The Great Hall buzzed with the usual hum of lunchtime conversations, the clatter of cutlery against plates filling the space. You were seated at the Gryffindor table next to Harry, who was poking halfheartedly at a piece of shepherd’s pie. His glasses were slightly askew, and the familiar furrow of worry creased his forehead.

“You’ve barely touched your food,” you said, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “What’s eating you, Potter?”

Harry looked up, his green eyes filled with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. “It’s Malfoy,” he muttered, keeping his voice low. “He’s been skulking around all morning, acting shifty.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning in conspiratorially. “Isn’t that just his default setting? He’d probably call it ‘sophistication.’”

Despite himself, Harry cracked a small smile. “Maybe,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But I don’t trust him. I think he’s up to something, and I can’t shake the feeling it’s bad.”

“Harry,” you said, placing a hand on his arm to get his attention, “you’ve got enough on your plate without obsessing over Malfoy. Besides, you’ve got me to watch your back—and Hermione and Ron. Whatever he’s planning, we’ll figure it out together.”

He glanced at you, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Thanks,” he said softly. “You’re always saying the right thing.”

You grinned, picking up a piece of bread from your plate and tearing off a chunk. “That’s because I’m brilliant. Now eat something before Hermione catches you and makes a lecture out of it.”

Harry chuckled and finally took a bite of his food, the small moment of normalcy reminding both of you why your friendship worked so well. In a world full of danger and uncertainty, you were his constant—a best friend who always had his back, ready to face whatever challenges came your way.