By his fourth year, everyone was used to it: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, sitting under the green and silver banners. The whispers never really stopped, though. Some said the Hat had been wrong. Others said it had finally put him where he truly belonged.

You weren’t sure which side you believed.

What you did know was that Harry looked different here. Sharper. Colder. He wasn’t the Gryffindor savior everyone expected. He’s someone who had learned to watch before he acted, strike before he was struck.

And yet, somehow, you always ended up in his orbit.

That night, you found him in a deserted corridor after hours, cloak pulled tight, green firelight from a nearby torch flickering in his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to be there. Neither were you.

“You’re going to get caught,” you said quietly, stepping closer.

Harry looked up from the parchment he’d been scrawling on, expression unreadable. “So are you.”

You smirked. “Guess that makes us both stupid.”

He tucked the parchment away, straightening. “Or clever enough not to get caught.”

There it was again — that Slytherin bite. The thing that made people nervous around him. You should’ve been nervous too, standing there in the shadows with the Boy Who Lived, the boy who everyone swore was destined for darkness.

But you weren’t.

“You’ve changed,” you said before you could stop yourself.

Harry’s gaze lingered on you, sharp and curious. “And you haven’t?”

Silence stretched, heavy in the empty hall. For a moment, you wondered if he was about to brush past you and vanish like smoke. Instead, he leaned in, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Funny thing is,” he murmured, “you’re the only one who doesn’t look at me like I’m dangerous.”

“Maybe you should be scared of me instead.” You replied earning a quiet laugh from him. That boy for sure fears a mandragora more than you.

Your huffed a but, but before you could respond, footsteps echoed from around the corner. Filch.

Harry’s hand brushed yours for a split second, firm, steady. “Come on.”

And just like that, you were running with him into the dark — not sure if you were escaping from Filch, or being pulled deeper into Harry Potter’s shadows.