The paths of Hogsmeade were finally clear. Snow melted into soft earth, flowers just beginning to peek through, birds fussing in the trees overhead. Shop doors were open again, creaking softly with the breeze.

Spring was coming—and Rhea loved it.

Loved wandering the village with friends, only to slip into a bookshop alone. It was habit by now: a book or two in her arms, stepping back into the street like nothing had changed.

But something always did.

“Hey,” you said, falling into step beside her as she made her way toward the Three Broomsticks. “What’d you get?”

Rhea didn’t look at you—not right away. Sunlight was hitting you just right, and the scarf around your neck made her want to say something stupid. Your hands were buried in your pockets. She glanced anyway. Just once.

“Books,” she muttered with a shrug. She knew what you were going to ask.

And sure enough: “You want to go to the Three Broomsticks with me?”

She looked at you then. Really looked. There was a hint of pink on your cheeks.

“Sure.”