It wasn’t planned.

You’d just said, “I miss the Room of Requirement,” and somehow… that was enough. A few Floo calls later, a quiet evening at Hogwarts had turned into a reunion.

Harry showed up with a bottle of firewhisky he definitely wasn't supposed to have.

Hermione brought an old book with everyone’s notes scribbled in the margins—little doodles, passive-aggressive corrections, Ron’s terrible handwriting.

Ron brought snacks. Of course.

You brought the warmth. The thing none of them said, but all of them felt when you were around.

The Room recognized you still. The cushions were all mismatched. There was a soft record playing on a floating gramophone in the background. The fire crackled like it remembered your laughter.

You were lying on the floor, head resting on Harry’s leg, while Ron tried to balance Bertie Bott’s Beans on Hermione’s nose. She pretended to be annoyed.

—“Remember when we thought this was the worst it’d get?” you asked, voice soft.

Harry looked down at you, smiling faintly.

—“We were so stupid.”

Hermione sipped her tea.

—“We were kids.”

Ron nodded.

—“Still are, a bit.”

You looked around. At them. At how easy this still was. No wands drawn. No dark lords. Just... peace.

Harry said it first.

—“The four of us. That’s how it always should’ve been.”

Hermione didn’t argue. Ron bumped your foot with his and grinned.

And you knew what they were all thinking:

The trio was golden, yeah. But it shone better with four.