Harry had faced many horrors in his thirteen years of life—giant three-headed dogs, soul-sucking Dementors, Voldemort's persistent attempts to kill him (seriously, the guy needed a new hobby).
But none of that compared to this.
Because this was uncharted territory.
Harry sat cross-legged on his four-poster bed, arms folded, staring at the absolute clowns who shared his dorm. He needed advice. Desperately.
"Alright," he began, cautiously. "Jean's birthday is coming up, and we're going to Hogsmeade. Which means—"
"A date," Dean finished with a knowing smirk.
"THE date," Seamus added, waggling his eyebrows like he was in on some great secret.
"Yeah," Harry said, exhaling. "So... what do I do?"
Silence.
Which was concerning.
Ron was frowning at him like he'd just been asked to solve an Arithmancy equation (which, to be fair, would earn the same reaction). Neville looked deep in thought, like he was replaying every book he'd ever read in the hopes that one of them contained useful dating advice.
Dean leaned back against his bedpost, arms crossed, nodding to himself like some kind of self-proclaimed romance expert.
Seamus?
Seamus just grinned like he had way too much confidence for someone who had never been on a date in his life.
"Easy," Seamus declared, sitting up straighter. "You gotta impress her."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "How?"
"Flowers," Ron blurted out.
"Okay…" Harry nodded slowly. "Not bad."
"But not just any flowers," Dean added, tapping his temple like he was about to drop the wisdom of Merlin himself. "They've gotta be romantic. Red roses."
"Roses are cliché," Neville countered. "Maybe something more meaningful? Like a rare magical plant?"
Ron snorted. "Yeah, 'cause nothing says 'Happy Birthday, Jean' like a flower that might eat her fingers."
Neville went red. "I wasn't talking about Venomous Tentacula, Ron!"
"Alright, alright," Seamus interrupted, waving a hand. "Flowers are fine, but you're missing the point. The most important thing on a date is..." He paused for dramatic effect.
Harry braced himself.
"You've gotta establish dominance."
A heavy silence followed.
Harry blinked. "What."
"You know," Seamus continued, as if this was common knowledge. "Take charge. Be the man."
"We're thirteen," Ron pointed out.
"Which is practically adult in medieval wizard times," Seamus reasoned.
"That's not how that works," Neville muttered.
"Alright, forget the dominance thing," Dean cut in, looking exasperated. "What you really need is smooth talk. Girls love a guy who can talk all charming-like."
Harry frowned. "Like what?"
Dean grinned. "Alright, let's practice. I'll be Jean. You try to impress me."
"Wait, what?"
Too late.
Dean dramatically flipped imaginary hair over his shoulder, batted his eyelashes, and said in the most high-pitched voice possible, "Oh, Harry, you're just so dreamy."
Ron immediately choked on his own spit.
Seamus fell off his bed, howling with laughter.
Neville just looked away, like he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment.
Harry groaned, rubbing his temples. "This was a mistake."
"No, no, keep going!" Dean insisted, still in character. "Tell me how my eyes sparkle like the Great Lake at sunrise!"
Harry gave him a flat look. "Your eyes sparkle like a toad in a potions accident."
Dean dropped the act, looking deeply offended. "Wow. Okay. Not that."
"Look," Neville said, trying to actually be helpful for once. "Maybe just be yourself? Jean already likes you, right?"
Harry sighed. "Yeah, but it's her birthday. I want to make it special."
Ron suddenly perked up. "Wait, what are you getting her?"
Harry froze.
Oh. Right. The present.
"I have... no idea."
The room exploded.
"Jewelry!" Dean declared.
"No, no, a book!" Neville countered.
"That's boring," Seamus groaned. "Get her something exciting! Like... like a broomstick!"
"Do I look like I have a hundred Galleons to spare?!" Harry shot back.
Ron leaned forward, rubbing his chin like he actually had an idea. "What about something personal?"
"Like what?"
"I dunno, something that means something to the both of you."
Harry considered that. An idea started forming in his head.
"Okay. Maybe you're onto something..."
Seamus clapped him on the back. "See? Told you we're experts."
Harry looked around at the absolute clowns he had just taken advice from.
Yeah. No.
He was definitely figuring this out on his own.
—
If Harry had any sense of self-preservation, he wouldn't be doing this.
As it stood, however, he had about as much common sense as a Niffler in a jewelry store, so here he was, hunched over his trunk, fishing out a highly dangerous magical artifact.
Okay, fine. It was a communication mirror. But considering who was on the other end, it might as well be a cursed object.
"Alright," he muttered, gripping the mirror like it might explode. "Here goes nothing."
He tapped the glass with his wand.
"Sirius Black."
For a second, nothing happened. Then, the surface rippled like water in a Pensieve, and suddenly—
"Harry!"
Sirius Black, Former Hogwarts Heartbreaker, Current Hit-Wizard, and Full-Time Chaos Gremlin, grinned back at him from the mirror.
"To what do I owe the pleasure? Are we planning a prison break? A Ministry heist? Need to fake your own death? Because I have notes."
Harry sighed. "No, I—"
Sirius held up a hand. "Wait. Let me guess. You've finally realized Snivellus is a vampire, and you need my help driving a stake through his greasy heart?"
"That would be so much easier than this," Harry muttered.
Sirius blinked. "Huh. Now I'm intrigued. Spill, pup."
Harry exhaled. "I... need dating advice."
A very dangerous silence followed.
Sirius blinked once. Twice. Then—
"HA!"
Harry immediately regretted everything.
"Oh, this is fantastic!" Sirius was practically vibrating with excitement. "Who's the poor unfortunate soul you've managed to charm?"
"Jean Grey," Harry admitted.
Sirius whistled. "A redhead?" He gave Harry an approving look. "Good choice."
"Is this really the part we're focusing on?"
"Absolutely." Sirius nodded solemnly. "Redheads, Harry. Redheads are magic. This is a sacred tradition. James, me, even Moony—"
"Remus dated a redhead?"
"For exactly three weeks before she realized she was actually in love with a seventh-year Ravenclaw, but that's not the point. The point is—you're keeping the legacy alive. I'm so proud."
Harry dragged a hand down his face. "Please, for the love of Merlin, focus. I need help planning this date."
Sirius steepled his fingers, looking uncomfortably serious.
"Alright, listen up, pup. I may not have been an official expert in dating, but I was the most sought-after bachelor at Hogwarts in my day."
"You mean you had commitment issues."
Sirius gasped, clutching his chest. "How dare you. I treated every one of my dates like absolute royalty—for the entire duration of their allotted time."
"Yeah, that's what I said," Harry deadpanned.
Sirius ignored him. "Now. First things first. Have you planned the route?"
"...The route?"
"Yes! Where are you taking her first? What's the itinerary?"
Harry blinked. "Uh... I figured we'd just go with the flow?"
Sirius made a scandalized noise. "Harry. No. You need a plan. A man with a plan is a man who commands respect."
"Are you... quoting something, or just making it up?"
Sirius grinned. "Fifty-fifty. Now! The key to a perfect date is variety."
"Variety," Harry echoed.
"Exactly! You need a mix of adventure, romance, and a little bit of danger—not the actual 'running-from-certain-death' kind, mind you. More like, 'Oops, we almost got caught sneaking into a restricted area, what a rush, now let's snog behind the Three Broomsticks' kind of danger."
Harry stared. "...Sirius, I am not sneaking into a restricted area on our first date."
"Ugh, fine," Sirius sighed. "You're no fun. But the rest of the advice stands! First, you start with a casual stroll—set the mood, keep things relaxed. Then, you do something exciting—like exploring a haunted shop or daring her to try something ridiculous. After that, you have a quiet moment—like a warm drink at Madam Puddifoot's or sitting by the Shrieking Shack, making up ghost stories. Then, the grand finale. The moment that ties the date together and makes it unforgettable."
Harry actually hesitated. "Okay. That... doesn't sound completely awful."
"Of course not! I am a genius."
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Harry said. "But what about the gift? It's her birthday."
Sirius leaned forward. "That, my dear godson, is where you truly shine. You need to get her something personal. Something that says, 'Hey, I actually listen when you talk and remember things about you, unlike most blokes.'"
Harry frowned, thinking. Something personal.
Then, like a Bludger to the brain, it hit him.
"I think I've got an idea."
Sirius grinned. "Good lad. Now, before you go, let's discuss the real important thing."
"Which is?"
Sirius leaned forward, eyes twinkling mischievously.
"The kiss."
Harry immediately threw the mirror under his pillow.
A muffled voice came through. "HARRY, YOU CAN'T JUST IGNORE ME ON THIS! THE KISS STRATEGY IS CRUCIAL!"
Harry flopped onto his bed, groaning into his pillow.
This was going to be the longest date of his life.
—
Jean Grey was pacing in front of the dormitory window, her mind racing faster than a broomstick in a Quidditch match. The date was coming up. The date. With Harry Potter. And she had no idea what she was doing.
Should she wear something casual? Something funny? Or go for the whole 'I'm mysterious and you'll never know what I'm thinking' vibe? That one could be tricky—there's a fine line between alluring and "oh no, she's probably hiding a dangerous secret." And knowing her luck, she'd somehow end up on the wrong side of that line.
"Okay, Jean," she muttered under her breath. "You've got this. It's just dinner. It's not like you're about to face Voldemort, right?"
The door creaked open at that exact moment, and in came the cavalry.
Hermione Granger, resident logic machine and all-around genius, was sitting cross-legged on her bed, book open as usual. She glanced up from the pages with that calm smile, the one that made Jean want to just sigh in defeat.
And then there were Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. They entered with the subtlety of a herd of stampeding unicorns, each carrying a mix of excitement and pure, unfiltered chaos.
"Oh, this is gonna be so good," Lavender said, practically vibrating with energy. She was holding up a pile of magazines like she was preparing to make the world's greatest decision.
Jean raised an eyebrow. "Is there a magazine for 'how to not make a fool of yourself on your first date'?" she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Lavender grinned like she'd just solved the meaning of life. "Well, no, but we're going to make one for you." She slammed a magazine down on the bed and gestured like she was unveiling a secret weapon. "We're talking head-turning, show-stopping, jaw-dropping—"
"Yeah, yeah," Jean muttered, sitting down on the nearest chair. "But here's the thing, Lav, I'm not exactly planning on starting the night as an over-the-top model, more like someone who's not going to embarrass herself in front of Harry."
Parvati—who was, as usual, doodling hearts around a notebook—looked up with wide eyes. "But Jean, this is Harry Potter we're talking about. He's practically the wizarding world's equivalent of the most eligible bachelor. It's like... like, if you were going to dinner with a celebrity! The world is watching."
Jean winced. "That's not helping," she said, burying her face in her hands. "This was supposed to be a simple dinner. It's like preparing for battle, but with a side of awkward."
Hermione, who had been quietly observing the chaos unfolding before her, put down her book and fixed Jean with a gaze that was equal parts reassuring and logical. "Jean," she said, leaning forward like a mentor giving sage advice, "it's not about looking perfect. You don't need to be anyone other than yourself."
"I—" Jean started, but Hermione cut her off with the precision of a witch who had been through far too many conversations about boys.
"Harry already likes you for who you are. And that's the most important thing." She paused, giving Jean a look that said, I mean it. "Trust me, that means more than any outfit or hairdo. You'll be fine."
Jean gave a half-hearted smile, the kind you give when you want to agree but your brain is still going into overdrive. "Thanks, Hermione. That does help. A bit."
Lavender rolled her eyes dramatically. "Hermione's right, of course. But you've got to add some flair, you know?" She raised a finger like she was about to drop the ultimate truth bomb. "Mystique is key. You've gotta be like an enigmatic sorceress. Not too eager, not too aloof. Make him work for it, but not so much that he's stuck wondering if you've got a dragon chained in your closet." She twirled her hair and gave Jean a wink. "Think Carmen Sandiego meets Cleopatra."
Jean blinked. "You know, I can't tell if that sounds like sound advice or if I've just been offered a job as an international jewel thief."
Parvati, who had been contemplating this whole conversation as though it was a thrilling mystery novel, spoke up with an air of absolute conviction. "You need to leave him guessing! You're Jean Grey, not just some random person. He'll be so intrigued, he'll be falling for you by the end of the night."
Jean narrowed her eyes at the two of them. "Are you suggesting I be some kind of... mind game player?"
"Yes!" Lavender exclaimed. "Exactly!" She gave Parvati a high five. "Be cool, but not too cool. Like, let him in, but don't make it easy. Leave him wanting more."
Hermione's brow furrowed. "Honestly, that's a bit much. You're both turning Jean into some sort of mysterious creature who exists only to confuse poor Harry. Remember, he's a bit dense when it comes to feelings. If you give him mixed signals, you'll just leave him thinking you don't like him."
Jean sighed. "That's exactly what I don't want to happen. I'm not trying to send the wrong message. I just want to survive dinner."
"Relax." Hermione gave her a reassuring smile. "Just be yourself. And don't feel like you need to play any games. Harry's not going to be impressed by some mysterious act. He's into real people, Jean. People who are genuine."
"That's all well and good, but I still don't know what I'm supposed to wear," Jean said, clearly not done with the whole outfit dilemma.
Lavender, who had seemingly recovered from the brief reality check Hermione had delivered, leaned forward eagerly. "Okay, what about something that's casual but... with a statement? Like, a dress that shows off your figure but isn't screaming 'I'm trying too hard.' Something that says, 'I'm low-key, but you'd be crazy not to notice me.'"
Jean tilted her head. "So, basically, something that says 'I'm hot, but I'm pretending I don't know it.'"
Lavender nodded vigorously. "Yes, exactly!"
Jean looked skeptical but couldn't help a small chuckle. "I think I've got it. But I still need something else... What about a gift? Should I bring him something?"
Parvati's eyes lit up. "Oh! Definitely. It doesn't have to be expensive, just thoughtful. Maybe something that reminds him of you. Like a charm or something magical?"
Lavender snapped her fingers. "Or—hear me out—get him something totally unexpected! Like, a magic compass. Then you can always find each other."
Jean looked at her in horror. "What kind of date gift is a compass? Is this some weird metaphor about being lost in love?"
"I mean," Lavender said, as though it was the most normal thing in the world, "it'd be a conversation starter."
Jean shook her head. "Let's stick with something a little less... confusing. How about a book? Harry likes reading, right?"
Hermione grinned. "I've got a few ideas. I can help with that."
The conversation shifted then, with Lavender and Parvati discussing the latest potion trends (and how quickly they could make Harry "fall in love," which Jean decided to ignore) as Hermione gave her a list of books Harry would like. Jean felt a little better now, though she was still convinced this would turn into a chaotic mess.
And just as she was about to thank Hermione, Lavender spoke up again, her eyes wide with complete seriousness.
"Jean, I've gotta ask... do you think he'll kiss you?"
Hermione groaned, clearly done with Lavender's dramatics. "We're not even at dinner yet, Lavender."
"Doesn't matter," Lavender said with a dramatic shrug. "It's Harry Potter."
Jean buried her face in her hands. "I'm definitely going to mess this up."
Hermione just smiled. "No. You've got this. Just remember, whatever happens—just be yourself. And remember, if things go wrong, at least you've got three incredibly dramatic dormmates here to make you feel better."
Jean couldn't help but laugh. "Well, I suppose that's true. I'll never be bored with you lot around."
With a deep breath, Jean prepared herself for whatever that dinner would bring. She didn't know if it would be perfect, but she knew one thing for sure—it would be one heck of a story.
—
Jean paced back and forth in her dormitory room, the old wooden floors creaking under her feet as if they were protesting her anxious energy. She hadn't felt this nervous since her first day at Hogwarts—or maybe even her first-ever attempt at using telekinesis to levitate a spoon. And this was way worse than that.
"Okay, Jean," she muttered under her breath, "you can do this. Just talk to Ororo. She's cool. She's confident. She has wisdom that could probably fix the entire universe. And she's definitely not going to make you feel like a weirdo for being nervous about asking Harry Potter out on a date to Hogsmeade. I mean, no big deal, right? Just a date with the Harry Potter. No pressure."
Jean stopped mid-step and grimaced at herself in the mirror. What am I doing? She couldn't believe she'd actually said the words out loud—date and Hogsmeade and Harry Potter. It had all just come tumbling out of her mouth in one frantic breath earlier that day. And now she was stuck with the aftermath.
She pulled out the communication mirror Sirius had given her, and, with a deep breath, activated it. The shimmer in the glass flickered as it adjusted, and Ororo's calm face appeared, the usual serene expression of the weather goddess she was, yet something about her eyes softened when she saw Jean's flustered expression.
"Jean?" Ororo's voice was a soothing melody, and Jean could've sworn it had some sort of magical calming effect. "What's going on?"
Jean instantly felt the urge to crumble into a heap. "I messed up, Ororo. I did the thing. I—uh—asked Harry Potter out... to Hogsmeade." Her voice sounded like someone had squeezed all the air out of her lungs. "On my birthday."
Ororo blinked, clearly trying to keep her smile under control, though the glimmer of amusement in her eyes was undeniable. "You... asked him out?" she repeated, her voice still smooth, but with a touch of humor. "To Hogsmeade? On your birthday?"
Jean winced. "Yes, I know, I'm a disaster. It just... happened! One minute, I was standing there, thinking about butterbeer, and the next—bam! The words just flew out of my mouth like some sort of verbal curse."
Ororo's smile didn't waver. "Jean, it's alright. We've all had our impulsive moments." She looked thoughtful for a second. "So, what's the problem? You like him, and he asked you to spend the day together. It sounds like a lovely idea."
Jean's eyes bulged. "You don't understand! There are so many things that could go wrong. Like... What should I wear? Should I be mysterious? Or funny? Or... I don't know—casual? What if I accidentally hex his food, or worse, accidentally set something on fire with my powers? What if he gets the wrong idea? Or worse—what if I don't even know how to talk to him when I'm there?"
Before Ororo could offer any calming advice, a loud voice from off-screen interrupted.
"Hold up! Are y'all talkin' about Harry?" The voice was unmistakable—Rogue, of course, always managing to barge into any conversation with the force of a hurricane. "You know, sug, I gotta say, you've got guts—askin' the famous Harry Potter out on a date. I mean, I gotta respect that. My advice? Just don't overthink it, darlin'."
Jean groaned. "Oh, no. Here we go." She rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what was coming next.
"Now, listen here," Rogue continued, leaning into the mirror from the side with her typical sass. "The key to a good date is confidence. Walk in like you own the place, and, sugar, trust me—you'll be fine." She paused for a beat before smirking. "And don't forget the cake. I hear Hogsmeade's got some amazing cakes."
Jean just stared at the mirror. "Rogue, you don't get it. I'm a mess. What if I don't know what to say? What if I accidentally get all weird?"
From the background, a new voice piped up—Kitty Pryde, naturally, bouncing into the conversation with all the subtlety of a firecracker. "Oh my god, Jean! This is like, the best thing ever!" She practically shouted into the mirror, her wide grin practically lighting up the room. "Harry, huh? That's huge. Wait, wait, tell me—did you actually ask him out out, or is this like... a casual thing? 'Cause if it's the real deal, girl, you're in for a magical time!" She giggled like a schoolgirl, clearly living her best life by vicariously experiencing Jean's drama.
Jean put a hand to her forehead, the flood of awkwardness and excitement hitting her like a tidal wave. "Uh, yeah... out-out. Hogsmeade. On my birthday." Her voice sounded like she was talking about the end of the world. "But that's not the point, Kitty! I need—ugh—I just need to be smooth, or something. I need advice. Actual, serious advice."
Kitty leaned closer to the mirror, as if sharing the most important secret in the world. "Well, okay, first thing's first: What are you wearing? Because that is step one, right?" She paused, looking up and down at Jean through the mirror as though appraising her outfit. "You could totally rock the 'mysterious-but-charming' look. Maybe like... a dark green robe? You know, show him you've got the magic—without making it too obvious."
Jean groaned. "Kitty, that's—no. No dark green robes. I'm trying to make this less witchy and more 'date-y.'"
Rogue raised a brow. "Sugar, if you want my two cents, forget the robes. Go for somethin' comfy. That way, when you're talkin', you'll feel relaxed." Her eyes sparkled, a mischievous smile curling on her lips. "Plus, no one's gonna notice if you mess up a little if you look like you're having fun."
Jean's head was spinning. "This is the worst. I'm so out of my depth. I swear, I'm not cut out for this."
Ororo's voice cut through the chaos again, calm and grounding. "Jean, listen to me. You are so capable of handling this. Harry Potter is just a person. He'll appreciate your honesty, your kindness. You don't need to be perfect." She smiled softly. "Besides, you'll have the most magical day simply because you'll be with someone who wants to be with you."
Jean closed her eyes, trying to absorb Ororo's soothing words. "You're right. I just... I don't want to mess this up. I want this to be special."
Kitty perked up again. "Oh, girl, it will be. Trust me, once you get there, all that nervousness will just melt away. You'll be too busy enjoying the butterbeer and the sweets, and just being with Harry... And, no offense to you, but we all know you've totally got this in the charm department."
Jean blinked. "Charm? I'm... I'm barely holding it together here."
Rogue wiggled her fingers in the air, mock-seriously. "You, sugar, are a natural when it comes to charm. So just go with it, let the magic happen, and maybe don't stress so much. You're already pretty special to him, don't forget that."
Jean chuckled softly, a smile tugging at her lips for the first time in what felt like hours. "Okay... Okay, you're right. Thanks, you guys. Seriously. I'm still going to feel like a mess, but maybe that's just... part of the fun, right?"
Ororo's smile was warm and knowing. "Exactly. And remember, Jean, we're all here for you. Enjoy yourself."
With that, the communication mirror flickered, and one by one, Kitty, Rogue, and Ororo faded from view.
Jean stood there for a moment, looking at her reflection. She still wasn't sure if she was ready for the whirlwind that was about to unfold, but maybe—just maybe—it wouldn't be the disaster she thought it would be.
—
The next morning, Harry found himself standing outside the Owlery, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared up at the towering structure. The crisp, early-morning air sliced through the Hogwarts grounds like an overenthusiastic knife at a dinner party, but Harry wasn't paying much attention to that. Nope, his mind was occupied with a much more pressing issue: Jean's birthday.
Now, Harry wasn't exactly the type to break out in a cold sweat over gift-giving (okay, maybe a little), but this? This was Jean's birthday. And if anyone deserved the perfect present, it was her.
He wasn't about to do something boring, like buy her a new broomstick or a fancy enchanted mirror. That would be too obvious, and let's face it—Harry Potter never did anything the obvious way.
So, after a late-night brainstorming session with Sirius (which may or may not have included a lot of talk about how Sirius still couldn't believe Harry was thinking of giving Jean anything less than the moon), Harry had come up with the perfect gift idea: an armored bodysuit. Not just any suit—this was going to be something spectacular. Something that would make even the toughest Death Eater think twice about crossing her.
But of course, to make such a suit, he needed some material. Acromantula silk and Basilisk hide—two of the most dangerous and rare materials in existence. The kind of thing that would make most wizards break out in a cold sweat, but that Harry had, quite conveniently, sold to Gringotts. Why? Well, because he had a little bit of a "favor" stored up with the goblins, and Harry always knew how to make sure they owed him one. Or five.
Now, standing outside the Owlery, Harry felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for Hedwig. Because, let's be real, no one else would be able to pull this off.
"Hey, girl," Harry muttered, giving the massive stone tower a wary glance before his eyes shifted to the white owl sitting majestically at the top, her wings gleaming in the early morning sunlight. He knew she could hear him. Hedwig had that kind of hearing.
The owl ruffled her feathers, gave a little trill, and flew down gracefully to land on Harry's shoulder, nipping at his robe as if to say, You know, I'm a bit of a legend in my own right, but go ahead and tell me what you need anyway.
Harry chuckled, scratching her behind the ear. "I swear, you know more about what's going on than I do sometimes."
Hedwig hooted, clearly proud of herself.
"Okay, okay. Here's the deal." Harry pulled out a parchment from his robe. He'd spent a ridiculous amount of time on this letter, but considering it was for a goblin, he wasn't about to skimp on the details. Gringotts had their own way of doing business, and it was best to meet them halfway.
"Toothgnasher's going to love this," Harry muttered, reading over the letter for the millionth time. It was detailed, precise, and full of exactly what he wanted. In other words, it was perfect. He read it aloud under his breath:
Dear Toothgnasher,
I hope this letter finds you well, and that Gringotts is still functioning at peak efficiency (if it's not, let me know so I can adjust my expectations accordingly).
As we discussed previously, I would like to commission a custom armored bodysuit for my friend Jean Grey. The materials, Basilisk hide and Acromantula silk, are already in your hands. I trust you can turn them into something truly remarkable.
Here's what I'm thinking:
1. Lightweight—Though the suit should provide protection, Jean is quite agile and needs mobility. I don't want her to be tripping over a giant cloak or some bulky armor, okay?
2. Durability—Cover the vital areas (torso, arms, and legs) with Basilisk hide. Use the Acromantula silk for joints and underlayers for flexibility. We want her to move, but we also want her to be basically indestructible.
3. Aesthetic Design—Keep it sleek. Jean's got style. I trust your craftsmanship, but please, no bulky, clunky armor. Maybe add a touch of emerald green, with gold accents? Also, a nice golden Phoenix emblem on the chest would be killer.
4. Additional Features—If possible, please make the suit resistant to magical curses. Jean's powers tend to be unpredictable. Protection is key.
Let me know if you need anything else, and I'd appreciate it if you could speed this up a bit—Jean's birthday is coming soon.
Best regards,
Harry Potter
Harry rolled the letter up and fastened it securely to Hedwig's leg. "All right, girl. You've got one job: get this to Toothgnasher and make sure it gets done."
Hedwig let out a soft hoot of acknowledgment, flapped her wings in that way that made Harry feel like she was way too majestic for her own good, and took off into the sky with the letter. She vanished so fast that Harry barely had time to wave goodbye.
"Now, we wait," Harry muttered to himself, his hands on his hips as he watched her disappear into the horizon. He was about 95% sure Toothgnasher would get the job done, but there was always that pesky 5% that made him feel like he needed to do a little more. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint Jean. What if she didn't like it? What if she thought it was too much? What if—
"Stop overthinking it, Harry," he muttered, slapping himself on the forehead. "It's a gift, not a prophecy."
With a deep breath, Harry turned and walked back down toward the castle, wondering just how exactly he was going to distract Jean long enough to surprise her with the suit. Maybe a little Quidditch match was in order. She liked flying, after all.
But for now? He could only wait and hope that Hedwig would return with the best news ever: Toothgnasher had worked his magic, and Jean's birthday present was going to be perfect.
---
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