Chapter Text
For the first time in ages, Harrie was actually looking forward to summer ending.
With everything that had happened—Voldemort returning, Sirius being killed, the Daily Prophet printing stories about being the Chosen One—she needed to get back to something familiar. Somewhere where she forget her problems, at least for a little while.
She wasn’t naïve. She knew the whispers would follow her into the castle. But Hogwarts, despite all its chaos, still felt more like home than anywhere else.
As she watched the trees pass in a blur outside the window, she pictured what sixth year would be like.
She was going to be Quidditch captain this year now that Oliver Wood graduated. She was already eager to put her team together, especially now that she convinced Ron to try out as Keeper. And with Hermione being a prefect this year, she could probably talk her into letting her sneak into the private bathrooms now and then. The giant tub alone was enough to put up with Hermione’s lecture about “misuse of prefect privileges.”
There was also Professor Slughorn, who would be taking over Potions this year. Harrie was actually excited—she’d always liked the subject, at least in theory. It was weirdly calming when things didn’t explode. But she’d never been able to enjoy it fully under Snape’s gaze, always feeling like one wrong move would get her hexed out of the classroom. Maybe she could actually breathe in Potions now without getting detention.
It was shaping up to be a decent year. Not perfect—not after everything that happened—but maybe something close.
Ron stood up from his side of the compartment, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn. "I'm gonna go see if the trolley is still around. Want anything?"
"No, I’m good. Thanks.”
The door slid shut behind him, and Harrie let her eyes drift back to the window. Hermione was still napping beside her, snoring softly as the train rolled smoothly over the tracks. Ginny hummed softly on the other side, flipping through a magazine and likely planning on stealing whatever sweets Ron brought back.
They still had about an hour left until they arrived at Hogwarts. She should probably stretch her legs, just for a bit.
Harrie rose slowly and slipped out. The corridors were empty now—everyone had settled in with their snacks or had fallen asleep under the lull of the train. She moved quietly, her footsteps soft against the worn carpet, until she reached the tiny lavatory tucked near the end of the carriage.
She splashed cold water on her face, bracing herself against the sink as droplets clung to her lashes. The mirror above her offered a warped reflection, but it didn’t soften anything. She looked older. Maybe not to anyone else, but she saw it—the dark circles beneath her eyes, the paleness of her skin, the faint crease between her brows that hadn’t been there last year.
Fifth year had clawed something out of her and hadn’t quite given it back.
With a deep breath, she turned off the tap and stepped back out, smoothing down her jumper as she walked. She’d barely taken two steps when someone rounded the corner and walked right into her.
She stumbled back a little and a hand reached out to steady her, a boy's hand.
Neville.
But this wasn’t the gangly, awkward Neville she’d known for years. He was taller now—at least a head above where he’d been last year—and his shoulders were broader too. The sleeves of his button-up shirt stretched taut over muscles that hadn’t been there before...and had his jawline sharpened? She didn't remember it being so defined.
“Apologies, Harrie. Didn't see you there...did you have a good summer?"
She felt a flutter she hadn’t expected. His voice was still familiar, but there was a deeper tone to it that made her blink again. It sounded smooth like velvet. She swallowed, caught off guard by how much something so simple could unsettle her.
“Uh…yeah, I did. You?” She managed, though her voice a little breathier than usual.
"It wasn't bad. I spent most of it in our greenhouse. We've been growing Ironwood saplings—they're massive. Takes a lot of pruning, lifting, repotting...kept me busy."
She glanced—only briefly—at the stretch of his shirt across his chest, the way it hugged his arms, and then quickly looked back up, hoping he hadn’t noticed. "Sounds like a proper workout."
Neville laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, it sort of turned into one. Gran said I finally stopped looking like I’d blow away in the wind.”
Harrie chuckled lightly, though her pulse spiked. The sound of his laugh had changed too. It was less like the nervous chuckle she remembered and more like something that curled around her like a blanket.
It unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
“So,” Neville said after a moment, clearing his throat, “...how have you been holding up? After everything?”
Harrie’s smile faltered.
The last time she’d seen Neville was when he was bloodied in the Department of Mysteries, wand clutched in his shaky hand. That awful green light flashing suddenly appeared in her mind. The echo of her screams as Remus pulled her away.
Her throat tightened.
“I’ve been…okay." She said finally. “As well as I can be, I guess.”
Neville nodded slowly, his expression softening into something painfully sincere. “I know how it feels,” he said. “Bellatrix took my parents from me. Not in the same way, but…still. I’m sorry about Sirius."
“Thanks."
They stood there for a moment, the train gently swaying beneath them. Somewhere behind them, a compartment door slid open, then closed again.
Harrie rubbed her arm, more out of instinct than anything—grounding herself, maybe. Soothing a part of her that still bristled whenever Sirius’s name was said aloud. “I should probably head back,” she said after a moment, forcing a smile as she shifted her weight. “I’ll see you later, Neville.”
Neville stepped aside, but not before his eyes held hers just a second longer than necessary. “Yeah. See you, Harrie.”
She slipped past him and hurried down the hall, sliding the open the door to her compartment a little too quickly. Hermione was awake now, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand while Ron was chastising Ginny for taking all of his Droobles.
Harrie sat back against the bench, eyes fixed on the ground as she kept thinking about Neville.
She'd forgotten that Bellatrix attacked his parents. It must have been terrible for him...facing her again. Hearing that horrible laugh echo through the air and still moving forward anyway. He was stronger than she’d ever given him credit for—maybe physically now, too—but it was the quiet strength beneath the surface that caught her off guard.
Merlin, she felt so strange. Like her mind was both racing and utterly still all at once. How could Neville be the one making her feel this way?...Maybe she was getting ill.
“Everything alright?” Ginny’s voice pulled her back, gentle but curious.
Harrie blinked and forced a small smile. “Yeah. Just…thinking.”
Ginny didn’t press, but her eyes held a knowing glint. “About what?”
Harrie hesitated, cheeks heating again. “Neville.”
"Why?" Ron scrunched his nose as he chewed.
“I just saw him in the corridor,” Harrie said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, trying to sound casual. “He looked...good.”
"You're talking about Neville Longbottom, right?"
"What other Neville is there?"
Ron gave her a skeptical look, eyebrows shooting up. “Did you hit your head or something?"
"I'm being serious!" Harrie insisted. "He's gained some muscle, and he looks quite tall...and his voice-"
“Nope. No. Absolutely not. You’re not allowed to say that about Neville." He shuddered.
Ginny snorted, trying to hide a grin. “Sounds like you’ve got a crush, Harrie.”
“He’s my friend,” Harrie said quickly, cheeks flaming. "Don't be ridiculous!"
“Then why are you blushing?”
Harrie opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
Hermione smirked. “Guess it’s not that ridiculous after all.”
Ron made gagging sounds in the corner. "This conversation is nauseating."
* * *
The train pulled into Hogsmeade Station just as the clouds overhead began to drizzle. Students scrambled off, some tugging their cloaks over their heads. Harrie moved through the crowd in a daze.
Neville had no business looking like that, and definitely no business doing it today of all days when she had expected nothing more than a simple welcome back feast. Now her thoughts were a mess, and her face flushed hot every time she remembered how close they'd stood in the corridor.
“First years, this way!” Hagrid’s familiar voice boomed over the crowd.
Harrie adjusted her bag on her shoulder and followed her friends toward the thestral drawn carriages. She tried to focus on anything but Neville.
“Oh, there he is!" Hermione pointed ahead in the next carriage.
He was sitting beside Luna, listening as she was no doubt droning on about whatever she'd read in Quibbler this week. Harrie averted her gaze from the carriage. She could feel a blush creeping up her neck as she listened to the other girls whisper about his new look, confirming what she already knew.
“Wow,” Ginny murmured, squinting. “He does look a little bigger…”
“He’s got proper shoulders now. When did that happen?” Hermione giggled.
“Somewhere between the Department of Mysteries and today, apparently."
"Why are we still talking about this?" Ron grumbled.
* * *
The enchanted ceiling rippled with light rain clouds, reflecting the soft drizzle outside. Harrie took her usual seat at the Gryffindor table, squeezing in beside Hermione and Ron, trying very hard not to look down the table where she knew Neville always sat.
She focused on Dumbledore’s speech, applauding politely as the first years were sorted into their houses. But despite her best efforts, her gaze kept slipping away, drifting back to Neville every few moments.
"What's wrong, Potter?" Dean asked, noticing her empty plate. "Not hungry?"
"Oh, she's hungry." Ginny smirked.
Harrie kicked her sharply from under the table.
"So, Harrie," Seamus chimed in from a few seats away "...you excited to be Quidditch captain this year?"
She blinked, surprised. “Quidditch captain?...Oh, right. Yeah, I am.”
It felt a little strange to say it out loud. Being captain meant more responsibility than ever—organizing practices, managing the team, and leading through what was sure to be a challenging year with Voldemort’s return still looming in everyone’s minds. But despite the pressure, she was looking forward to it. Quidditch had always been a refuge, a place to focus and forget the rest for a while.
A giggle further down the table pulled her focus.
Parvati twirled her hair on her finger across from Neville, snickering stupidly at something he said. Harrie noticed then a few second year girls were also whispering excitedly while stealing glances at him.
She shifted in her seat, trying to push the unfamiliar jealousy aside.
Why would she even feel jealous? She shouldn’t care that those other girls noticed his new look too. After all, Neville was just a friend—someone she’d known for years.
It shouldn't even bother her.
As Neville laughed at something Parvati said, his eyes drifted across the table—and suddenly they landed on Harrie. For a moment, his smile faltered, replaced by something softer, more thoughtful.
Harrie caught the look and quickly looked away, heart pounding.
* * *
Later that night, the Gryffindor common room was chaos as everyone unpacked their belongings and chose their beds. The first night was always fun, full of staying up late and catching up with friends. Harrie sat in a secluded corner by the window though, trying to decompress after the long day.
She watched the fire flicker across the walls, half-listening to Seamus loudly recount a kiss he shared with a muggle over the summer. Normally, she’d be in the thick of it—laughing, chiming in...but tonight, she just couldn’t shake the lingering buzz under her skin.
“Hey, Harrie.”
She turned her head, then quickly looked away, cheeks burning.
Sweet Merlin, he was wearing a tank top—something Ron sported regularly but never managed to pull off like this. There was a light tan to his skin, probably from hours spent working in his greenhouse over the summer, and the way his collarbone peeked out from the neckline made her head go a little fuzzy.
She forced herself to blink, to breathe.
This was Neville she was blushing about! What was the matter with her?!
“Are you alright?” He asked as he approached.
She kept her gaze on the window, focusing hard on a house elf sweeping in the courtyard below. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He hesitated. “Maybe I’m just overthinking, but…you keep looking away from me. You did it earlier during the feast and again just now.”
Harrie cursed herself for being so obvious.
“I’m just tired." She shrugged it off. "First day back, you know?”
“I hope I didn’t upset you earlier,” he added quietly, “talking about…Bellatrix."
Harrie looked at him then, a pang of guilt going through her. “Oh. No, it’s not that. Really.”
“Alright. Just wanted to make sure.” He studied her for a moment, like he was trying to read something in her expression. Then he nodded, slow and thoughtful. “Maybe we could catch up some more later this week if you're free."
Harrie blinked.
They’d hung out plenty of times before—during the Triwizard Tournament, they’d pulled an all-nighter studying underwater herbs. Last year, they’d helped each other survive O.W.L.s, trading tips and encouragement in the library.
But now...now it felt different. Her heart did that stupid little skip whenever he smiled at her, just like it had when she met Cedric Diggory.
No. No.
She was not crushing on Neville. This was just some strange, post-summer haze—a leftover jumble of emotions from everything that had happened. Seeing familiar faces again, getting used to being back at Hogwarts. Neville had changed, sure. But so had she.
That didn’t mean anything.
Right?
“I’m a bit busy with Quidditch tryouts starting in a few days,” she said, forcing her tone to stay casual.
Neville nodded, his expression easy. “I understand. Maybe another time, then.”
She watched him disappear up the boy's staircase, the soft fabric of his tank top clinging to his shoulders in a way that absolutely did not help her current situation.
Harrie groaned quietly and sank into the couch, tugging a cushion over her face.
This time next week, she wouldn’t even be thinking about Neville Longbottom.
She was almost sure of it.