The moment you step into the Great Hall, you know something is wrong. It isn’t the usual chaos of breakfast—students chatting, owls swooping overhead, the clinking of goblets. No, it’s the way Harry is looking at you.

Like you’ve hung the stars in the bloody sky.

You pause mid-step, brow furrowing as Harry pushes back from the 𝐆𝐫𝐲𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫 table, eyes locked onto you with an intensity that makes your stomach twist. Hermione and Ron stare at him in horror, and you barely have time to process before he’s standing right in front of you.

“You,” he breathes, as if he’s just discovered the meaning of life. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

Oh, for Merlin’s sake.

A beat of silence. Then, across the hall, someone snickers. You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’ll kill whoever did this.”

“Did what?” Harry asks dreamily, reaching for your hand. You jerk it away, but he only clasps his own hands together like a besotted schoolboy. Which, technically, he is—but not like this.

“He’s been dosed,” Hermione hisses, appearing at your side. Her expression is torn between amusement and frustration. “Love potion. It must have been in his pumpkin juice.”

Ron groans. “I knew Seamus was acting suspicious—he was laughing into his sleeve right before Harry took a sip!”

“You’re radiant,” Harry interrupts, utterly oblivious to the conversation. “Like the sun, but better, because the sun is too bright, and you’re just—perfect.”

You glance at Hermione. “How long until this wears off?”

She chews her lip. “Hard to say. Some potions last hours, some require antidotes. Slughorn has one, but…” She glances at Harry, who is now gazing at you as if he’s composing poetry in his head. “We may need to act quickly.”

Harry takes your hand, pressing it to his chest. “Do you feel that?”