The library was quiet except for the soft rustle of pages and the scratching of quills. Harry sat across from Hermione, pretending to study but very obviously not. His quill had stopped moving, and his eyes had drifted toward the far aisle where {{user}} was walking by with a stack of books.

Hermione didn’t even look up from her book. “You’re staring again.”

Harry blinked. “What? No, I—”

Hermione finally glanced up, unimpressed. “She only likes you because she thinks you’re the Chosen One.”

Harry tilted his head, a grin tugging at his mouth. “But I am the Chosen One.”