It started in Charms class.

Professor Flitwick had you practicing Duo Incantatem—a spell that required two witches or wizards to cast at the same time to combine their magic. Naturally, he paired you with Hermione.

Bad idea.

Not because you didn’t want to work with her—Merlin, you did—but because the moment she stood beside you, all brilliant eyes and bushy curls and soft concentration, your brain instantly stopped functioning.

And that, unfortunately, led to disaster.

“On three,” Hermione said, raising her wand. “Right,” you croaked. “Sure. Yes. Three.”

“One… two… three!”

Hermione cast perfectly.

You… did not.

Your wand slipped out of your sweaty hand, your spell came out a half-second too early, and the combined magic ricocheted off a chandelier, the windows, a desk, and finally—

Straight into you and Hermione.

There was a blinding flash.

A moment of weightlessness.

And then—

THUD.

You landed on something soft. Warm. Moving.

“Oh—oh my—Y/N—get off—!”

You blinked and realized you were lying directly on top of Hermione, tangled together on the classroom floor, wrapped in glowing magical ribbons that pulsed like enchanted vines.

Hermione’s face was bright red.

“W-We’re stuck,” she squeaked. “The spell linked us.”

Linked. As in literally tied together by magic that tightened whenever you tried to move.

Fantastic.