A Fresh Start
For the first time in years, Harry felt at peace.
It was… strange.
There was no Voldemort, no war looming over his head, no Ron dragging him down with passive-aggressive comments.
Just quiet.
Just him, moving forward.
And Seamus Finnigan, refusing to leave him the hell alone.
Harry had spent the last three nights buried in a book on Healing Charms and Their Applications.
Seamus had spent the last three nights finding new and creative ways to distract him.
“Potter.”
Harry didn’t look up. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say.”
Harry turned a page. “You’re gonna ask me something ridiculous, and I’m not falling for it.”
Seamus smirked. “What if I need medical attention?”
Harry sighed. “What’s wrong with you?”
Seamus held out his arm, looking far too smug. “I think I got hexed with a love spell. Every time I look at ya, I feel weak in the knees.”
Harry stared at him.
Seamus grinned.
Harry went back to his book.
Seamus laughed. “You’re no fun.”
Harry hid his smile.
Two days later, Harry successfully brewed his first Blood-Replenishing Potion in the Hospital Wing.
Pomfrey inspected the potion carefully, sniffing it, swirling it in the vial, then nodded once.
“…Not bad, Potter.”
Harry blinked. “Wait—really?”
Pomfrey huffed. “Don’t sound so surprised.” She fixed him with a sharp look. “You’ve got potential.”
Harry stood up a little straighter.
Pomfrey smirked. “Keep at it, and you might just be one of the best.”
Harry felt something warm settle in his chest.
“Thanks, Madam Pomfrey.”
Pomfrey waved him off. “Now get out of my Hospital Wing before Finnigan comes looking for you again.”
Harry laughed.
Fair enough.
A week later, Harry handed in a fully annotated essay on Magical Healing Laws and Ethics.
McGonagall read through it in silence, expression unreadable.
Then, without looking up, she murmured, “I assume you’ll be applying to St. Mungo’s after graduation?”
Harry froze.
“…I hadn’t really thought that far ahead yet,” he admitted.
McGonagall glanced at him over her glasses. “You should.”
Harry blinked.
McGonagall continued marking his essay, completely unfazed.
But something about the way her lips twitched slightly—almost like a smile—told him everything he needed to know.
Harry left the classroom grinning.
The next morning at breakfast, Seamus stood on his chair, banged his goblet against the table, and announced to the entire Gryffindor House:
“I’D LIKE TO MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT: I’M OFFICIALLY HARRY POTTER’S NEW BEST MATE.”
The Great Hall went silent.
Harry, horrified, nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. “Seamus—what the hell—”
Dean shook his head, completely unfazed. “Yeah, we figured.”
Neville nodded. “Honestly, this checks out.”
Seamus grinned, flopping back into his seat. “See, Potter? It’s fate.”
Harry dropped his head into his hands.
Seamus threw an arm over his shoulders. “Face it, love. You’re stuck with me now.”
Harry sighed. “Merlin help me.”
And yet—
He didn’t mind it.
Not at all.
It happened out of nowhere.
One evening, as they sat by the fire, Seamus—**half-asleep, hair messy, looking unfairly good in a thick Gryffindor jumper—**leaned against him.
Just casual. Easy. Like it was normal.
And Harry’s heart did something weird.
Something fluttery and tight and completely foreign.
He stared at Seamus’s profile, at the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks, at the tiny freckle on his nose, at the way his smirk softened when he was tired.
And then the thought hit him, clear as day:
Oh. Oh, no. I fancy him.
Harry sat up so fast that Seamus nearly fell over.
Seamus blinked at him, confused. “Oi, you alright?”
Harry panicked.
“Yep!” he said, voice too loud, too fast. “All good! Completely fine! Definitely not having a crisis!”
Seamus squinted at him.
“…Alright then.”
Harry nodded aggressively. “Alright then.”
Seamus yawned and leaned back against him.
Harry sat there, completely stiff, mind screaming.
This is fine.
This is absolutely not fine.