Harry woke up with the distinct feeling that something was off. Not in a Voldemort-is-in-your-head-again way, but in a why-am-I-not-being-attacked-with-pillows way.
Because, normally, his mornings started with at least one of his dormmates launching something at his face—pillow, sock, textbook, whatever was closest. It was tradition. And yet, today? Nothing.
Which could only mean one thing.
Something way more important was happening.
And then it hit him.
Hogsmeade. First trip. First date. Jean Grey's birthday.
Yep. Just a completely normal, zero-pressure, no-stakes situation where everything could go horribly wrong.
"Oi, Harry, you awake?" Ron's voice filtered through the curtains of his four-poster bed.
Harry groaned and cracked open one eye. Big mistake. Ron had already yanked the curtains back, looking far too awake for someone who usually needed three tries to put his socks on properly.
"Come on, mate! It's our first-ever Hogsmeade trip! And you've got a date," Ron added, waggling his eyebrows.
Seamus, already halfway dressed, snorted. "Yeah, Potter, big day for you. First Hogsmeade, first date, and Jean's birthday? You better not cock this up."
Harry let his head drop back onto his pillow. "Wow, thanks, Seamus. That's really comforting."
Dean, sitting on his bed, smirked as he laced up his boots. "He's got a point, though. Jean Grey? You're punching above your weight class, mate."
Harry grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at him. Dean dodged like he'd been expecting it.
Seamus grinned. "Seriously, how did you pull that off? I mean, Jean Grey—powerful, smart, gorgeous—and you—"
"—an emotionally constipated Quidditch player with a savior complex?" Dean supplied helpfully.
"Wow, look at all this love and support in this room," Harry deadpanned.
Neville, who had just finished tying his tie, gave Harry a sympathetic nod. "You'll be fine, Harry. Just… don't overthink it."
Seamus grinned. "Yeah. And don't make her regret asking you out in the first place."
Harry groaned. "I'm not overthinking it, alright?" Total lie. He was absolutely overthinking it. But nobody needed to know that.
Ron clapped him on the back. "Look, worst-case scenario, you do something dumb, she changes her mind, and you spend the rest of the year crying into your Firebolt."
"Wow, thank you, Ron," Harry said, shoving him away. "You should write motivational posters."
Ron grinned. "Right? 'When life knocks you down, stay down, it's safer there.'"
Harry sat up, stretching, and then turned to his trunk. He stared at it for a long moment.
…What the hell was he supposed to wear on a date? There was no Dating for Dummies: Hogwarts Edition. Did he go casual? Try to be fancy? What was the appropriate attire for taking Jean Grey on a date, celebrating her birthday, and not looking like an absolute idiot?
He heard Dean chuckle behind him. "Harry, if you take any longer staring at your clothes, we're gonna miss the trip entirely."
"Right, right," Harry muttered, shaking himself out of it. He eventually settled on jeans, a dark red sweater (because Gryffindor pride, obviously), and his best cloak.
Ron gave him an approving nod. "Alright, not bad. You don't look like you're trying too hard, but you also don't look like you just rolled out of bed and hoped for the best."
Seamus snorted. "That's actually impressive for you, Potter."
Dean smirked. "Jean's gonna like that. Probably helps that you've got the whole 'windswept messy hair' thing going for you."
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "It's not a thing."
"It's totally a thing," Neville said, grinning.
"Alright, everyone ready?" Dean asked, standing up and stretching.
Neville grabbed his coat. "Yep."
Seamus threw an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Time to experience Hogsmeade for the first time!"
Harry took a deep breath and nodded.
First-ever Hogsmeade trip. First-ever date. First-ever Jean Grey birthday celebration.
No pressure. None at all.
—
Meanwhile, in the Girls' Dorm…
Jean Grey had survived a lot in her life. Telepathy. Telekinesis. The Phoenix Force. The chaotic nonsense that was being a Gryffindor.
But this?
This might actually kill her.
She was not going to freak out.
Except she absolutely was freaking out.
Because today was huge.
First-ever Hogsmeade trip. First-ever birthday at Hogwarts. First-ever date with Harry Potter.
Her brain had spent the last eight hours screaming at her in all caps:
DO. NOT. MESS. THIS. UP.
And then—because the universe had a sick sense of humor—her curtains were ripped open like she was about to be sacrificed to some ancient fashion gods.
"Happy birthday, birthday girl!" Lavender Brown practically sang, grinning like this was her big day instead of Jean's.
Jean let out a noise somewhere between a startled yelp and a groan. "Oh my God, Lavender, it's too early for this."
"Too early?" Parvati Patil scoffed, sliding onto Jean's bed like they were about to spill the juiciest gossip of the year. "Jean. You are about to go on a date with Harry Potter. In Hogsmeade. On your birthday. This is the kind of thing people write bad romance novels about."
Jean sat up, rubbing her face. "Well, when you put it like that—"
"It sounds like a nightmare," Hermione cut in from across the room, barely looking up from her book. "Why would you want that much pressure on your birthday?"
Lavender gave her a look. "Because it's romantic. And magical. And—"
Parvati smirked. "And because Jean's had a ridiculous crush on Harry for months."
Jean groaned and flopped back against her pillows. "Please stop talking."
Lavender gasped dramatically. "Jean, how dare you! This is girl talk! This is sacred!"
Parvati nodded. "Exactly. And besides, we have work to do."
Jean peeked up at them, already regretting it. "…What kind of work?"
"Birthday girl makeover."
Jean sat up fast. "Nope. No. I do not need a makeover."
Lavender ignored this. "We have exactly one hour to make sure you walk into that date looking so good that Harry actually forgets how to speak."
"Or at least long enough for us to get photographic evidence of his face when he sees you," Parvati added.
"Guys," Jean groaned. "I'm not trying to make him lose his mind. I'm just hoping I don't trip over my own feet and embarrass myself."
Parvati grinned. "Yeah, well, that's a low bar. We're aiming higher."
Lavender clapped her hands. "Operation: Birthday Girl Supreme begins now!"
Hermione finally looked up, blinking. "Wait, what's happening?"
Parvati turned to her. "We're making Jean look stunning for her date."
Hermione frowned. "Jean already looks fine."
Lavender gasped, offended. "'Fine'? Fine is for exams and tax forms, Hermione. Jean is going on a romantic birthday date in a magical village with The Boy Who Lived."
Parvati nodded. "We need her at jaw-dropping levels."
Jean groaned. "This is a mistake."
Hermione muttered, "I have so many regrets."
But, honestly? Jean was kind of having fun.
First-ever Hogsmeade trip. First-ever birthday at Hogwarts. First-ever date with Harry Potter.
Yep. No pressure at all.
—
Operation: Birthday Girl Supreme – Commence Chaos
Jean Grey should've known better. The moment Lavender Brown declared this operation "official," she was already a dead woman walking. And by "dead," I mean deeply trapped in the worst makeover mission of her life.
"You're gonna look amazing, Jean," Lavender said with the kind of certainty that only came from a person who thought confidence was a magical potion.
Jean could practically hear the imaginary violin music playing as she realized what she'd gotten herself into. The whole situation reeked of "I didn't ask for this, but I'm too polite to back out now."
Parvati Patil and Lavender had launched their mission, their eyes gleaming with the sort of focused enthusiasm that could only be compared to a two-headed hydra in a beauty salon. Parvati was circling Jean like she was prey, which, let's face it, Jean was. The predator had found its mark, and Jean was helpless in the face of this.
"Oh, don't worry, we'll make you shine," Lavender said ominously, rifling through Jean's wardrobe like it was a treasure chest full of disaster. "Too formal. Too casual. Oh my Merlin, you look like you teach Ancient Runes and own a lot of cats."
Jean shot her a look. "What's wrong with that? I like cats."
Lavender smirked. "Jean, it's Hogsmeade day. We need you to look like you just stepped out of a Vogue magazine, not like you've just had a long chat with your Hogwarts-appropriate collection of magical felines."
"Do I have to look... fashionable?" Jean asked, already regretting her life choices.
"Oh, Jean, fashion is not a requirement," Parvati said, eyebrow arched like she'd just discovered Jean's soul was in desperate need of a makeover. "It's more like a lifestyle."
Jean winced. This was going to be worse than a Patronus battle with a Dementor.
"Wait," Lavender suddenly exclaimed, her voice like the sound of victory. She pulled out a deep red sweater with far too much drama. "This. This is the one."
Jean blinked. "It's just a sweater."
"No, no. It's the sweater." Lavender held it up like she was presenting the Holy Grail. "It says: 'I am confident, effortlessly stunning, and possess a casual vibe that screams Gryffindor pride.' It also says: 'I might have just woke up like this.'"
Jean frowned. "And you think it's... perfect?"
Parvati looked Jean up and down and nodded. "Oh yeah. It's basically like a magical confidence potion. And you'll still look like you're not trying too hard."
Hermione, who had been quietly reading and pretending she wasn't part of this circus, glanced up from her book, raising a brow. "You know, that actually does look good on you."
Jean sighed, surrendering to the universe. "Fine. The sweater stays."
Lavender clapped her hands. "Finally! We're moving on!"
But then came the dreaded Phase Two.
Hair & Makeup – The Real Horror Show
"Okay," Parvati declared with the confidence of a sorceress about to cast a spell, "let's talk hair."
Jean instinctively ran a hand through her red locks. "What's wrong with it? I like it the way it is."
Parvati grinned like a cat that had just swallowed a canary. "Oh, it's beautiful, obviously—but we can make it more... magical."
Jean's eyes narrowed. "I'm not turning into a unicorn, Parvati."
"Just trust us," Lavender chimed in, eyeing her with the seriousness of someone who had seriously messed with someone's hair before. "No unicorns involved."
Jean muttered under her breath, "If this is some kind of wizarding hair curse..."
Hermione, still reading, didn't even look up. "It's not a curse, Jean. We literally do magic here. It's what we do."
"Right. Magic. Perfect," Jean replied dryly.
The next five minutes were an assault on her senses. Lavender, Parvati, and some mascara wands. So many mascara wands. Jean's nerves were about to start texting her for emotional support. But, stubbornly, she stayed still, because if she moved, she'd end up with a magical disaster.
Finally, Parvati handed her a mirror, looking far too pleased with herself. "Now, look at yourself."
Jean hesitated, the familiar anxiety creeping up on her. She took a deep breath and looked at her reflection.
Her hair was... different. Softer. Shinier. It flowed in perfect waves, like she'd just stepped out of a shampoo commercial. She could barely believe it was her own hair—Jean Grey, turned into a magazine cover model in the space of five minutes.
And her face? It looked... well, better. Like she'd actually slept last night instead of freaking out about her first date with Harry Potter.
Jean blinked. "Okay... I might be okay with this."
Lavender and Parvati exchanged high-fives. "Success!" Lavender crowed.
Parvati added, "You're officially date-ready."
Jean glared at them, but there was a reluctant smile on her lips. "This is probably the worst thing that's ever happened to me."
"Too late," Lavender said cheerfully. "You're in it now."
Final Phase: Confidence Boosting & Emotional Wreckage
Jean took one last glance in the mirror. Okay, so she looked good. But could she survive the actual date? That was the real question. Harry Potter. The Harry Potter. Who was, no big deal, just the chosen one. Who was also probably about to give her a present.
Which... what if it was weird? What if it wasn't? What if she didn't like it? Or, even worse, liked it too much? What was the right reaction here?
Parvati, noticing the gears turning in Jean's head, grinned. "Don't stress. If he gets you a gift, just act surprised. If you don't like it, pretend. If you do like it, pretend less."
Jean groaned. "I'm going to screw this up."
Hermione, having had enough of the ridiculousness, slammed her book down dramatically. "Jean, it's Harry. He likes you. You like him. There's literally no reason to create a war strategy for this."
Jean took a deep breath, feeling like she was about to enter a battlefield she didn't understand. What if she messes up?
Lavender beamed at her. "It's simple, Jean. Just follow your instincts. You're totally going to nail this."
Jean shot her a glare. "Instincts? I have instincts about how to deal with dark magic, not this."
Parvati clapped her on the back. "You'll be fine. You're Jean Grey, after all."
And, honestly? Jean was starting to think maybe, just maybe, she was. But that didn't make this whole first date thing any less terrifying.
As she headed for the door, with her heart pounding like a Warhammer drum, she took a final glance at her friends.
"First date. First Hogsmeade trip. First birthday at Hogwarts."
No big deal, right?
Just the scariest thing she'd ever done.
But hey. She could handle it.
Probably.
—
As Harry stepped out of the dormitory and into the Gryffindor Common Room, he immediately regretted everything. Everything. Why? Because standing there—like they were in some kind of reality TV show waiting for the cameras to start rolling—were Fred, George, Lee, Angelina, Alicia, Katie, and, of course, Colin Creevey, the second-year with a camera so big it could double as a broomstick if the whole wizarding thing didn't work out.
"Harry!" Fred greeted him with a flair that probably could've won an award at the Weasley Family Drama Festival. His arms swung wide, knocking over a few startled first-years. "We've been waiting for you!"
"Don't make it weird, Fred," George added, but his grin made it clear that weird was his default setting. "We're just here to document history."
"History?" Harry blinked, eyeing the motley crew. "What are you talking about?"
Lee, looking far too cool for someone who'd just gotten out of bed, leaned in. "Oh, you know, just your first-ever date with Jean Grey."
Harry felt his stomach plummet, which was a remarkable feat considering he hadn't eaten breakfast yet. "Wait, what?"
Alicia's smile was way too innocent for the level of chaos she was about to unleash. "We've got Colin here," she pointed to Colin, who was practically vibrating with excitement and aiming his camera directly at Harry's face, "to capture the moment when you first lay eyes on Jean coming down the stairs. It's going to be epic."
Katie, who was leaning casually against the wall like she was waiting for a Quidditch match to start, chimed in, "Yeah, it's for posterity. So when you're old and gray, you can look back and say, 'That was the moment I got my life together.'"
Harry shot a look at Colin, who was clearly aiming for his best National Geographic shot. "Colin?" he asked, trying not to hyperventilate. "He's a second-year! He can't even go to Hogsmeade!"
Fred and George exchanged a glance. It was the kind of glance that made Harry feel like he'd just walked into the trap of a really elaborate prank. "Technically," Fred said, holding up a finger like he was about to impart world-changing wisdom, "Colin's not going to Hogsmeade. He's just documenting the essence of your first date."
"He's our official photographer," George added with a casual shrug, like that made perfect sense. "We couldn't trust anyone else. The world needs to see this."
Lee grinned. "Besides, you're going to want this on film, mate. I mean, what if something amazing happens? You don't want to miss it."
"I'm pretty sure whatever happens, I'm going to wish I missed it," Harry muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple. "Nothing says romance like having my every move immortalized by Colin Creevey."
"Oh, please, mate," George said, slapping him on the back so hard Harry nearly tripped. "These are going to be artsy shots. Blurry, dramatic lighting. A little overexposed in the right spots, you know? Pure magic."
"Right," Harry groaned, crossing his arms. "Because that's exactly how I want to remember my first date—looking like I'm battling a Dementor with my hair blowing in the wind."
"Exactly!" Fred shouted, jumping up like Harry had just made his day. "Heroic. Romantic. Legendary."
At that exact moment, Jean's voice floated down the stairs like some kind of soft magic, and Harry's brain immediately tried to reboot.
"Harry? You ready to go?"
He froze. There she was. Jean Grey. The birthday girl herself. The girl who'd somehow agreed to go on a date with him. The girl he was about to embarrass in front of everyone.
She stood at the top of the stairs, and for a second, Harry swore the room went silent, like he was in some weird, slow-motion version of an action movie. Jean's red hair shimmered under the light, falling perfectly around her shoulders. She wore a simple yet flawless deep red sweater with her Gryffindor crest, paired with dark jeans that looked like they'd been custom-designed just for her.
She was basically perfection wrapped in a sweater, and Harry was about to—well, he wasn't quite sure yet what he was going to do, but it probably wasn't going to involve looking cool.
"I… I'm ready," Harry finally squeaked, hoping he didn't sound as terrified as he felt.
"You look nice," Jean said with a smile that made Harry's knees threaten to give out. Maybe this whole thing was going to be okay.
"Thanks," Harry said, forcing himself to keep it together. "You look, uh, amazing."
Jean chuckled, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "Well, I couldn't exactly show up looking like a mess, could I?"
She started walking down the stairs, her eyes flicking over the crowd in the Common Room. It was subtle, but Harry could see the way she evaluated everyone—like she was mentally calculating how much of their attention was about to be devoted to her. Then, she smiled, her eyes locking on Harry. "Shall we?"
Before Harry could respond, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to find Fred, looking far too pleased with himself.
"Remember, mate," Fred said in an overly serious whisper, "you're the hero in this story. Own it."
George, always eager to jump in with his two Knuts, leaned in. "Yeah, look at that face. Pure admiration."
Fred's smile was wicked. "Sometimes, the hero just gets extra attention."
Harry rolled his eyes. "This is as quiet as it's going to get," he muttered.
Jean raised an eyebrow. "If this is your idea of a quiet Hogsmeade trip, I'm not sure I'm in for it."
"Trust me," Harry said, chuckling nervously, "this is practically the calm before the storm."
Jean laughed, and Harry's heart did a weird, involuntary flip. Maybe—just maybe—he could survive this.
If he survived Fred, George, and Colin, that was.
With Jean beside him and his motley crew following at a very appropriate distance, Harry figured this was either going to be the best or worst Hogsmeade trip ever.
And Colin? Well, Colin was already clicking away, snapping what were probably his fifth hundred photos of the day.
No pressure, Harry thought, glancing at Jean with a grin. None at all.
—
Harry and Jean were strolling through the Hogwarts common room like they were starring in their very own magical rom-com, minus the overdramatic third-act misunderstanding—at least for now. The rest of their crew, though? Well, they were making a show of pretending to act casual, which, to be honest, was about as successful as trying to hide a dragon under a blanket.
Fred, George, Lee, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie were practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. You'd think they were preparing for a mission to steal the Philosopher's Stone again, but no, it was just Hogsmeade weekend. And, of course, the whole "Harry's first date with Jean" thing had them hyped, even if it wasn't an actual date (yet). Still, the sight of those two together seemed to spark something in their eyes—like a mixture of matchmaking and potential pranking opportunities.
Ron was in the lead, his face flushed with anticipation. "Oi, Harry," he said, shooting a glance back over his shoulder, "did you remember to bring some money? You don't want to end up starving on the walk back when Fred and George try to sell you something they 'found' in the Forbidden Forest."
"I've got money," Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair. "But if I buy anything from them, I'll probably end up cursed—or with a permanent stink smell."
Jean turned to him with a grin. "Don't worry, Harry. I'll protect you from them. And from Filch, too, if it comes to that."
"Ah, the legendary Jean Grey, keeping me safe from the forces of evil," Harry said, winking at her. "I feel so lucky."
She laughed, her voice light and carefree, making the chaos around them seem miles away. "You should. I'm a pro at keeping trouble at bay." She threw a pointed glance at Fred and George. "Especially from them."
Fred and George dramatically placed their hands over their hearts in mock offense. "Wounded! Absolutely wounded!" Fred cried.
"We only want the best for our friends!" George added, feigning seriousness.
Ron rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "You two are the worst."
As they neared the entrance to the Hogwarts grounds, Harry gave Jean a quick grin. "So, how does it feel to be a part of the ultimate Weasley prank crew?"
Jean raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sure I'll survive. I've dealt with worse in my day." She winked.
Finally, they reached the gates, where a line of students was already forming. Professor McGonagall was standing near the entrance, looking like the embodiment of sternness itself. She was ticking off names on a clipboard, though it was the first time Harry noticed the small stack of what looked like permission slips in her hands.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, Miss Grey," McGonagall said, not even looking up from her list. "Permission slips, please."
Jean flashed hers with a flourish. "Signed by Professor Xavier, of course," she said, her smile practically glowing.
McGonagall glanced up briefly, her eyebrow twitching. "Xavier, you say? Well, that's... acceptable." She handed it back without a second glance.
Harry followed suit and handed over his slip, clearly well-practiced at the "I'm Harry Potter, and yes, I have a magical permission slip" routine. "Sirius Black," he said.
McGonagall stared at it, lips pressed together, her eyes narrowing. "Hmm, yes. Very well, I'll assume he signed this while in full possession of his faculties." After a moment's hesitation, she handed it back. "Off you go, then. Just be back before curfew."
With a brisk nod, they moved past her and approached Filch, who was waiting with his usual sour expression. The man had some kind of bizarre magical contraption in his hand that looked like it had more magical properties than anyone cared to know about. He waved it over them like he was conducting an awkward dance routine.
Jean raised an eyebrow, amused. "What's he doing, Harry?"
"Searching us for contraband," Harry replied, trying—and failing—to suppress a grin. "You know, things like candy, prank items, and anything that might cause a small disaster—like Fred and George's 'special' merchandise."
Jean gave him a flat look. "Right. Because I'm sure a handful of licorice wands are going to bring down the whole school."
Ron, standing just behind them, suddenly piped up with a grin, clearly itching for a bit of mischief. "Filch, mate, I think you've got it all wrong. You should be checking us when we come back, not when we leave. You know, to make sure we're not sneaking stuff in. Just a thought."
Filch whipped around like a vulture spotting prey, eyes narrowing dangerously. "What was that, Weasley?"
Ron casually shrugged, a cheeky grin creeping across his face. "I mean, you always check us when we leave, but when we come back, we've already got all sorts of trouble in our bags. Doesn't that seem a bit... backward?"
Filch's eyes were wide, his mouth hanging open as if he'd been struck by an idea that made absolutely no sense. "What do you mean, trouble in your bags?"
"Just making a suggestion, Filch," Ron said with a nonchalant air, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "Maybe focus on what we might bring in, instead of what we're leaving with. Like, you know, magical shenanigans."
Filch's wand swept over Ron for a third time, this one clearly much more thorough than the last. "I'll have no more of your cheek, Weasley," he snarled, his voice low and threatening. "Another word, and I'll send you back to the castle for a week's detention!"
Ron barely contained a chuckle. "Sure, Filch. Whatever you say."
Jean nudged Harry, leaning in with a smirk. "Is he always like this?"
"You have no idea," Harry muttered, eyes on Ron. "Ron, the master of savage burns."
The group barely made it through the gates before Fred, George, and Lee started up their usual shenanigans. Fred and George waved their hands dramatically at Filch, who glared at them as though he could explode them into pixie dust with a single glance.
"We're innocent, Filch!" Fred cried, putting on his best puppy-dog eyes. "Sweethearts, really! Full of charm and grace!"
Filch muttered something under his breath, clearly at the end of his rope.
With that, they were free—officially in the clear and on their way toward Hogsmeade, where the prospect of butterbeer, Zonko's joke shop, and magical mischief awaited them.
Harry glanced at Jean, his grin wide. "You ready for the madness?"
Jean chuckled, her eyes sparkling. "I think so. But don't say I didn't warn you when Fred and George try to convince you to buy some 'experimental' products."
"I've been dealing with them since first year," Harry said with a smirk. "I'm practically a pro at this point."
"Alright, Mr. Pro," Jean teased, nudging him with her shoulder. "Let's see if you can handle what they've got planned for us today."
As they headed toward Hogsmeade, the entire group was buzzing with excitement, the promise of magic, trouble, and a lot of butterbeer just ahead. Harry? Well, he was just hoping he wouldn't end up in a ridiculous photo montage by the end of the day. But considering who he was hanging out with, that was a long shot.
—
Severus Snape was lurking in the shadows, as usual. If there was a professional degree in lurking, he would have a doctorate by now. He blended so seamlessly into the darkness that even the bravest Gryffindor wouldn't have dared to approach him—well, except maybe Harry Potter, but Harry had the kind of recklessness that was so irritating, it was almost impressive.
He wasn't hiding, per se. Hiding was for the weak. No, Snape was simply taking up his usual residence in the gloom, like a brooding bat that had long since decided the world wasn't quite dark enough. His robes swirled around him like they were part of the atmosphere, dark as midnight with a touch of mourning. And as always, his scowl was present, permanently etched on his face like a portrait of misery and failed ambition.
But right now? Scowling was an understatement. Because what Snape was watching was... irritating.
Harry Potter. And Jean Grey. Yes, those two. The son of his least favorite person in the universe, and a girl whose fiery gaze was all too reminiscent of someone who once made Snape's life an exercise in emotional self-flagellation. Watching them stroll out of the castle together was like a cruel joke played by the universe. A bad one. The kind of joke where you laugh to keep from crying, and then promptly regret it.
From where Snape stood, deep in the shadows of a Hogwarts hallway (of course), Harry looked every bit like his insufferable father, James Potter. The swagger, the overconfidence, the sense that he had the entire world figured out when in reality, he was just as clueless as the rest of them. And there was Jean. Sweet, fiery Jean. Her hair a bit wilder, a bit more untamed than Lily's had been, but that intensity in her eyes? Oh, that was Lily. Snape's stomach twisted in a way that felt like it was being yanked by an invisible force, and it wasn't a pleasant sensation.
It was almost like he was looking at a replay of his worst memories. James and Lily, happily prancing around Hogwarts like they owned the place, totally oblivious to the fact that their very existence shattered Snape's. He had watched them, too. The same way he was watching Harry and Jean now.
"Good grief," Snape muttered to himself, his voice dripping with more venom than a Slytherin after a bad potions lesson. "It's like the universe is taunting me at this point."
And maybe it was. He was so tired of this—this whole cycle of disappointment. Harry wasn't even doing anything particularly obnoxious, but just seeing him with Jean... walking together like they didn't have a care in the world... it made Snape's blood boil. Or, maybe it was just his brain, trying to reconcile how this moment was so ridiculously familiar.
Harry was his father's son, that much was true. He had inherited James' signature swagger, his ability to make people want to throw things at him on sight, and, of course, his undeniable talent for charming just about anyone who wasn't named Severus Snape. Ugh.
But, thank Merlin, Harry wasn't exactly like James in every way. For one, he wasn't quite as insufferably loud about everything. And he wasn't nearly as arrogant. Still... the resemblance was enough to make Snape's insides do that strange knotting thing they always did when James Potter was mentioned.
And then there was Jean. Lily's echo. The way she walked beside Harry, that tender brush of the hands—subtle but there. Snape hated it. It made something twist inside his chest, and not in the good, "I'm-a-mature-adult" kind of way. No, it was that sickening feeling of loss—a loss that still echoed in his mind from all those years ago when Lily had chosen James over him. The memory of her bright smile, the one she had never given him, flooded back with the intensity of a hundred Veritaserum doses.
His hands clenched at his sides, but Snape couldn't bring himself to look away, no matter how much it hurt. Instead, he stood there, seething in silence, like a storm cloud you could never escape.
"Of course," he muttered bitterly, as if the universe needed his commentary. "Of course it's them. Of course."
He remembered the old days—the days when James had been the bane of his existence, the days when he had tried so desperately to earn Lily's affection. But in the end, James had always been there. Lily had chosen him, and Snape had been left in the dust with nothing but his bitterness, his resentment, and a whole lot of complicated feelings he couldn't even begin to sort out.
The sight of Harry and Jean walking together only confirmed what Snape had known for years now: history had a nasty habit of repeating itself. And Snape? He was the poor fool caught in the loop, doomed to watch it all over again.
A flash of motion caught his attention. Jean's hand brushed against Harry's, almost too subtle to notice—almost. Snape felt a sharp jolt in his chest, like someone had just kicked him in the ribs.
Why does it always have to be this way?
"Pathetic," Snape grumbled, his voice full of venom and self-loathing. "Foolish, idiotic, and... so utterly predictable."
The pair strolled away, completely unaware of the storm of emotions they'd stirred in the heart of their observant watcher. Snape took a deep, deliberate breath and fought the urge to shout at them. Or hex them. Or throw something at the wall.
But instead, he muttered under his breath, "History doesn't change. Not for anyone."
And the worst part? He was right. No matter how many times he told himself he'd moved on, or that he'd grown beyond the hurt, there he was, caught in the same miserable web of memories. He was the ghost of the past.
Snape shook his head, as if trying to physically shake off his thoughts. "Enough, Severus. Get a grip."
He stalked away, his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor, but even as he walked, he knew it was never going to be enough. Some things weren't meant to stay buried. Some things followed you.
Like a ghost.
And sometimes, Snape wished he could just stop being haunted by the past for five minutes.
---
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