The cobblestones of Diagon Alley simmered with heat and hustle, sunlight glinting off brass cauldrons and polished broomsticks. Children weaved between towering adults, pointing eagerly at the window displays of Flourish and Blotts and Quality Quidditch Supplies. Somewhere down the street, a charmed sign advertised discounted wand-cleaning kits, blinking in and out of visibility in the midday glare.

Percy Weasley hated this chaos.

He adjusted the stiff collar of his hand-me-down robes and tried not to sigh as Fred and George darted past him, nearly knocking over a stand of exploding ink. Ginny giggled behind him, clutching her new quills, and Arthur Weasley stopped mid-sentence about the intricacies of Muggle plumbing to scold the twins—unsuccessfully, as always.

Percy was just about to turn into Flourish and Blotts for a bit of peace when—

“Percival,” came a familiar, velvet-smooth voice behind him.

His heart seized. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was. He could feel her presence like a shifting current in the air, colder than the sun-drenched street warranted.

He turned anyway.

There she stood: {{user}}, Slytherin prefect, pureblood aristocrat, and the girl who had, for the last several months, slowly, methodically rewired his entire sense of identity. Her robes were tailored, expensive, and unapologetically green. Beside her, Draco Malfoy leaned against the wall with a bored expression, idly flicking through a list of school supplies. And looming behind them like a shadow carved from marble, Lucius Malfoy observed the crowd through narrowed, glinting eyes.

Percy swallowed. His family was right behind him.

“{{user}},” he said, smoothing down his robes, voice stiff. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

A slow smile curled her lips. “Really? Because I expected you’d be lurking somewhere around the bookshops. All that ambition to prove yourself—can’t go wasting it on summer laziness, can you?”

His ears flushed red. “I’m not—lurking.”

“Oh, you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

“Percyyyy!” Fred’s sing-song voice rang out before Percy could respond. He turned just in time to see both twins materialize at his side like summoned demons.

“Who’s your friend, dear brother?” George asked with mock curiosity, eyes dancing.

“She’s very posh,” Fred added, leaning dramatically to peer around Percy at {{user}}. “Are we witnessing some sort of forbidden Gryffindor–Slytherin affair? Oh, scandalous.”

“Shut it,” Percy snapped, but he was too slow. The twins were circling now, delighted.

“Maybe she likes the tie,” George said thoughtfully. “Girls do go wild for Prefects.”

“Or maybe,” Fred said, glancing at {{user}} with a grin, “she’s using our dear Percy for academic gain. Tell us—does he take dictation well?”

Percy looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him.

But {{user}}? She only smiled sweetly and stepped closer, deliberately sliding her gloved hand along Percy’s forearm. “Oh, I’m not using him. Percy is very useful all on his own. Aren’t you, darling?”

He stiffened. “I—yes, I mean—I try.”

The twins choked on identical snorts of laughter.

Lucius’s gaze landed on the group then, piercing and cool. Percy faltered. The air seemed to thicken.

“{{user}},” Lucius, her father, said coldly, “we’re expected at Madam Malkin’s in five minutes.”