Since the moment you set foot in Hogwarts, you'd been taught to avoid Harry P. The "Chosen One," the boy who lived, had always been surrounded by so much attention that it made you uncomfortable. His fame, his legacy—it all seemed too much. You had never been one to care for the spotlight, and Harry, no matter how kind or brave, was the embodiment of everything that felt unnatural to you.

Every time he tried to get close, you found an excuse to push him away. You distanced yourself, sometimes ignoring him, other times giving him short responses, just because something about him didn’t sit right with you. Maybe it was because he was always the center of attention, always the hero. You didn’t want to be another person caught in his orbit.

That all changed one afternoon during a Quidditch match.

The game was intense, both teams giving it their all. You were on your broom, eyes locked on the Golden Snitch, when suddenly, the broom jerked. Before you could react, you were plummeting toward the ground. The world spun as you fell, bracing for impact.

When you hit the ground, everything was a blur. But then, you saw him. Harry P, rushing from the field, abandoning his game to help you. He was the first to reach you, kneeling beside you, his face full of worry.

—"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

He didn’t ask for anything else. He didn’t act like the legendary Harry P. He was just a person—someone worried about you. As he helped you to your feet, you felt a strange shift. The coldness you'd always held toward him started to fade.