You and Harry had been best friends since your first year at Hogwarts. Through every misadventure, Quidditch match, and late-night library cram session, you’d be stuck together. And yet, despite years of shared laughter, lingering glances, and accidental hand brushes, neither of you had confessed a thing.

You were sitting by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, laughing over some joke only the two of you understood, Harry’s legs stretched out across the couch, your feet tangled together as you argued over the last piece of chocolate.

“Fine,” Harry said, handing it over with exaggerated reluctance. “But only because I’m a gentleman.”

“Oh, sure you are,” you teased, biting into the chocolate. “You’re such a saint, Harry.”

He gave you a lopsided grin, his eyes warm, and for a brief second, you both just stared at each other, the air around you feeling suddenly heavy, like something was about to shift.

Then, as if nothing had changed, Harry let out a small, awkward cough and pulled his feet back, sitting up straighter. “Right, um, Hogsmeade trip next weekend—do you want to, y’know, come with me? It’ll be fun. Just us.”

You paused, meeting his gaze for a heartbeat longer than usual. “Just us, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry blinked rapidly, looking slightly panicked. “Not like—Not a date! Just friends, obviously. We’ve done it before.”