The Luck of Love

Despite Hermione’s attempt to dismiss Seamus’s playful comment, it didn’t take long for her to realize that his belief in her as his “lucky charm” wasn’t something he was going to let go of anytime soon. In fact, he seemed determined to make it a running joke, and over the following weeks, it became clear that Seamus’s faith in her magical influence was growing—much to Hermione’s bemusement.

It all started innocently enough. Hermione had barely finished cleaning up the last mess Seamus had made when the next incident occurred. She had just settled back into her work, her mind focused on a complex magical theory, when an all-too-familiar sound filled the air—a loud popping noise, followed by a series of crackling sparks. The walls of the laboratory seemed to tremble for a moment as something far from ordinary began to unfold.

Seamus had somehow managed to combine an experimental new potion with an entirely unrelated spell, and the result was nothing short of chaotic. A wild, pulsating light show erupted in front of him, sending shards of glittering light scattering through the air. The entire department, from the nearest researchers to the farthest corner of the lab, ducked for cover. Some people scrambled to find their wands, while others simply shielded their eyes from the dazzling, erratic display.

Hermione immediately stood up from her desk, instinctively grabbing her wand. Her heart beat in a quick rhythm, and her thoughts shifted into action mode. It was almost as if she’d been waiting for this moment, as though her mind and magic worked in perfect synchronization when Seamus’s messes were on the line. She glanced over her shoulder to see Seamus standing frozen in place, his face lighting up with his usual wide-eyed enthusiasm, completely unaware of the chaos he’d just created.

"Seamus," she muttered under her breath, already in motion as she weaved her way through the scattered papers and books, stepping carefully around the floating globes of magic that bounced erratically like errant fireflies. “What have you done this time?”

Seamus’s voice rang out, jovial but tinged with the unmistakable hint of panic. “Hermione! I might’ve overdone it again. The potion wasn’t supposed to react like this with the charm, but—well, now we’ve got a situation!”

Hermione took one look at the frantic light show flickering around Seamus’s station and knew exactly what was required. A deep breath, an exhale to center herself, and then—focus.

"Stay right where you are, Seamus. I’ll take care of it."

She said it with the ease of someone who’d been here far too many times. Seamus, of course, didn’t argue. His eyes shifted from her to the magical lights and back, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to be impressed or terrified.

“I think I’ve got it under control,” Seamus said, though the words were obviously meant to reassure himself. “I’ll just… um, try to—”

“No,” Hermione interjected firmly, cutting him off before he could continue with another of his classic half-baked solutions. She flashed him a quick smile, not wanting to sound too harsh, but the situation called for precision, and Seamus was just far too excited about the disaster to think clearly. “This is way beyond your control. Let me do it, alright?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Hermione’s hands were already moving. She had spent years training for moments like this—moments when magic ran wild and the air was thick with chaotic energy. No matter how absurd or reckless the situation, Hermione had learned how to ground herself and the magic around her. It was second nature by now.

First, she focused her mind on the light show, mentally mapping the erratic pulse of the spell. Her wand rose to shoulder height, and she felt the familiar hum of power resonate through her fingertips. “Calm and steady,” she murmured under her breath. The incantations flowed smoothly, each word wrapping itself around the erratic magic, slowing it, soothing it. Slowly, inch by inch, the shimmering lights began to fade, their frenetic pace slowing as Hermione guided them back into submission.

Within minutes, the pulse of magical energy simmered down, and the chaotic display of lights transformed into gentle sparkles, which dissipated quietly into the air. The room, once filled with the electric hum of runaway magic, was now peaceful again. Seamus’s bright lights were nothing but faint glimmers now, settling into the atmosphere with barely a trace.

Hermione gave the room one last look to make sure everything was in order, then turned back to Seamus, who was standing there, mouth agape, as if watching a miracle unfold. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, but she couldn’t help the small, self-satisfied smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Done,” she said, her voice calm as she lowered her wand, the magic now subdued. The floating objects had returned to their rightful places, the room was as orderly as it had been before the chaos, and the magical disturbance was no more.

Seamus blinked several times, still caught in the aftershock of the event. His face, which had been a picture of innocent excitement moments ago, now expressed complete awe. “Thanks again, Hermione,” he said, his voice full of genuine appreciation. “I swear, you must be my lucky charm. I’ve never gotten out of these messes so cleanly before.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, fighting the urge to laugh. She let out a short, amused breath before offering him a sideways glance. “You’re lucky I’m around to save you from your own stupidity,” she said with a teasing tone, though the words didn’t carry the usual edge she might’ve used on someone else. There was a softness to her tone that, for some reason, felt a little too familiar now—like an inside joke she didn’t quite understand.

“I mean, seriously, Hermione,” he said, stepping a little closer, still not quite able to contain his grin. “I’ve seen you fix a hundred things, but this—this was a piece of cake for you. You’ve got a real gift for this. And I’m starting to think it’s not just your talent. You must be my lucky charm.”

Seamus grinned broadly, his eyes twinkling. "I think it’s more than just that. Honestly, Hermione, ever since you’ve been helping me, I can’t seem to lose a single bet. I’m on fire!"

Hermione simply shook her head. She could already feel a small grin tugging at her lips despite herself. "If you think I’m some sort of magical good luck charm, you’ve got another thing coming. You’re just lucky today, Seamus. That’s all."

But Seamus wasn’t convinced. In fact, the more Hermione tried to brush it off, the more he leaned into the idea. It became a bit of a pattern. Whenever Hermione helped him avoid one disaster or another—whether it was a potion spill, a misplaced spell, or some other magical mishap—Seamus would flash her one of those grins and say, "That’s my lucky charm at work again!"

At first, Hermione dismissed it as Seamus being Seamus—always the optimist, always the one to find humour even in the most chaotic situations. She was used to his easy-going attitude, his belief that everything would work out in the end, even when things seemed completely out of control. But soon, she began to notice that he wasn’t just joking. Seamus seemed to genuinely believe that she was the reason he’d suddenly started to experience a streak of good luck.

One crisp afternoon, Hermione found herself seated in the staff break room, quietly reading a book as she nibbled on her sandwich. The soft hum of conversation from her colleagues in the corner blended with the gentle clink of tea cups and the rustling of parchment. It was a rare moment of peace during a busy workday, and Hermione was savoring the chance to simply relax and lose herself in her book.

But as expected, Seamus Finnigan wasn’t far behind in breaking her solitude.

The door swung open with a casual push, and in walked Seamus, holding a steaming cup of tea in one hand and a triumphant grin plastered across his face. He was leaning slightly against the doorframe, as though his arrival had been part of a grand entrance. His expression, wide-eyed and filled with enthusiasm, immediately drew Hermione’s attention.

“You won’t believe this,” he said, his voice practically vibrating with excitement.

Hermione glanced up from her book, raising an eyebrow. “What now, Seamus?” She didn’t need to ask. Whenever Seamus had that look in his eyes, she knew it could mean one of two things: either he had gotten himself into trouble again, or—if she was lucky—he had some new and ridiculous theory about the world. Either way, it was never dull when Seamus was around.

Seamus’s grin only widened, if that was even possible. “I just won a game of wizard chess against Ron with the most ridiculous move. You know the one where you’re supposed to sacrifice a piece for the greater good?” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into an almost conspiratorial tone. “I sacrificed my queen and still won! It’s like the pieces were cooperating with me. I’m telling you, Hermione—this is all thanks to you.”

Hermione blinked, unable to suppress a short, incredulous laugh. "Oh, really?" she asked, her tone both skeptical and amused. “You’re claiming that your success in wizard chess is somehow linked to my—what was it?—‘lucky charm’ powers?”

Seamus nodded so vigorously that Hermione was half-convinced his head might fall off. “Absolutely,” he said, his voice bubbling with joy. “I’ve been playing chess for years, but since you’ve been around, I haven’t lost a single match. You’re like some sort of wizarding good-luck talisman. It’s all your fault… in a good way, of course.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Seamus,” she said, closing her book and giving him a long, skeptical look. “You’re seriously telling me that I’m your lucky charm now? You know luck doesn’t really work like that. You can’t just pin it on one person and call it ‘fate.’”

But Seamus didn’t seem to be listening to reason. Instead, he beamed at her, his grin only widening as though her dismissal only fueled his belief even more. “Oh, but Hermione,” he said, practically glowing now. “I’ve tried everything! I’ve changed nothing about my routine, and yet everything goes right. Honestly, I’ve never been so lucky. It’s all you, Hermione. My personal Lucky Charm.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, though there was a small, tight feeling in her chest that she couldn’t quite place. She had never thought of herself as anyone’s lucky charm—let alone Seamus’s. But she had to admit, there was something undeniably amusing about his unshakable belief in it. His infectious energy was hard to ignore, and every time he called her his “lucky charm,” it somehow felt both ridiculous and strangely endearing.

“Seamus,” she said, trying to pull herself together, though she was still grinning despite herself. “It’s not me. It’s just you—your natural luck, or whatever you call it. You’re the one who’s been playing those matches for years, right? Maybe you’ve just improved.”

Seamus waved her off dismissively, as though that explanation was far too simple to be true. “Sure, sure. You can say that, but I know the truth.” His smile turned mischievous, and he leaned closer to her with a glint in his eye. “And the truth is, Hermione Granger is my personal lucky charm. I think I might need to start charging for services rendered.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, shaking her head in mock disapproval. “Oh, so now I’m your employee?” she teased, her tone light and playful, trying to keep the situation casual.

Seamus’s eyes sparkled with humor, but his tone stayed utterly serious as he nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely,” he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’m paying you in endless gratitude and, of course, some fresh tea whenever you need it. Maybe even a chocolate frog or two.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at that. She leaned back in her chair, placing her hands on the armrests, a wry smile still lingering on her lips. “Well, if I’m your lucky charm, then I think I’ll take that chocolate frog.” She paused, then added with a grin, “But you’re still going to have to stop making such ridiculous claims, Seamus.”

“Why?” Seamus asked, his question genuine but laced with mischief. “It’s true! Don’t you feel the magic when I’m around? It’s all you, Hermione. You’re like a walking four-leaf clover in human form.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, though her heart gave a little flutter at his words—absurd as they were. It was impossible not to smile when Seamus got like this, his buoyant energy practically filling the room.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered under her breath, trying to act like his words didn’t have any impact on her, but a small, inexplicable warmth spread through her chest anyway.

Seamus chuckled, his broad grin never faltering as he leaned back in his chair, clearly lost in his own thoughts. The casual way he seemed to assume he was right, even when the evidence was, to Hermione, less than compelling, never failed to entertain her. It was clear to her now that he wasn’t going to let go of the idea anytime soon. But that didn’t mean she was going to make it easy for him.

“You just wait, Hermione,” he said, his voice taking on a teasingly dramatic tone, as though preparing to deliver something deeply profound. “Soon, everyone will know you as the famous ‘Lucky Charm’ who’s responsible for making my life go right for once.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, but her lips twitched upward, betraying her exasperation as well as her amusement. “Seamus, you’ve got a lot of crazy ideas. But if it makes you happy to believe that I’m some sort of lucky charm, then go ahead.”

“Oh, I know it’s true,” Seamus said confidently, puffing his chest out a little as though his words were gospel. He took a dramatic pause, his eyes narrowing as if he was formulating a plan. “I’ll even prove it. The next time I have a disaster waiting to happen—say, I forget an important meeting or walk into a wall or something—I’ll be sure to call on you. And when I somehow avoid the disaster, you’ll know it’s because of your magical influence.”

Hermione shook her head, her arms crossing as she fought the urge to smile. “Fine, Seamus. You do that. But don’t come running to me when your so-called ‘luck’ runs out, alright?”

Seamus’s grin stretched even wider, and he gave an exaggerated salute. “Deal! I’ll make sure to let you know every time luck is on my side.” His eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint that always made him seem like he was one step away from a new (and often disastrous) idea. “You’ll be the first to know, ‘Lucky Charm.’”

And so, the cycle began. Seamus's mischievous claim of Hermione being his "lucky charm" became more than just a passing joke; it turned into a strange little ritual, one that Hermione found herself reluctantly participating in.

At work, it was almost comical. Seamus, ever the optimist, would be on the receiving end of a particularly difficult project or a challenging presentation, and every time things miraculously went right, he’d turn to Hermione with a wink and a wink, proudly announcing, “Thanks to my lucky charm!” His voice would ring with the belief that somehow, his success wasn’t entirely his own doing—it was because of Hermione’s invisible, magical influence.

The first time it happened, Hermione tried to laugh it off, convincing herself that Seamus was just being his usual self. But the more it happened, the harder it was to ignore. She had never been one for superstition, but when he kept pointing to her as the source of his victories, it felt almost as though the universe was conspiring with him. And, despite herself, she had to admit that there was something strangely flattering about his unwavering belief in her as a good-luck charm. It was as though, in his world, she was the one who made everything align just perfectly, even when things were chaotic and unpredictable.

Then there were the Quidditch matches. Seamus was, of course, a talented player—his skill on the pitch was well-known. But even the most talented players had off days, and Quidditch was no exception. One afternoon, Hermione had been watching from the stands as Seamus soared through the air during a particularly grueling match. A bludger came hurtling toward him, and in a split second, he swerved, dodging it with a near-perfect turn. The crowd went wild, cheering at his last-minute save. When he landed and wiped the sweat off his brow, he looked directly at Hermione with a wide grin.

“Told you! Luck is on my side!” he yelled, his voice carrying over the excited crowd. “Thanks, Lucky Charm!”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, but there was a slight, almost imperceptible twinge of something else in her chest. Her smile lingered a moment too long, and she felt her cheeks warm slightly at the thought of Seamus believing, so thoroughly and earnestly, that she was the key to his good fortune. It was absurd. It was impossible. It was—honestly—completely ridiculous.

But despite all that, Hermione couldn't deny the little thrill that came with it. The way Seamus had been grinning at her like she was the most important factor in his life’s successes made her feel… special. His unshakable belief in her, in some small part of his world, was flattering in a way that she couldn’t entirely explain.

At first, she’d chalked it up to his usual humor—Seamus never lacked for a sense of fun or a flair for the dramatic. But as time went on, Hermione began to realize something: he wasn’t joking. He genuinely believed it. There was something almost sweet in the way he would regularly look to her after any stroke of good luck or success, as if the universe had conspired in his favor, all because of her.

It wasn’t just at work, either. Over time, the pattern began to emerge in his personal life as well. Whether it was avoiding an embarrassing fall in the hallway, managing to remember important details for an event, or even winning a bet at the local pub, Seamus would inevitably find a way to bring her into the equation.

“Lucky Charm strikes again!” he’d shout, much to the amusement (and occasional exasperation) of their friends.

Hermione tried, time and time again, to dismiss it. “It’s not me, Seamus. You’re just being—you’re just being you,” she’d say, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. “You’ve got some of the best luck I’ve ever seen. Nothing to do with me.”

But no matter how many times she tried to reason with him, no matter how often she argued that luck wasn’t something that could be passed along like an enchanted gift, Seamus remained undeterred.

“Oh, I know it’s you,” he’d say with a grin. “I’ve tried everything, Hermione. I’ve changed nothing in my routine, but since you’ve come into my life, everything’s going right. Honestly, it’s like I’m on a winning streak that’s impossible to break. And that’s all thanks to you.”

Each time, he would beam at her, convinced that his theory held weight. And though Hermione would roll her eyes or dismiss it with a huff, she couldn't quite deny the strange feeling that lingered when Seamus looked at her like that. Despite the ridiculousness of it all, there was an undeniable warmth in knowing that, in Seamus’s eyes, she was a symbol of something that made his life just a little bit brighter, just a little bit easier.

She didn’t believe in luck, of course. Hermione had always been a staunch believer in hard work, strategy, and careful planning. But in Seamus's world, maybe that was enough. Maybe, for him, the idea of a “Lucky Charm” was just another way to see the world with a little more hope, a little more light. And though she would never admit it out loud, there was something about that unshakable belief in her that made her want to play along, even if just for a little while longer.

Seamus Finnigan might be impulsive, reckless, and prone to wild schemes, but in his world, Hermione Granger was something more than just a friend—she was his good-luck charm, and no amount of logic or reason would ever change that. And somehow, in a way that Hermione couldn’t quite understand, she found that, just maybe, it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.