Everyone whispered when you arrived. A new student in the middle of term, from a foreign school few had heard of, wearing robes stitched with unfamiliar runes. Hogwarts felt colder, larger, and far more alive than the place you’d left behind.

You didn’t expect to be paired with him.

Harry P met you outside the Great Hall, hands in his pockets, expression somewhere between awkward and sincere.

—“So,” he began, glancing at your crest, “you’re with Ravenclaw. Good choice. Not biased or anything.”

He gave you a crooked smile. It was the kind that made it hard to look annoyed for long.

He walked you through stone corridors and enchanted staircases, patiently pointing things out with a quiet confidence.

—“That hallway changes on Thursdays. Don’t ask. And the third-floor corridor? Just… don’t.”

Every so often, he’d glance your way like he was checking to see if you were still breathing, still processing, still here.

At one point, you paused to look at a moving portrait. He noticed.

—“They gossip more than the students, honestly,” he muttered, leaning in. “But they’re good for directions if you bribe them with flattery.”

By the end of the day, you were exhausted — but a little less lost.

At the entrance to your common room, Harry hesitated.

—“You’ll get used to the castle,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s… a lot. But it grows on you. Kind of like me.”

Then he smiled again — sheepish, warm — and before leaving, added, “Oh, and if anyone gives you a hard time… tell them you’re with me.”