The First-Year Boys' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower was as peaceful as a graveyard at midnight.
Until Harry Potter ruined it.
"UP. Push-ups. Now."
A muffled groan echoed from somewhere under a red and gold duvet. Neville Longbottom's arm flailed up blindly, searching for the source of the auditory assault like a man trying to swat a Niffler with a spoon. His voice emerged from the depths, scratchy and full of betrayal.
"Harry… if I wake up to your voice every morning, I will actually learn the Cruciatus Curse."
Harry, already at the foot of his bed and suspiciously awake for someone who had gone to sleep barely five hours ago, rolled his shoulders in a slow circle. Black tank top. Grey sweatpants. A towel over one shoulder. And the confidence of a man who had absolutely dropkicked his alarm clock into the afterlife years ago.
He gave Neville a wicked smirk. "You think this is early? Mad-Eye used to wake us up at four with a bucket of cold water and a scream like he'd just seen Voldemort doing yoga in his living room."
Neville sat up like he'd been cursed, blinking rapidly. "I'm not awake enough to process that mental image. I want a refund."
Ron Weasley groaned from the bed beside them, dragging a pillow over his face. "Why is it still dark outside? Is this Azkaban?"
Harry was already on the floor, beginning push-ups at a pace that should've been illegal. "It's not dark, Ron. It's dramatic lighting. Builds character."
Ron poked one eye out from under his pillow. "I don't need character. I need sausages and sleep. Preferably in that order."
From the corner of the room, Seamus Finnigan sat up like he'd just survived a magical explosion. His hair was pure chaos—gravity had clearly lost the will to fight. "Is it morning, or did I just die in my sleep and wake up in a motivational poster?"
Dean Thomas, who had somehow managed to burrito himself into his duvet like a pro, groaned, "If I move right now, I might disintegrate. I think I am the bed."
"Fine," Neville muttered, dragging himself out of bed like it owed him money. "But if I sprain a muscle, Harry, I'm making you carry me to Herbology like a princess in a fairy tale."
Harry didn't even pause his push-ups. "Deal. But I'm calling you 'Nevra the Delicate' in front of Sprout."
Neville dropped beside him. "You're the worst friend ever."
Harry grinned. "You say that like it's news."
Ron, now halfway up and clinging to consciousness like it was his last chocolate frog, squinted at them. "Wait—are you lot actually doing exercise? Voluntarily?"
"Push-ups. Sit-ups. Pull-ups. Jog," Neville grunted.
"Sanity," Dean mumbled. "Gone."
Seamus narrowed his eyes at Harry. "What are you training for? The Triwizard Tournament? You're eleven, mate."
Harry didn't look up. "Training for life. You ever meet a dark wizard who took weekends off?"
Ron flopped onto his back like he'd been cursed. "I didn't even meet a dark wizard, and I already need a nap."
Neville, now on push-up number twenty-something, huffed, "This is what we've done since we were six. Gran got tired of me being clumsy and chucked me at Harry's house like a parcel. Then Mad-Eye happened."
"Mad-Eye Moody?" Dean asked, lifting his head. "The psycho with the rotating eye and enough paranoia to scare a Dementor?"
"That's the one," Harry said brightly. "Trained us like we were auditioning for Auror bootcamp."
"He made me run blindfolded through a gnome-infested garden once," Neville added. "Said it built 'tactical instincts.' I tripped over three gnomes and landed in a compost pile."
"Did it work?" Ron asked.
Neville paused. "...I mean, I can dodge cake now like a ninja."
Seamus chuckled. "The girls really joining this mad morning club, or is that a fever dream?"
Harry, now on sit-ups, didn't even break rhythm. "Tonks, Daphne, Susan, Hannah, and Tracey. They'll meet us outside. And if you say anything dumb, Tonks will trip you with her hair."
Seamus raised a brow. "How do you even know girls like that?"
"Harry," Neville said, pointing at him like he was reading from a textbook. "Knows everyone. Knows everything. Probably has tea with Merlin every Sunday."
"Also," Harry added, "Susan punches harder than Ron's emotional range."
"Oi!" Ron looked offended. "I have an emotional range!"
Harry gave him a side glance. "A teaspoon doesn't count, Weasley."
Dean snorted. "Mate, the twins told me that you once cried because your sandwich didn't have enough ham."
"It was soggy, alright!" Ron huffed. "That's a crime!"
Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "Relax. You can work your feelings out on the pull-up bar."
"I will throw you out the window."
"You're welcome to try, but I can wall-run now."
Everyone stared.
Seamus blinked. "What are you? A spell-slinging ninja?"
"Parkour," Neville whispered reverently, like he was naming a spell. "It's terrifying."
Harry was already pulling on his running robe and tying his laces. "Come on, Longbottom. Time to make Hogwarts our cardio playground."
Neville groaned as he stretched. "You say that like it's normal."
"It is normal," Harry said, tossing a towel over his shoulder. "You just need to be better friends with pain."
Ron flopped dramatically onto his pillow. "You need therapy."
Harry was halfway to the door when he turned, flashing a savage grin. "I had therapy. His name was Mad-Eye. He made me fight a boggart with my eyes closed while reciting the Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood."
Dean raised a hand from under his duvet. "Alright. New plan. If we survive to breakfast, we buy Harry a 'Welcome to Hogwarts, You Maniac' cake."
Harry opened the door and waved at them all. "Suit yourselves. Come on, Neville. Let's go see if the Forbidden Forest wants to race."
Neville waved over his shoulder. "If I trip on a squirrel, avenge me."
Ron muttered into his pillow, "They're mental. Both of them."
Seamus nodded solemnly. "If Harry ever starts lifting hippogriffs for fun, I'm transferring to Hufflepuff."
Dean yawned. "I'd say it can't get weirder, but it's only Day One."
The door shut behind the two boys.
Outside, the castle still slept. But for Harry and Neville, the morning had already begun. Muscles burning, hearts steady, and magic stirring just beneath the surface.
Because for them, the day didn't start with wands.
It started with war against gravity.
And gravity never stood a chance.
—
The Gryffindor common room still held the drowsy hush of pre-dawn, all golden embers and cozy shadows, like the castle itself hadn't had its coffee yet. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the soft creak of footsteps descending the boys' dormitory stairs.
Harry and Neville emerged, both wearing the kind of tired-but-satisfied expressions only gained from surviving gravity's early morning vendetta. Harry's black tee was damp with sweat, his hair an even more charming mess than usual, while Neville was doing his best impersonation of a soggy houseplant as he wiped his forehead with a towel.
"My hamstrings hate me," Neville muttered. "They've written a formal complaint to my knees."
Harry rolled his shoulders with practiced ease. "Tell them to get in line. My quads have been in labor since Tuesday."
And then they both saw her.
Hermione Granger. Sitting on the couch. In workout clothes.
Harry blinked.
Neville blinked twice.
Hermione was in a dark maroon hoodie, black joggers, and trainers that looked brand-new—and also like they regretted every decision they'd made in life. Her face was flushed, her curls frizzing wildly around her face, and she was hunched over like a sentient comma.
"Hermione?" Neville squinted. "You're… awake."
"Not just awake," Harry said slowly. "She's wearing gym clothes."
Hermione groaned from the couch. "I have made mistakes. So many mistakes."
Tonks, already mid-stretch on the floor in an athletic tank and shorts, grinned upside down at them from her downward dog position. Her hair was bubblegum pink this morning, tied up in a chaotic bun that somehow looked cooler than any hairstyle had a right to be.
"Morning, sunshine boys!" Tonks chirped. "Guess who decided to join Team Dawn of Doom?"
"Team—? Oh no," Neville said, backing away from Hermione like she might explode. "She did the warm-up, didn't she?"
"Tried to," Tonks said, flipping onto her feet like a spring-loaded cat. "She saw me doing my warm-up—hundred push-ups, hundred sit-ups, hundred pull-ups—and asked what I was doing. So I explained the logic. Stronger body, stronger magic, better focus, longer dueling endurance, yada yada. Next thing I know, she's dropping to the floor like she's trying out for a Muggle boot camp."
Hermione whimpered. "Why are sit-ups legal?"
Harry crossed his arms and grinned. "Hermione Granger. Queen of the library. Slayer of final exams. Taker of Advanced Arithmancy for fun. Tried to solo the Three Trials of Tonks before dawn."
Hermione slowly raised her head, face a mask of pure, academic betrayal. "You didn't say there were pull-ups."
Tonks looked proud. "I thought you'd back out after thirty push-ups. But nope. She went full goblin mode."
"I made it to sixty-seven sit-ups," Hermione said, voice barely above a whisper. "Then I blacked out and saw the face of Merlin. He was judging me. Harshly."
"You hallucinated Merlin?" Neville asked.
"He was sipping a protein shake."
Harry crouched beside her like a smug workout guru. "You know this was just the warm-up, right?"
Hermione looked up at him with the expression of someone who had just discovered the existence of tax forms. "That was the warm-up?"
Neville winced in sympathy. "Yeah, same reaction I had the first time. Also the second time. And every time after that."
"Your legs are made of unholy alloy," Hermione muttered. "Titanium and spite."
"I do have strong calves," Neville admitted. "I named them Fred and George."
Tonks giggled. "Honestly, I live for this energy."
Hermione tried to rise. Her hoodie betrayed her and nearly dragged her back down.
Harry offered a hand. "Come on, soldier. The war against gravity waits for no witch."
"This is not war. This is a hate crime. Against my core."
Neville grabbed her other arm and they hauled her to her feet like she was the world's most stubborn house-elf.
Hermione wobbled dangerously. "My thighs are… vibrating. Why are they vibrating?"
"That's just your body realizing it has muscles," Tonks said helpfully, slinging her duffle bag over her shoulder. "And that they're mad at you."
"Are we still jogging?" Hermione asked, her voice full of dread.
"Yup," Harry said, already heading toward the portrait hole. "Few kilometers through the grounds. Nothing crazy. Unless Tracey picked the playlist again."
Neville smirked. "Last time we got a remix of 'Let It Floo.' I nearly tripped over a root laughing."
Tonks snorted. "We're meeting the others at the Quidditch pitch. Daphne, Tracey, Susan, Hannah. Girls are probably already stretching and talking about how many squats they can do without breaking a sweat."
"They will judge me," Hermione groaned.
Harry opened the portrait hole. "Only a little. But just know: every muscle that's sore tomorrow is one step closer to you being able to outduel half this school."
Hermione limped through the doorway. "I already can outduel half this school."
"Not physically, you can't," Neville said. "That'd be like trying to hex a mountain."
"Exactly," Harry said with a wink. "But imagine if the mountain could hex back."
Hermione paused. "Okay. I hate you, but also... I respect that metaphor."
They stepped into the chill corridor, the castle still yawning around them. The torches flickered to life as if recognizing their daily journey. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted and a ghost groaned about leg cramps.
The early morning crew—four kids and a pink-haired menace—walked in step.
Outside, the sun was barely peeking over the treetops, casting the world in golden blue. The field waited. The others waited. The run waited.
Harry grinned.
"Let's go wake up the world."
Hermione, her expression pinched but determined, muttered, "And possibly die trying."
Tonks beamed. "That's the spirit!"
Neville cracked his neck. "Let's see if we can make it to breakfast without collapsing."
And with that, Gryffindor's finest chaos squad strode out into the dawn.
The pain was real. The banter was strong. And the grind never stopped.
—
By the time the group limped their way across the front courtyard, the early morning fog was finally retreating like it knew better than to hang around this crowd. Golden streaks of dawn cut through the mist like divine judgment—fitting, considering how much Hermione looked like she was walking toward the afterlife.
"Steps," she muttered, glaring at the stone staircase leading up to the Great Hall. "Why are there always steps?"
"Gravity hates you," Harry offered cheerfully, jogging backward just to flex. "She and I are on speaking terms, though. She knows I lift."
Hermione shot him a look like she was considering a new Unforgivable Curse. "You're one protein shake away from being a Marvel villain."
"Already working on the supervillain laugh," Harry replied. "Just need a monocle and a white cat."
"Don't forget the tragic backstory," Tonks added brightly, skipping beside him with far too much energy for a girl who'd faceplanted into her porridge just yesterday. "Maybe you were bitten by a radioactive dumbbell."
Neville snorted. "Or dropped as a baby. Multiple times. Onto his head."
Harry gave Neville a slow look. "Careful, Longbottom. I taught you how to do a proper deadlift. I can also teach you how to play dead."
They rounded the last few steps, and the front doors of the Great Hall loomed above them like the gates of Olympus.
Waiting in front of the doors, glowing like an advert for magical Lululemon, were the girls of what Tonks had already dubbed Team Sass & Squats.
Daphne Greengrass leaned against a pillar like she'd been carved there by Aphrodite herself—long legs crossed, ponytail sleek, and an expression that suggested the group was already wasting her time. If there was ever a witch who could judge your entire life with a single raised eyebrow, it was her.
Next to her, Tracey Davis was bouncing slightly, earbuds in, her black hoodie unzipped to reveal a bright sports bra, and her head nodding in rhythm to something that probably had illegal bass drops.
Hannah Abbott, swaddled in a hoodie that looked stolen from a boyfriend she didn't have, was lunging dramatically like she was in a music video for angsty cardio. Meanwhile, Susan Bones stood near the doors chatting animatedly with an actual wall of muscle in Hufflepuff robes.
Tonks spotted them first and waved both arms like she was signaling a Quidditch blimp. "Oi! Morning, muscles and maniacs!"
Daphne raised a perfectly sculpted brow. "You're late."
Neville wheezed. "We brought a corpse." He jabbed a thumb toward Hermione, who was currently using the stone wall for dear life.
Hermione croaked, "I'm fine. Just… deeply regretting everything."
"Same, but I'm still hot," Tracey said, yanking out her earbuds and smirking. "You try working out with Navy SEAL Potter over here? Rookie move."
Harry, somehow looking like he'd just stepped out of a men's fitness calendar, gave her a two-finger salute and a wink. "Morning, witches. Y'all look like the Hogwarts edition of Baywatch."
"Baywatch?" Daphne repeated.
"Muggle show," Hermione muttered. "Lots of running. Lots of bouncing."
Tracey looked Harry up and down. "I mean, I bounce."
Harry grinned. "And I support your right to do so."
Susan snorted, stepping aside to gesture to the guy next to her. "And this bouncing brick of Hufflepuff is Cedric. Cedric Diggory."
The tall, broad-shouldered fourth-year gave a lazy, charming smile. "Hey. Heard about the early morning cult. Figured I'd check out the madness."
"Cult is such a negative word," Harry said. "I prefer 'Voluntary Pain Fellowship.'"
Cedric laughed—a deep, smooth baritone that made even Daphne glance twice. "Pain builds character."
"It builds traps and glutes, too," Tonks said, slapping his shoulder. "This guy looks like someone carved him out of honey and protein powder."
Neville blinked up at him. "Merlin's beard, were you grown in a greenhouse?"
"Hydrated and heavily pruned," Cedric replied easily.
"Also," Susan added proudly, "he runs around the Quidditch pitch like it owes him child support."
Daphne crossed her arms. "So, the Hufflepuffs are breeding demigods now?"
Harry gestured between Cedric and himself. "Don't worry. I'm still the main character."
Tracey pointed at Hermione. "She's still emotionally recovering from the time you told her she squats like a confused house-elf."
"That was constructive criticism!" Harry protested. "I was helping her avoid a future of bad knees and shattered dreams."
Hermione gave him a glare that could fry eggs. "You called my form 'a violation of magical law.'"
"Because it was!" Harry said. "The goblins filed a complaint."
"You're insufferable," she muttered.
"You're welcome."
Cedric looked mildly amused. "So, is there always this much drama before dawn?"
Susan giggled. "Only when Potter's involved."
"I bring the drama," Harry said, spreading his arms like a magician. "And the gains."
"Speaking of," Daphne said, pushing off the column with the grace of a panther about to commit tax fraud, "let's move before I turn into stone. Jog to the pitch?"
Cedric tilted his head. "Jog?"
Everyone turned to Hermione.
The girl, who looked like she'd seen the grim specter of cardio itself, gave a thumbs-up so weak it might have been a twitch. "I'm… totally not going to die."
Tracey tossed her a protein bar. "Eat this. Won't save you, but at least you'll have something to chew on during the funeral."
"You're all mad," Hermione groaned, staggering forward as the group began their slow shuffle toward the pitch.
"And yet," Harry said, now jogging backward again because he refused to act like a normal human being, "you keep coming back."
Tonks draped an arm around Hermione's shoulders mid-jog. "Welcome to the cult, sweetheart."
"You're all terrible influences."
"Obviously," Susan said. "We're teenagers. We're supposed to be."
They moved as one, a chaos crew of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and one part-time metamorphmagus, jogging down toward the Quidditch pitch while the sun crept higher behind them. Some were fast. Some were slow. Some were barely moving at all.
(Hi again, Hermione.)
But they were moving.
Together.
Because here, among the burn and the banter, the sweat and the sass, they weren't just students.
They were becoming something more.
—
The sun had crept higher into the sky, bathing the Black Lake in molten gold. The water shimmered as if the whole lake was reflecting the towering spires of Hogwarts, but for the group sprawled out across the grass, it was more like a massive battlefield where they'd been vanquished by cardio.
Harry was lounging on the grass, shirtless (because, let's be honest, he could), using his discarded T-shirt to mop at his neck, though a smug grin played on his lips that screamed "I'm a warrior"—or maybe it screamed "I know I look good"—who was to say, really? He flicked a glance at his friends with an eyebrow raised, already getting that "this is too easy" vibe.
Neville, on the other hand, looked like someone who'd just been hit by a herd of rampaging hippogriffs. He lay face-first in the grass, as if maybe if he didn't move, he'd cease to exist. His only response to the chaos around him was a weak, "I'm dead. This is my ghost. Boo."
Tonks, who was all wild energy, twirled a twig in her hand, occasionally flicking tiny pebbles at Neville's prone body. "You're a terrible ghost. You've got back hair for days."
"I resent that," Neville muttered, lifting his hand just enough to flick her off—though it was a half-hearted attempt.
"You should be more focused on your form, mate," Harry chimed in lazily, stretching his arms back, clearly in way better shape than the rest of them.
Neville raised his hand weakly in response. "Form is a social construct, Potter."
Tracey, who had managed to look cool and composed despite the whole exercise ordeal, snorted. "Not in our cult." She was already popping an earbud out of her walkman, the clunky, sticker-covered device an absolute relic from Muggle culture—at least, in Hogwarts terms.
Hermione, still gasping for breath, shot a look over at Tracey, her brow furrowing. "Hold up. Is that— is that a walkman?" she asked, eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. "How are you using Muggle tech? I thought anything non-magical short-circuited around Hogwarts?"
Tracey grinned, flipping her hair back with an air of complete confidence. "That's because you haven't met the Delacour sisters' mum." She held the walkman up like it was some sort of holy artifact. "She's basically magical Tony Stark but with a French accent that could melt steel."
"Wait—wait—hold on!" Susan nearly squealed, wiping sweat from her brow. "I would die for her croissants."
"Croissants are just flaky lies," Daphne muttered, flicking a strand of her platinum hair over her shoulder like she was the embodiment of elegance—even after a killer workout.
"Croissants are the best," Tracey said with the kind of passion only someone who knew true pastries could understand. "Don't listen to Daphne. She doesn't know joy."
"You're flaky," Tonks retorted with a wink, flicking a pebble right at Daphne's cheek, which was met with a soft plonk.
Daphne raised an eyebrow and turned to Tonks. "You'll pay for that later."
Hermione, though, was still caught on the walkman. "Wait, who are the Delacours? And you're telling me they can make Muggle technology work around magical interference?"
"Yep," Tracey said, popping the earbud back in and adjusting the walkman as if it were an extension of herself. "Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour are our friends, and their mum's a total enchanter-slash-magical engineer. Honestly, she's way cooler than I'll ever be."
"She's a goddess, is what she is," Susan sighed, her eyes turning dreamy.
"Croissants," Tonks added, with an exaggerated sigh of her own, "and general perfection."
"Fleur and Gabrielle are pretty cool, too," Harry said, lying back and lazily throwing an arm over his eyes like some ancient Greek hero. "We hang out with them every summer in Marseille. Tracey almost got arrested for teaching Gabrielle how to do a backflip off the roof into their pool."
"It was perfectly controlled, thank you," Tracey shot back, eyes narrowing in mock outrage. "The pool was shaped like a giant wine glass. There were no injuries."
"I'm scarred for life," Neville mumbled from the ground, face still planted firmly into the dirt.
Susan grinned. "That wasn't the worst part. We were all convinced Gabrielle was secretly trying to kill us."
"Accurate," Harry muttered under his breath, shifting his weight to sit up, grinning like a man who had experienced true chaos and lived to tell the tale.
Hermione, still processing the sheer absurdity of it all, turned to Tracey, her curiosity piqued. "Okay, okay. So, this walkman is magical. What else does she make?"
"Oh, you don't even want to know," Tracey said, her eyes lighting up with mischief. "But I'll tell you anyway. She's made enchanted surfboards, spell-boosted beach balls, and last summer she made me a self-cleaning bikini top." She shot Harry a grin, "Which, let's be real, was mostly for his benefit."
"I'm scarred," Harry said with mock solemnity. "And she's a genius."
Tonks, who had been happily twirling her twig, tossed it aside and leaned in, her grin widening. "Tracey here's also got a real talent for magical parodies of Muggle songs. She's practically the bard of this group. Harry's even got a whole mixtape."
Hermione blinked. "Wait, what? You've been recording these?"
"Oh, hell yeah," Tracey said, beaming proudly. "We've got bangers. Like my personal favorite—'Eye of the Hippogriff.' Absolute masterpiece." She stood up dramatically, as if she was about to conduct an invisible orchestra.
"It's the thrill of the flight," Tracey sang, swinging her arms like she was at the front of a stadium, "rising up to the challenge of our rival!"
Harry nodded in satisfaction, clearly impressed. "Best song on the mixtape. Hands down."
Hannah, who had been silently suffering through the heat and sweat of it all, snorted and groaned, "Don't forget 'Krethie Baby'—that's basically a crime against music. I'm pretty sure that's illegal."
Tracey's eyes widened in mock horror. "It's art, Hannah. Pure art. House-elf ballads are the future."
"Please. Please no," Susan begged, dramatically clutching her stomach. "I'm still recovering from the last time you sang that. I can't be saved."
Cedric, who had been watching the scene unfold in amused silence, raised an eyebrow. "So, I thought I was joining a workout group. This feels more like being introduced to a very weird sitcom. Are you all auditioning for the part of 'Most Dysfunctional Friends'?"
Tonks's grin turned devilish. "We are the most dysfunctional friends. But hey, at least we get a killer workout in."
"I'm just saying," Tracey said with a smirk, "if Hogwarts ever had a Battle of the Bands, we'd wipe the floor with every other house."
Daphne groaned, resting her head in her hands. "Only if you promise not to sing about Moaning Myrtle's romantic escapades again."
"I'm offended," Tracey said dramatically, flinging her towel like a cape. "It had sound effects. Authenticity matters."
Susan buried her face in her hands. "It was the worst thing I've ever heard, and I've heard some bad things."
"Seriously though," Cedric said, adjusting his towel and finally standing up to join the banter, "what does your team actually do when they go on vacation? You've got me intrigued."
Harry, looking far too pleased with himself, leaned forward. "Have you ever seen two Veelas and a Metamorphmagus compete in a beach volleyball game using transfigured coconuts?"
Cedric's eyes widened. "…Why does that sound like something I absolutely need to witness?"
Tracey gave a knowing grin. "Because it is."
And with that, the group collapsed back onto the grass, laughing and throwing friendly jabs at each other as the sun climbed higher. Hermione realized, with some surprise, that for the first time in what felt like ages, she wasn't stressing about exams or schedules or anything remotely academic.
Instead, she was sitting in the sun, surrounded by weirdos and misfits—laughing, joking, and listening to ridiculously bad magical parodies of Muggle music.
It was good.
Maybe even great.
"Can I borrow that playlist?" Hermione asked, holding out her hand for Tracey's walkman.
Without hesitation, Tracey handed over one earbud. "Only if you swear fealty to the Church of the Hippogriff."
Hermione rolled her eyes but took the earbud anyway. "Deal."
And so, their ridiculous, sun-drenched morning drifted on, and for the first time, it didn't feel like anything could ruin the chaos they called family.
—
By the Lake — Continued
Eventually, after the laughter died down and the muscles stopped screaming quite so loudly, the crew began to peel themselves off the grass one by one, groaning and stretching like a pack of half-dead yoga students.
"I think my spleen just filed for emancipation," Neville muttered as he staggered upright, grass clinging to the side of his face like a mossy birthmark.
Tonks flopped onto his back with a cheerful thud, draping herself dramatically across his shoulders. "Forward, noble steed! Carry me to the castle, lest I perish from physical exertion!"
Neville didn't even flinch. "If I fall down the hill and break my face, I'm taking you with me."
"That's the spirit," Tonks grinned, then promptly rolled off and face-planted into the grass again. "Nope. Never mind. I live here now."
"I am not dragging your corpse to the Great Hall," Harry called as he shook out his sweaty shirt and finally tugged it back on. "It's the first day of classes. Let's not get expelled before breakfast."
"Speak for yourself," Tracey said, standing and flicking her braid over her shoulder. "I'm planning to be lightly reprimanded by lunch. Just enough to keep things spicy."
"Oh, I see," Daphne deadpanned, adjusting her already-perfect ponytail. "An elegant descent into degeneracy. Classy."
"Like your eyeliner," Tonks chirped, finally rising with the help of Neville's arm. "Still flawless, by the way. You make me feel like a raccoon on laundry day."
"Because you are a raccoon on laundry day," Harry said, with mock-seriousness. "But a lovable one. Like, if Rocket Raccoon had glitter in his fur and impulse control issues."
Tonks gave him a lazy salute. "Highest compliment I've ever received."
The group started the slow walk back up towards the castle, each of them wobbling a bit like newborn giraffes. They were halfway past Hagrid's hut when Hermione suddenly perked up.
"Hey," she said, frowning thoughtfully. "We've got Gryffindors, Slytherins, and Hufflepuffs in our group. But no Ravenclaws."
"I mean, that's not a problem," Susan said with a shrug, "but I guess it is weird."
Hermione gestured vaguely. "It's like… incomplete. Unbalanced. As a group dynamic. We're just one diadem short of a full set."
"Ooh, nerd logic," Hannah teased. "I like it."
"No, she's got a point," Tonks said, already twirling a grass stem between her fingers like it was a wand. "We should get a Ravenclaw. For symmetry."
"For world domination," Tracey added.
"For diversity quotas," Daphne said drily.
Cedric glanced sideways, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face before he cleared his throat. "Well… what about Cho Chang? She's a third year in Ravenclaw. Pretty cool, from what I've seen."
Harry, walking just behind him, caught the way Cedric's voice got all casual-like, the way someone trying very hard not to seem interested in someone always does. He smirked internally.
Oh. Ohhh. Cedric's got it bad. Cute.
Tracey nodded almost immediately. "Yeah. Cho's good people. Lives a couple houses down from mine. We used to play Quidditch in the cul-de-sac. Girl's got a hell of an arm—once broke my brother's broom mid-pass and didn't even apologize. I respect that."
"She plays Seeker, right?" Susan asked. "For Ravenclaw's team?"
"Fast as hell," Harry said absently, tossing a pebble up and catching it. "Good instincts."
Tonks bumped him lightly with her elbow. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"I'm always thinking what you're thinking," he replied without missing a beat. "Which is why I keep the emergency glitter in my sock drawer."
"I knew that was you," Neville muttered.
"I say we invite her," Hermione declared. "Worst she can say is no."
"Or hex us," Tracey added. "Ravenclaws tend to be secretly feral."
"So basically perfect for us," Tonks grinned.
By now they were almost at the stone steps leading into the entrance hall. The early-morning crowd was starting to filter in for breakfast, the air filled with the scent of cinnamon toast and scrambled eggs. The group slowed near the stairs, the natural point of separation looming.
"All right," Harry said, clapping his hands once. "Break time. Slytherins, try not to hex anyone before class. Hufflepuffs, try not to bake muffins for everyone during class. And Gryffindors…"
"Try not to get detention before class," Hermione finished for him, rolling her eyes.
"Team spirit," Tonks said, bumping fists with Tracey, who mock-saluted and sauntered off with Daphne.
"Don't forget," Susan called back, "we meet back here after Transfiguration!"
"Assuming we survive McGonagall's annual 'I Know You All Slacked All Summer' speech," Hannah muttered.
"May Merlin protect us all," Cedric added solemnly, disappearing into the Hufflepuff hallway.
Harry watched them go with a grin, then turned to his remaining crew. "Let's make ourselves presentable."
Neville groaned. "I think I have to wash grass out of my ears."
"You have to wash your ears?" Tonks said, eyes wide in mock-horror. "Since when is that a thing?"
"I—Wait. What?"
Hermione laughed. "Come on, boys. Let's try not to be late on the very first day."
They disappeared into the castle, their laughter echoing off the ancient walls, the first of many absurd and wonderful days to come. And somewhere, just behind all the jokes and burns and banter, the foundation of something a little bit legendary was beginning to form.
A house alliance.
A band of misfits.
And maybe, just maybe… the start of Hogwarts' weirdest and most chaotic found family.
Probably still not ready for Monday, though.
Even legends need caffeine.
---
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