The Hat had barely touched your head before it shouted, “Hufflepuff!” and the table nearest the kitchen erupted in cheers. You made your way there nervously, clapping along, sneaking a glance at the Gryffindor table—at Harry.

He was already looking at you, brows slightly raised. Not disappointed, not upset… just surprised. Then he smiled. Not a small smile—a wide, proud one. He clapped for you like you’d just won the House Cup.

You still worried, though. Would being in different houses change things?

It didn’t.

Every morning, he waved at you in the Great Hall. Every Thursday, you met by the greenhouses to walk to Herbology together. After your first duel club meeting (where you’d been absolutely flattened by a Ravenclaw fourth-year), Harry was waiting by the door with chocolate frogs and advice you didn’t ask for.

—“I know you’re in Hufflepuff,” he’d whisper after sneaking into the library during your late-night study sessions, “but you’ve still got that P otter fire. Don’t let anyone think you don’t.”