If Valentine's Day at Hogwarts was loud for everyone, it was louder for Iris Potter.
She'd expected a few glances. Maybe even a silly card or two. But the moment she stepped into the Great Hall that morning, still yawning and tugging at her sleeves, she realized something was off. And by off, she meant wildly unhinged.
The long Gryffindor table erupted in a chorus of stammered greetings and poorly concealed stares. At least three second-years attempted to trip over their own legs in the rush to offer her magically-folded love notes. One even burst into a shaky rendition of a Weird Sisters' love ballad before being hexed into hiccuping bubbles by a disapproving upper-year.
"I think someone charmed the water pitchers with amortentia," Iris muttered as she sat down at the Hufflepuff table beside Dora and Hadrian, who had, thankfully, saved her a seat.
"You're imagining things," Hadrian said smoothly. "Or they've just realized you're famous and attractive. Double trouble."
Dora shot him a narrow-eyed look. "Very smooth, Romeo."
Iris ignored both of them, already trying to stealthily vanish a scroll of red-and-gold roses that was floating suspiciously near her head. A few Ravenclaws waved at her. A Hufflepuff third-year tripped over their own bench trying to deliver a hand-drawn portrait that Iris would later discover was anatomically impossible.
"She's going to need a bodyguard," Dora said between bites of toast. "Or a broom to fly away from the adoring masses."
"She can borrow mine," Hadrian said lightly. "Though we may have to reinforce it."
Iris slumped over her plate. "You're both the worst."
"Accurate," they chorused, which made her groan.
Later in the day, the trio made their way through the hallways between classes, where Iris continued receiving "surprise" encounters. Most were awkward. One brave soul from Slytherin actually handed her a card and ran in the opposite direction like a Bludger was chasing him.
"I didn't realize I was this terrifying," she murmured.
"Not terrifying," Dora said with a smirk. "Just intimidatingly competent and beautiful."
"Like Hadrian, but less broody," Hadrian added helpfully.
By dinner, the flood had turned into a trickle. Iris's robes bore the telltale glitter residue of charmed valentines and chocolate frogs gone rogue. She leaned back in her seat, poking at a heart-shaped pudding with a suspiciously grinning face.
"Do I have 'send me love letters' tattooed on my forehead?" she asked, voice half-serious.
"No," Hadrian said. "But I think someone drew it in your sleep."
Dora snorted her pumpkin juice.
At the far end of the table, two younger Hufflepuffs giggled when Iris looked their way.
She sighed, but a soft smile tugged at her lips. Maybe it was a little exhausting—but also, kind of sweet. A different kind of magic. One that didn't require wands or ancient bloodlines, just awkward feelings, nervous grins, and handwritten notes with terrible poetry.
Later, in the quiet of the common room, Dora nudged her gently.
"Hey… it's nice to see people recognize you."
Iris blinked. "You mean aside from the whole 'Chosen Girl' thing?"
"No. You," Dora said softly. "Funny. Clever. Brave. Maybe even a little adorable."
Iris flushed and opened her mouth to reply—but Hadrian called them over just then, claiming he'd found an enchanted deck of magical Valentine cards that threatened to duel if you picked the wrong one.
Iris followed, shaking her head, but smiling.
Somehow, she had made it through the chaos. A little flustered, a little sticky from a rogue chocolate frog, but undeniably, unforgettably seen.