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Harry whistled lightly under his breath, hands in his pockets as he made his way back down toward the Slytherin common room. He stepped through the hidden entrance, and nodded at Theodore who was still hunched over a stack of Arithmancy notes by the fire.

“You are back late,” Theo said without looking up.

“Wasn’t aware I had a curfew,” Harry replied, shrugging off his coat and dropping it onto the back of the sofa.

Tracey, half-curled on the nearest armchair with a biscuit in hand, perked up. “Where’ve you been then? Sneaking chocolates onto pillows?”

He rolled his eyes. “Creating group chats was a mistake. You lot can’t keep anything to yourselves.”

Tracey grinned, still nibbling at her biscuit. “Can’t prove anything.”

“I don’t have to,” Harry said, grabbing a ginger snap from the plate beside her. “Half the castle knows Susan stayed back after training.”

Theo finally looked up from his notes. “Did she?”

Harry gave him a look. “You are in the chat, Theo. Don’t act surprised.”

“I skim,” Theo muttered, turning the page.

“More like ignores it,” Tracey said, stretching her legs across the rug. “He is too busy solving Arithmancy puzzles that no one asked for.”

“They are for my sanity,” Theo replied.

Harry dropped into the armchair opposite her. “We should rename it to ‘Daphne’s Daily Reports and Astoria’s Horoscope Forecasts.’ Might be more honest.”

Tracey laughed. “Don’t forget Luna’s riddles and Ginny’s running commentary on Quidditch injuries.”

Harry raised a brow. “I still don’t know why she sends us injury stats every Monday.”

“She says it is to prepare us emotionally,” Tracey said, mock-serious. “For loss. Or victory. She is vague.”

He helped Theo wrap up the Arithmancy problem, a mess of runes and logic strings Theo had somehow overcomplicated, and then left him muttering about number theory as he headed back to his room. He kicked off his shoes the moment he stepped inside his room, shrugged off his jumper, and dropped onto the bed. 

The rest of the week slipped past without fuss. By Friday, students were half-counting the hours till the weekend. Saturday arrived, sharp and cold, but not miserable enough to cancel the Hogsmeade permissions.

Harry and his friends left the castle grounds bundled in cloaks and scarves, boots crunching through the old snow that hadn’t quite melted yet. The Hogsmeade path was half-cleared, half-trodden. 

“You realise,” Tracey said, catching up beside Harry, “if we make it to Honeydukes without being roped into helping some third-year find their mittens, it will be a record.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Daphne replied from the other side. “Last time someone said that, Luna rescued a kitten from a snowdrift and we spent two hours warming it.”

“I stand by that,” Luna said dreamily. “He was very cold. And he is doing well. Crookshanks visits him sometimes.”

Neville chuckled under his breath. “Please don’t say we are adopting another stray.”

“I am right here,” Blaise muttered from behind.

“That is a different category,” Pansy said without looking back. “Strays don’t wear custom Italian boots.”

Astoria skipped ahead a few steps, turned around, and walked backwards. “If I get first pick in Honeydukes, I will trade you one of the chocolate frogs with the moving Quidditch cards.”

“You are not bribing anyone with frogs,” Daphne said flatly.

“Watch me.”

The group passed the last bend before the village. Smoke curled up from chimneys, and the scent of baked goods drifted downwind.

“Right,” Harry said. “Split or stay?”

“Split,” Daphne said instantly. “We will meet at the Three Broomsticks. Half-past noon.”

Everyone gave some form of agreement, nod, wave, or mutter, and the groups started peeling off.

Harry ended up with Luna, Ginny, Tracey, and Astoria first. The others had scattered off toward sweets, trinkets, or whatever else caught their fancy. Daphne had vanished the second the Three Broomsticks was mentioned, muttering something about finding that one candle shop with floating scents.

“Alright, where to first?” Ginny asked, eyes already scanning the row of shops ahead. “If we don’t go now, Honeydukes will have a queue down the street.”

“I vote joke shop,” Tracey said, tucking her scarf tighter. “Fred and George heard a new line of pocket hexes.”

“You always vote joke shop,” Astoria muttered.

“Because it is a sound choice,” Tracey replied. “Unlike dragging us to look at self-trimming quills.”

Harry smirked. “Alright, you lot can argue punctuation later. Let’s hit Honeydukes before the shelves are stripped.”

That got immediate agreement. Luna floated along beside them, humming something under her breath, and pointed at the icicles hanging off a nearby eave. “Those are definitely cursed. They are growing against the wind.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “And what would they do, then? Stab people with poor taste in hats?”

“Possibly,” Luna said, entirely serious.

The bell above Honeydukes jingled as they stepped inside. The shop was already half-packed. Shelves sagged under chocolate cauldrons, licorice wands, fizzing whizbees, and rows of jars with dancing sweets. The air smelled like sugar and peppermint.

Astoria made straight for the enchanted sugar mice, scooping three into a bag before anyone else had even looked twice. Harry grabbed a couple of chocolate frogs, checked the cards, Nicolas Flamel and Hecate, and put them back.

“Looking for someone?” Tracey asked, peering over.

“Trying to get Merlin,” Harry replied. “He keeps dodging me.”

“Sounds like your love life,” Tracey said sweetly.

Ginny snorted behind him, nearly dropping her tin of every-flavour beans.

“Who is winning the sugar haul?” Luna asked, not bothering to pick anything yet. She was watching a display of peppermint bats try to fly out the window.

“Depends,” Harry said. “Is it by price, volume, or future dental bill?”

“Tracey wins all three,” Ginny replied.

Tracey didn’t deny it. She held up a large bag with at least five different boxes inside. “I came prepared.”

They left Honeydukes, bags in hand, and wandered further down the main lane. More students passed them going the other way. 

The group paused outside Zonko’s. Tracey was already halfway to the door.

“Five minutes,” she said. “That’s all I need.”

“Five minutes in Zonko’s?” Harry repeated. “You will lose track of time.”

“I am efficient,” Tracey said, disappearing inside.

Astoria sighed. “She is going to spend twenty minutes arguing over fart powder.”

Luna turned to Ginny. “Want to see if Madam Puddifoot’s prepared the Valentine's display yet?”

Ginny made a face. “Do I look like I am ready to vomit?”

“They’ve got the floating hearts charmed to blink,” Luna said.

“That makes it worse,” Ginny replied, but followed her anyway.

Astoria eyed them as they walked off. “Right. If they come back with matching heart pins, I am hexing someone.”

Harry glanced down at her. “That include me?”

“You are safe,” she said. “For now.”

When Tracey still hadn’t turned up after fifteen minutes, and Astoria had started doing that dramatic shiver thing with her arms tucked into her sleeves, “Right,” he said, brushing snow off his sleeve. “We are heading to the Three Broomsticks.”

Astoria gave him a sideways look, rubbing her gloves together. “So, going to spend some quality time with Susan?”

Harry nodded, adjusting his scarf. “That is the plan.”

She grinned like she just won a bet. “First date any of us is getting with you, you know.”

He flicked her forehead lightly. “You are too young to meddle in these things.”

She rubbed the spot, still smirking. “Such audaciousness! Need I remind you, I was the one who proposed the idea of a harem in the first place.”

Harry nodded. “You did.” Then grinned back, “But still too young.”

Astoria huffed, clearly offended. “Ageist.”

“Realist,” Harry said, stepping off the curb and crossing toward the pub.

She caught up, boots crunching in the snow. “I am nearly fourteen.”

“And I nearly turned that pumpkin juice into firewhisky last week. Neither of us counts.”

Astoria rolled her eyes. “Keep talking, and I will make sure your next chocolate frog card says ‘Harry Potter- Emotionally Constipated Since 1980.’”

Harry snorted. “I would frame it.”

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