the right amount of chaos to keep each week exciting. One week you're suffering through Potions on a rainy Tuesday morning, and the next you're out on the grounds flying under the afternoon sun. Keeps the professors off-balance too, so they don't get completely overwhelmed grinding through the same tired routine day in and day out."
George tapped his chest dramatically. "Meanwhile, look at us poor third-years. Stuck with the same rigid, soul-crushing schedule from now until the end of the term. If we want a change of scenery on a Thursday morning, our only option is to fake a case of Spattergroit and hide in the hospital wing."
Harry set his coffee mug back down, a look of utter, deadpan disbelief washing over his face. "So you're telling me that Dumbledore looked at a castle filled with shifting staircases, moving doorways, and vanishing corridors, and decided what it really needed was a time-table that changes every seven days?"
"Isn't it wonderful?" Hermione smiled brightly, completely missing the sheer absurdity Harry was pointing out. "It forces everyone to stay sharp and organized! I've already mapped out our entire three-week rotation cycle in my notebook, color-coded by subject and classroom location."
"Great" Harry downed the rest of his coffee in one go. "Well I'm not complaining. Not that complaining will do any good."
Before anyone could react, a rustle of wings echoed from the high rafters above, signaling the arrival of the morning post. Dozens of owls swept through the high, arched windows, gliding down over the tables to drop letters, packages, and copies of the Daily Prophet into the hands of their respective owners.
A large barn owl flapped down right in front of Neville, dropping a small, heavy parcel wrapped in brown paper before taking off toward the perches with a sharp hoot.
"Oh," Neville blinked, looking surprised. "A package? For me?"
"Go on, open it then," Ron urged, leaning over to inspect the brown paper wrapping. "What did you get?"
Neville carefully untied the string and pulled back the paper, revealing a delicate, clear glass ball about the size of a large marble. Inside the glass, swirling wisps of thick white smoke drifted lazily around, catching the grey light of the hall.
"Hey, look everyone!" Seamus Finnigan called out from further down the table, turning around on his bench to look. "Neville got a Remembrall!"
"A Remembrall?" Hermione repeated, her interest instantly spiked. "I've read about those. They're designed to tell you when you forget something, aren't they?"
"Yeah," Neville said, holding the glass sphere carefully in his palm. "My gran sent it to me. She knows I forget things all the time. This lets you know if there's something you've forgotten to do."
"Yes, it starts filling up with red smoke when you have forgotten something," Ron explained.
Almost instantaneously, the swirling white smoke inside the glass shuddered, flushing into a deep, vivid, blood-red hue that pulsed brightly against his skin.
Neville's face fell completely. His shoulders slumped as he stared down at the bright red glass in dismay. "Oh... I've forgotten something."
Ron leaned in closer, genuinely intrigued by the magical artifact. "Well, what did you forget?"
Neville stared at the crimson sphere, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. "That's the problem, isn't it? I don't know!"
"Well, think," Hermione suggested encouragingly. "Did you leave your homework in the common room? Did you forget your quill for History of Magic?"
"I... I thought I brought everything," Neville stammered, looking increasingly panicked as the Remembrall continued to glow a fierce, stubborn red in his grip. "I checked my bag twice before coming down!"
"Maybe it's broke," Ron offered helpfully. "Or maybe your gran forgot to set it right."
Before Neville could respond, a slender, pale hand shot out from behind him, snatching the Remembrall straight out of his fingers.
"Oi!" Neville yelped in surprise, spinning around sharply on the bench.
Draco Malfoy stood directly behind Neville, lazily tossing the glass sphere up and catching it with practiced ease. On either side of him, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle loomed like two heavy, silent stone pillars, smirking down at the Gryffindors with their arms crossed over their broad chests.
"Look at this, boys," Malfoy sneered, his cold grey eyes glinting with arrogant amusement as he turned the Remembrall over in his hand. "Longbottom's gran had to send him a magic toy just to remind him he's an idiot."
"Give it back, Malfoy," Neville said, though his voice wavered slightly as he looked up at the three Slytherins.
"Why should I?" Malfoy asked smoothly, taking a step back and holding the Remembrall up to the light filtering through the open Great Hall doors. "So you can stare at a red ball all day while you try to remember how to tie your shoes? Seems like a complete waste of magic to me."
Several Slytherins at the nearby table snickered, watching the interaction with malicious delight.
Ron stood up from his seat, his face turning almost as red as his hair. "Give it back to him, Malfoy! It's not yours!"
"Make me, Weasley," Malfoy drawled, a dark smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What are you going to do? Throw a piece of buttered toast at me? Or maybe Granger here is going to recite a textbook until I die of boredom?"
Crabbe and Goyle chuckled heavily at the jab, stepping forward to block Ron's path.
Hermione stood up as well, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides. "Put it down, Draco! That's stealing, and I can easily report this to Professor McGonagall!"
"Go ahead and run to McGonagall," Malfoy scoffed, completely unbothered. "I'll just say I found it on the floor. Or maybe... I'll just leave it somewhere high up where Longbottom can't reach it." He fake-tossed the glass ball into the air again, making Neville flinch visibly. "Oops. Almost dropped it."
Harry stood up and stepped in front of Draco. His emerald eyes locked onto his face.
Malfoy's sneer froze mid-sentence.
"Give it back, Draco," Harry said calmly. His voice was quiet. It wasn't raised in anger, nor did it carry a threat.
But Draco still remembered the scene from the train and hesitated.
"I... I was just looking at it, Potter," Malfoy muttered, his voice losing its arrogant drawl and dropping into a defensive strain. "No need to get all theatrical."
Harry didn't blink. He didn't repeat himself. He simply maintained that cool, expectation-filled stare, waiting for Malfoy to make the only sensible choice available to him.
Malfoy clicked his tongue in frustration, looking away from Harry's eyes as he tossed the Remembrall onto the wooden table right in front of Neville.
"Keep your stupid toy, Longbottom," Malfoy sneered weakly, trying to save face as he turned sharply on his heel. "Come on."
Crabbe and Goyle didn't need to be told twice. They scrambled to follow Malfoy as he walked rapidly away toward the Slytherin table, his posture stiff and his head held high, though he didn't look back once.
Neville let out a long, ragged exhale, his shoulders dropping as he quickly scooped the glass ball off the table and clutched it to his chest. "Thanks, Harry. Really. I thought he was going to break it."
"Don't worry about it, Neville," Harry said smoothly, sitting back down onto his bench and picking up his coffee mug as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "He just needed a gentle reminder on boundaries."
Ron let out a low, impressive whistle, shaking his head as he sat down beside Harry. "Mate, I swear you didn't even lift a finger and Malfoy looked like he was about to jump out the window. What did you do to him on the train, anyway?"
"Just established an understanding," Harry replied lightly, taking a sip of his coffee.
Hermione frowned, her eyes scanning Harry with deep scrutiny as she sat back down. "You shouldn't use intimidation like that, Harry. It only encourages him to be more underhanded next time. He's going to hold a grudge."
"Let him," Harry smirked faintly over the rim of his mug. "A grudge requires the ability to do something about it. Malfoy lacks the capacity."
Hermione opened her mouth to lecture him on school harmony and diplomatic conflict resolution, but before she could start, Harry turned his head toward Neville, examining him critically.
"By the way, Neville," Harry noted casually, gesturing with his spoon toward Neville's upper torso. "I think I know why your Remembrall was red."
Neville blinked, looking down at the glass sphere in his hand, which was still glowing a stubborn, fiery crimson. "You do? What did I forget?"
Harry pointed to Neville's clothes. "You forgot your robes."
Neville froze. Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his gaze to his own chest.
While Ron, Harry, and the rest of the students were wearing their full black Hogwarts school robes over their collared shirts and Gryffindor ties, Neville was sitting there in just his trousers, shirt, and sweater vest. His outer robe was completely missing.
Neville's eyes widened to the size of Galleons. A bright, burning red flushed across his cheeks, matching the color of the Remembrall perfectly.
"My robes!" Neville gasped, slapping his forehead with his palm. "I left them draped over the chair in the dormitory!!"
Ron burst out laughing, nearly spilling his pumpkin juice all over his plate. "Bloody hell, Neville! You were wearing half your uniform!"
"I was so worried about my timetable I completely forgot to put them on!" Neville squeaked, frantically scooping his books, parchment, and the Remembrall into his satchel. He scrambled off the bench so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. "Thanks, Harry! I've got to run before Binns locks the classroom doors!"
Without waiting for a response, Neville tore down the central aisle of the Great Hall, his satchel bouncing wildly against his hip as he sprinted out through the massive, open oak doors and disappeared toward the grand staircase.
Hermione watched him go with a mix of pity and exasperation, though a small smile twitched at the corner of her lips. "Well... at least the Remembrall actually worked."
"Well it's quite a useless thing really," Ron turned to her. "You see the Remembrall only turns red when you forget something, but it doesn't actually help you remember it. So a forgetful person like Neville will still struggle to remember what he forgot."
Harry chuckled softly, and grabbed a few sandwiches. Starting on one, he looked up at the ceiling thinking about the day ahead.
"Right then," Harry said, taking a huge bite of his sandwich. "Who's ready for two hours of listening to a ghost talk about goblin rebellions?"
Ron groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "Don't remind me, mate. Don't remind me. At least we have our first flying lesson to look forward to after lunch."
"It's historical foundation, Ronald!" Hermione insisted, gathering her neatly organized books and tucking her feather quill into her bag. "Professor Binns may be somewhat... dry, but the material is fascinating if you actually pay attention."
"Fascinating?" Ron scoffed, swinging his legs over the bench and standing up. "Hermione, the bloke literally died, got up to teach his class the next morning, and left his body behind in the staff room. The only fascinating thing about him is that he hasn't noticed he's dead yet."