Jean had just taken a second bite of the cake—the absolute masterpiece that Harry had somehow orchestrated—when the door of The Three Broomsticks banged open with enough force to make even the most chaotic Gryffindor wince.
The entire room froze for half a second.
Then, as if on cue, Madam Rosmerta sighed dramatically. "Oh, not again."
Which could only mean one thing.
The cavalry had arrived.
"Oi, oi, oi!" Fred Weasley bellowed, striding in like he owned the place. He was carrying an enormous box as if it contained the secrets of the universe. "Did someone say birthday?"
George was right behind him, wearing a grin that was equal parts mischief and impending doom. "And cake! Let's not forget cake. Because what's a birthday without an irresponsible amount of sugar?"
Jean barely had time to register what was happening before she was ambushed.
"Happy birthday!" Hermione swooped in, looking relieved to have something to focus on other than Ron's ongoing humiliation.
Speaking of Ron—he had abandoned his previous post (i.e., trying and failing to flirt with Rosmerta), slid into the seat next to Harry like he had personally been invited, and stole a bite of Jean's cake.
"Alright?" he said, as if he hadn't just committed a crime.
Jean swatted at him. "Rude!"
"You're not eating fast enough," Ron said through a mouthful of cake.
Before she could deliver a proper hex, the Gryffindor Chaser Trio—Angelina, Alicia, and Katie—practically materialized around the table, eyes locked onto the half-eaten dessert like it was a sacred artifact.
"You traitors," Alicia gasped. "You started without us?"
"In our defense," Harry said, pointing a thumb at Jean, "Madam Rosmerta brought it out, and she wasn't going to wait."
Jean, still chewing, gave him a half-hearted glare. "I could have waited. I just chose not to."
"Mm-hmm," Hermione hummed, one eyebrow raised in a perfect expression of judgment.
"Oi, Jean!" Fred called, plopping the suspiciously large box onto the table. "We brought you a little something."
Jean narrowed her eyes. "Define little."
"Well," George said, lifting the lid with a flourish, "it's another cake."
The entire table fell silent.
Then—
"You brought another cake?" Harry asked, blinking.
"Obviously," Fred said.
"What kind of monsters do you think we are?" George added.
"Ones that terrify me daily," Hermione muttered.
"Tragic," Fred said, shaking his head. "We're misunderstood geniuses, really."
"Try a bite and tell us we're wrong," George said, looking way too smug.
Jean, because she was both fearless and questionable in her decision-making, stabbed her fork into the cake and took a bite.
Silence.
Then—
Jean's eyes widened. "Oh."
"What?" Katie demanded.
Jean turned to the twins. "This is—Butterbeer-flavored?"
"Enhanced," George corrected smugly.
"Optimized," Fred added.
"Perfected," George finished.
Hermione, who had taken the tiniest, most skeptical bite imaginable, groaned. "I hate that this is good."
"You love that this is good," Fred said.
"Just admit we're brilliant," George added.
Ron, already halfway through his slice, muffled, "Yeah, okay, this is brilliant."
Jean pointed her fork at Harry. "You could have gotten this cake, you know."
Harry smirked. "Yeah, but then we wouldn't have had two cakes, would we?"
Jean opened her mouth. Closed it. Sighed. "Okay. Fair point."
Meanwhile, at the bar, Madam Rosmerta—who had been watching this circus with an expression of immense fondness and mild exasperation—sauntered over.
And the way she sauntered made every teenage boy at the table sit up just a little straighter.
"Well, well, well," Rosmerta purred, setting down another tray. "Looks like the party just got much more interesting." She winked at Harry before glancing at Jean. "You're a lucky one, sweetheart. He's been very determined about today."
Jean shot Harry a suspicious look. "Define determined."
Harry, who was definitely not blushing (despite Hermione's knowing smirk), waved a hand. "Oh, you know. Mildly obsessed. A completely reasonable amount of effort. Nothing dramatic."
"Uh-huh," Jean said, still eyeing him.
"Tell that to poor Neville," Ron muttered. "He interrogated the bloke about cake flavors."
Harry scoffed. "That's an exaggeration. I asked him nicely. With intensity."
Jean groaned. "Hopelessly lovestruck? Romance? Merlin's beard, this is what I get for having friends."
"Don't act like you're suffering," Alicia said. "You're enjoying this."
Jean stabbed another bite of cake with aggressive enthusiasm. "I refuse to confirm or deny."
Fred clapped his hands together. "Alright, now that the food situation is secure, let's talk presents."
Jean blinked. "Wait, there are presents?"
George gasped dramatically. "Jean. Of course there are presents. What do you take us for? Savages?"
"Ron, don't answer that," Harry warned.
Ron, who had very much been about to answer that, shut his mouth.
Jean eyed them all suspiciously. "This isn't a prank, is it?"
Fred looked personally offended. "Would we prank you on your birthday?"
"Yes," Jean, Hermione, and Katie said in perfect unison.
Fred pouted. "Wow. Hurtful."
"Offended," George added. "Truly. This is a betrayal."
Harry leaned back, smirking. "Jean, admit it—you're having fun."
Jean sighed, glancing around at her friends, the food, the ridiculous amount of cake. Then she looked back at Harry, eyes softening just a little.
"Yeah," she admitted. "I really am."
Harry grinned. "Happy birthday, Jean."
She smirked, raising her fork. "Now, let's see how much cake I can eat before I pass out."
Fred gasped. "A woman after our own hearts!"
"Truly," George said. "An inspiration."
And with that, the birthday feast continued—with laughter, banter, and an obscene amount of sugar.
Just the way it should be.
—
Jean was still trying to process the sheer amount of frosting she'd consumed when Fred Weasley clapped his hands together like a man about to orchestrate the world's greatest prank. Which, knowing him and George, was a very real possibility.
"Alright, now that we've all successfully shortened our lifespans with that cake," Fred declared, eyes practically glowing with mischief, "it's time for the best part of any birthday!"
"More cake?" Ron asked, hopeful.
"Better," George said, producing a package from seemingly nowhere. It was wrapped in bright gold paper, topped with a bow so massive it could probably double as a Gryffindor common room decoration. "Presents."
Jean blinked. "Wait, you guys actually got me stuff?"
"Jean, please," Angelina said, shaking her head like an exasperated older sister. "We're Gryffindors. We may not plan ahead, but we do know how to treat our own."
"That's debatable," Jean muttered. "Ginny told me Ron almost forgot Harry's birthday last year."
Ron turned red. "That was—listen, in my defense—okay, yeah, that was bad."
"Very bad," Hermione muttered, not even bothering to look up from her drink.
"Enough roasting of Ron," Fred said cheerfully. "Back to the matter at hand—gifts!"
George set the first box in front of Jean with a flourish.
"From the two of us," Fred announced. "A little something we thought you'd appreciate."
Jean eyed them suspiciously. "This isn't going to explode in my face, is it?"
"Not this time," George assured her.
Which was not comforting.
Still, curiosity won out. She ripped off the wrapping paper and found herself staring at a box labeled Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes: Experimental Edition.
"Oh no," Hermione groaned. "What did you two do?"
"Only improved upon perfection," Fred said dramatically.
Jean lifted the lid and immediately found an assortment of their latest inventions—half of which were marked with Caution: May Cause Unexpected Side Effects.
"Are you trying to get me expelled?" she asked.
"Jean," George said, looking deeply offended, "we would never."
"Getting you expelled would mean we don't get to see you use these in action," Fred pointed out. "And that would be tragic."
Harry, who had been watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement, leaned in. "Just promise me that when you inevitably cause havoc with this, you'll blame it on the twins."
"Absolutely," Jean said without hesitation.
Fred and George gasped in mock betrayal.
"She's learning too well," Fred whispered.
"Our influence is strong," George agreed.
Angelina rolled her eyes. "Alright, let's move on before these two corrupt Jean any further."
The next gift came from Angelina, Alicia, and Katie. It was wrapped neatly, which immediately made Jean more suspicious.
"We all pitched in," Katie said, grinning. "We figured you'd appreciate this."
Jean unwrapped it, then let out an actual laugh.
"A broomstick maintenance kit?"
"Not just any broomstick maintenance kit," Alicia corrected. "The best one on the market."
"We need you in top form for next season," Angelina added. "And also, we refuse to let you use the excuse of 'a slightly off broomstick' if you ever have a bad game."
Jean smirked. "So this is really just a sneaky way of saying I need to train harder?"
"Exactly."
"You lot are menaces."
"Thank you," the three of them chorused.
Next, Hermione handed over a small, neatly wrapped package, looking almost nervous. Jean unwrapped it carefully, revealing a beautifully bound book—Legendary Witches and Their Duels: A Study of Magical Combat.
Jean stared at it for a moment before flipping through the pages. "This is… actually amazing."
Hermione beamed. "I know you prefer practical magic over sitting around reading theory, but this book has real accounts from some of the most powerful witches in history—strategies, techniques, even insights into their mindsets."
Jean met her friend's eyes, warmth creeping into her voice. "Hermione, this is—thank you."
Hermione waved a hand like it was no big deal, but her cheeks had gone a little pink. "It's nothing, really."
"Alright, my turn," Ron announced, shoving his gift toward Jean.
Jean unwrapped it and immediately snorted.
"A Chudley Cannons jersey? Ron, you do realize I'm a Holyhead Harpies fan, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, but hear me out," Ron said, looking serious. "The Cannons have no good players. So, if you ever get recruited, you'd be their best one instantly. I'm just planning ahead."
Jean stared at him. "That is the most ridiculous logic I've ever heard."
"Yeah, but am I wrong?"
Jean opened her mouth. Closed it. Glared.
"...No, and I hate that."
Ron grinned, looking insufferably pleased with himself.
Jean groaned and turned to Harry. "Alright, Potter. Where's my gift?"
Harry smirked. "Oh, don't worry. I have something special for you."
Jean narrowed her eyes. "So where is it?"
"You'll get it later."
Jean blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, exuding peak smug Gryffindor energy. "You'll get it later."
Fred and George exchanged glances.
"Wait," Fred said, eyes narrowing. "Does this mean you actually planned something romantic?"
"Harry Potter, king of dramatic brooding, has a romantic surprise?" George gasped. "Unbelievable."
Ron snorted. "It's probably just a really shiny book about Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Or a new broomstick," Katie mused.
"Or something ridiculously Gryffindor," Alicia added.
Harry just smirked. "You'll see."
Jean groaned, flopping back in her seat. "Great. Now I have to deal with this and a sugar crash."
Harry leaned in, voice full of mischief. "It'll be worth the wait, I promise."
Jean, despite herself, felt a flutter in her chest. She scowled. "It better be, Potter."
And with that, the birthday chaos continued—full of laughter, banter, and the kind of energy only a group of magic-wielding, sugar-fueled teenagers could create.
The Three Broomsticks would probably never recover.
—
Jean Grey was slumped against the table, thoroughly convinced she had just consumed enough sugar to power an entire generation of house-elves. Across from her, Fred and George were debating whether their little group had just committed a war crime against sensible nutrition.
Angelina, ever the team captain, clapped her hands together like a general rallying the troops. "Alright, everyone! It's time to move before Rosmerta decides to charge us rent for how long we've been here."
Jean groaned. "You say that like I'm not going to have to be carried back to the castle."
"That is 100% not happening," George said.
"Agreed," Fred added. "Unless you bribe us."
"With what?"
"Your loyalty," Fred said solemnly.
"Your willingness to take the blame for future pranks," George added, equally serious.
Jean groaned again, dramatically this time, because really, what was friendship if not suffering for each other's amusement? "You're both actual menaces. Why do I even hang out with you?"
"Because you love us," Fred said with a winning grin.
"And because we make life interesting," George added.
She couldn't argue with that.
Meanwhile, Harry was at the bar, digging through his pocket to pay the astronomical bill they'd racked up. He was still trying to decide whether he should be proud or horrified by the sheer amount of sugar they had consumed.
That was when Ron, sensing an opportunity for disaster, sidled up to Madam Rosmerta.
Jean immediately perked up. "Oh no."
"Oh yes," Fred said, grinning.
"This is going to be good," George added.
Ron cleared his throat and leaned—badly—against the bar. It would've looked casual if he hadn't miscalculated the distance and nearly toppled over. But Ron Weasley was nothing if not committed to bad decisions.
"So, Madam Rosmerta…" He flashed what he probably thought was a charming smile.
Rosmerta, who looked like the kind of woman who had seen more than her fair share of teenage boys trying (and failing) to flirt with her, arched an elegant eyebrow. "Yes, dear?"
"I was just thinking, you know… it's really a shame that you have to work so hard running this place." Ron leaned in slightly. "A woman as stunning as you deserves to be treated like royalty."
Alicia choked on her butterbeer. Katie immediately turned away, shoulders shaking. Angelina was covering her mouth, probably to keep from bursting out laughing in Ron's face.
Jean? Jean was loving every second of this.
Rosmerta, to her credit, played along, resting her elbows on the bar, giving Ron a slow, amused smile. "Oh? You think so?"
Ron nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. You've got that whole… classic beauty thing going on. Timeless, really."
Jean's jaw actually dropped. "Is he—did he actually just say that?"
"Yes," Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes, he did."
Fred and George were openly losing it now, barely holding back cackles.
Rosmerta, still smiling, tilted her head. "Tell me, love… how old are you again?"
Ron froze. "Er—thirteen?"
Rosmerta's smile widened, the same way a cat's does when it's watching a particularly slow mouse. "That's adorable."
There it was. The most devastating rejection in the history of wizardkind.
At that exact moment, Harry, who had just finished paying, turned around just in time to witness the murder of Ron Weasley's ego. He smirked. "Well, that went well."
Fred wiped a fake tear from his eye. "I'm so proud."
George clutched his heart. "Our little Ronniekins is growing up."
Jean patted Ron's shoulder, her face full of mock sympathy. "That was painful, mate. Truly painful."
Ron, who had turned an impressive shade of red, muttered something about needing to rethink his entire life.
Jean turned to Harry. "Please tell me you left a massive tip for Madam Rosmerta. She deserves it after that."
Harry grinned. "Way ahead of you."
Rosmerta winked as she pocketed the extra coins. "Always a pleasure, Mr. Potter."
Jean narrowed her eyes at him. "You didn't try flirting with her too, did you?"
Harry smirked. "Why would I? Ron's already humiliated himself enough for both of us."
Ron groaned. "I hate all of you."
"Aw, come on, mate," Fred said, slinging an arm around his shoulders as they finally stepped out into the cool evening air. "You shot your shot."
"And crashed and burned," George added. "Spectacularly, might I say."
Hermione sighed as they started making their way back toward the castle. "Honestly, Ron, at some point, you're going to have to develop a new approach to talking to women."
Ron scowled. "Yeah? Well, when that happens, you lot won't be invited to witness it."
Jean grinned, bumping her shoulder against his. "Sure, Weasley. Whatever you say."
As they walked back under the fading sunlight, the teasing continued, their laughter carrying across the path. The kind of easy warmth that only came with friendship.
Jean knew one thing for certain—this had been the best birthday ever.
Even if Ron had singlehandedly destroyed his own dignity in the process.
—
The walk back to Hogwarts could only be described as a masterclass in teenage chaos, and Ron Weasley was, without a doubt, the star of the show. The poor guy had buried his face in his hands, muttering something about "never talking to anyone again," and if the universe had any sense of justice, it would have granted him some peace. Unfortunately for Ron, his friends weren't about to let that happen.
"Come on, mate," George said, slapping Ron's back so hard it sounded like he'd just been hit with a Bludger. "You've got to admit, that was an unforgettable performance."
Fred, grinning like a cat that had just eaten a canary, chimed in. "No kidding. You've really set the bar for future Weasley romantic endeavors. No pressure, though."
Ron muttered something unintelligible, still trudging ahead with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His face had taken on the shade of a ripe tomato, but at least he wasn't yelling about how much he hated all of them anymore. Progress? Maybe. But he was still trying to pretend like he was unaffected.
Jean—who had clearly been waiting for this moment—decided to pile on. "You know, Ron, maybe you should just give up on romance and focus on Quidditch. At least there, you can aim your broom at something without causing a disaster." She delivered this with a grin so wide it could've lit up the whole path to Hogwarts.
Ron shot her a look that could've melted steel. "Very funny, Jean. Really. I can practically hear the sarcasm oozing from you."
"You know you love it," she teased, nudging him with her elbow. Jean could pull off that annoying-but-lovable thing like a professional.
"We do love you, mate," Alicia added, her voice balancing sympathy and mischief. "We just… don't think the world is ready for your version of romance yet."
Ron's face twisted in confusion as he glanced at her. "Are you saying my romantic technique isn't ready for prime time?"
"Exactly," Katie said, shaking her head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I think the world could do with a little less of that."
"That's it," Ron muttered, picking up the pace. "I'm moving to the Burrow. You lot have officially ruined me for the rest of my life."
"You're welcome," Fred and George said in unison, their grins a mirror of the trouble they'd caused. The duo didn't just ruin things—they elevated it to an art form.
The group fell into an easy rhythm as they made their way back to Hogwarts. The evening sky had shifted into twilight, the deep purple of the heavens blending with the soft gold of the castle's lights. The grounds of Hogwarts stretched before them like an old friend, and for a moment, it almost felt like things might calm down. But no, this was the Weasley gang we're talking about. Calm was never on the agenda.
"Honestly," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes at Ron, "there's a point where you're going to have to learn to take a hint."
"Eh, maybe," Ron grumbled, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "But it's not like any of you have any better ideas."
"Oh, mate, don't you worry about that," Jean chimed in, holding up an imaginary goblet like she was toasting him. "Some of us are perfectly prepared to do better. You just… you just need a little more practice, is all."
"I have to say," Angelina added, her voice oozing with humor, "it's kind of impressive how you can crash and burn so spectacularly and still walk away with your head held high."
Ron turned to glare at her, his face barely holding onto his dignity. "You know, that's a skill I never wanted, but apparently it's mine now."
Jean snorted. "Hey, you never know, you might be the next romantic genius—eventually."
Katie flashed Ron a smirk that would have made a Gringotts goblin jealous. "Just think of it as a world record attempt. You'll be the first to fail spectacularly in under five minutes."
"I'm never talking to any of you again," Ron muttered, though the twitch at the corner of his lips suggested he was far from serious.
As the group neared the Hogwarts gates, the dark silhouette of the castle loomed up against the twilight sky. The windows of the school flickered with a warm, inviting glow. Jean took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the school settle around her, comforting, familiar.
"Do you think we'll ever have a normal, uneventful day?" Jean mused aloud, staring at the castle with a thoughtful look in her eyes.
"Not while we're together, that's for sure," Fred said with a mischievous wink, as if chaos was a natural state of being for him.
"Definitely not," George agreed, grinning. "But that's the fun of it, right?"
Jean rolled her eyes, but the smirk on her face betrayed her true feelings. "You two are trouble. I swear, half the time, it's like you don't even try to be good."
"Why would we try?" Fred asked, like he was imparting ancient wisdom. "Trying's overrated."
"Exactly," George added with a dramatic flourish. "You've got to let the chaos flow."
"Well, I'm glad someone's having fun," Hermione muttered, though even she struggled to hide her smile. It wasn't often that Hermione Granger cracked under the weight of a joke, but apparently, Ron's love life had that effect on people.
Jean couldn't help but laugh. "Trust me, Hermione, you'll miss these days when we're all off doing adult stuff—probably getting cursed or thrown into some ridiculous adventure."
"I think the 'getting cursed' part might be unavoidable," Ron said dryly, finally letting the tension drain from his shoulders. His earlier embarrassment seemed to be dissolving, replaced with an old, familiar resignation.
"Exactly," Jean said, giving him a playful shove. "These are the moments you'll look back on and wonder how you survived."
Fred chimed in, "Survived is an understatement. We're thriving."
"And by thriving," George added, his voice a perfect mock-serious tone, "he means we're all going to get detention at least three times before the week is over."
"Sounds about right," Ron said, sighing dramatically as they passed through the gates of Hogwarts and started making their way up the familiar path to the castle.
Jean felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. Despite everything—Ron's flaming-hot embarrassment, the sugar-induced chaos, the endless teasing—they were all here, together, walking back into Hogwarts as if nothing in the world could tear them apart.
"This is going to be a good year," Jean said quietly, more to herself than anyone else.
"You bet it is," Fred said, winking. "Now, let's just see how long it takes before we get kicked out of class for something ridiculous."
And, of course, Fred was right. That was how things went for them. The madness never stopped, and honestly, they wouldn't have it any other way.
—
As the group approached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes. The familiar voice of Argus Filch was creeping closer, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of wet cat fur and frustration. The guy always seemed like he'd just sucked on a lemon dipped in vinegar.
"Here we go again," Jean muttered, her shoulders slumping in a perfect imitation of someone who'd already had far too much of Filch's presence. She'd seen this routine far too many times, and let's face it, she was done.
"Just what we needed," Ron added, glancing over his shoulder like he was about to be caught in the middle of a battle with an angry bear. "You'd think he'd have better things to do with his life than searching us."
"Yeah, I mean, who else would he be harassing at this hour?" Harry said, glancing over to Jean with a smirk. "Besides the house-elves, of course."
But before anyone could respond, there he was. Filch. The Filch. The man who was basically Hogwarts' answer to a rabid raccoon.
His limping gait echoed down the corridor, each step punctuated by a wheeze. Filch was waddling towards them faster than anyone had a right to waddle, his gnarled fingers twitching like he was about to catch a mouse.
"Well, well, well," he sneered, his voice carrying an unnatural glee. "What do we have here? A gang of troublemakers sneaking around after hours?"
Jean raised an eyebrow and offered a saccharine smile. "Oh, Filch, we were just taking a stroll. Nothing illegal going on here. Promise."
The old man didn't even flinch. "Lies! All lies!" Filch muttered, as if the word "lies" was his battle cry. He started patting them down like he was looking for hidden treasure. Harry tried not to laugh, though he did catch Jean's eye—this was gonna be good.
"Hold on," Ron hissed, his eyes flicking nervously. "Please don't check my pockets again. I swear, if he finds my last Chocolate Frog—"
"Don't worry, Ron," Harry whispered, his voice smooth like velvet. "Your candy stash is safe... for now."
"Oi! I can't help it if I get hungry," Ron muttered, looking like he was about to explode from embarrassment.
And that's when it happened. Filch's bony fingers dove right into Ron's pockets, rummaging around like a raccoon in a dumpster. He pulled out a few wrappers, triumphantly holding them up like he'd just found the Holy Grail of contraband.
"Aha!" Filch barked. "Caught you, Weasley! Hiding sweets in your pockets like a common thief! I'll be telling Professor McGonagall about this."
"I didn't even—" Ron tried to protest, but Filch wasn't having it.
"Shush! You should be ashamed of yourself." Filch continued his warpath, moving on to the next target: Fred and George.
If there was anyone who could handle Filch, it was Fred and George Weasley. The twin pranksters were a force of nature. They didn't even wait for Filch to get close before they went into action, moving like synchronized swimmers in a prank-themed Olympic event.
"Found something, Filch?" Fred asked sweetly, like the world's worst angel.
Filch squinted at him, looking suspicious. "What's this? More nonsense from you two?"
"We were just making sure you weren't missing anything important," George added, casually leaning against a pillar like he was at a weekend barbecue. "You know, important for student morale."
"Yeah," Fred said with a sly grin. "We can't have Hogwarts turning into a prison, can we? Students need supplies."
Filch's wrinkled brow furrowed as he tried to process this. "What are you talking about, Weasley? What 'supplies'?"
"Oh, just this," George said, pulling out a small package that looked suspiciously like fireworks. He started juggling it between his hands with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Just your typical shipment of... well, essentials. For keeping the place lively."
Filch gaped at him, momentarily lost for words. "What's in that package?"
Fred gestured to Filch's left pocket, clearly ready for the next phase of the plan. "More goodies, Filch. Stuff that's far too valuable to trust in the hands of someone who spends their days chasing cats."
"And," George added, "who knows? Some of this stuff could vanish at any moment."
Filch's face twisted, clearly baffled by their antics. "Vanishing? What do you mean?"
And just like that, with a flair only Fred and George could pull off, they disappeared the package. One second it was there, the next? Poof. Gone. Vanished like magic. Which, well, it was.
Filch's mouth opened and closed, as if trying to find words, but none came out.
Fred gave a mock pout. "Sorry, Filch, but you'll never catch us. Our pockets are too advanced for you."
"Yeah, even your magical snooping skills can't handle our top-tier merchandise," George added, his grin widening.
Ron, watching the whole thing with an impressed look, turned to Harry. "What the hell just happened?"
Harry shrugged. "Oh, you know, just the usual. Fred and George saving our butts in the most entertaining way possible."
Meanwhile, Jean was barely containing her laughter. "Next time, Filch, you might want to use some imagination. You know, just a little bit of creativity."
Filch blinked, his face turning the color of a ripe tomato as he sputtered in frustration. "You—you two—just wait!"
"We'll be waiting, Filch," Jean called over her shoulder, completely deadpan. "Don't worry, I'll save you a seat."
They breezed past Filch without another word, leaving him standing there, fuming. Harry snickered to himself as he caught up with the twins.
"That was amazing," he said, a grin plastered across his face. "I mean, I knew you two were trouble, but this... this was next level."
Fred winked at him. "We aim to please."
George added, "And terrify the occasional caretaker."
Ron could barely contain his chuckles, but he kept it together long enough to grunt, "You two are impossible."
"Impossible to catch, you mean," Fred said with a cheeky grin.
"You've got that right," George agreed, clapping Ron on the back.
And then they reached the Fat Lady's portrait.
"Password?" the Fat Lady asked in her usual lofty voice, clearly unimpressed by the chaotic scene they had just left behind.
"Serpentine," Jean said smoothly, grinning like she'd just pulled off the most perfect heist in the history of Hogwarts.
The portrait swung open, and without another word, they all slipped inside.
Gryffindor Tower greeted them like an old friend—warm, familiar, and just a little bit chaotic. It was like slipping into a giant, comfortable sweater after a long day of trying to dodge Filch's clutches.
"Well," Harry said, looking around the common room, "at least it was never boring."
Jean rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh. "You're welcome, by the way."
Hermione, who had been watching the entire exchange with her arms crossed and a raised eyebrow, shook her head. "I still don't understand how you two get away with this."
"Simple," George said, pulling out a chocolate frog from his robes and offering it to her. "We're brilliant."
Fred nodded seriously. "And it's a gift."
"Yeah, yeah," Hermione muttered, accepting the chocolate with a reluctant grin. "Just don't do it again when I'm around, okay?"
"Promise," Fred said, but his eyes were already twinkling with mischief.
With the sound of their laughter filling the common room, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the warm, familiar atmosphere wrapping around them, the day at Hogwarts came to a close.
Another chaotic, brilliant, and absolutely unforgettable day.
—
As the last few members of their group trudged up to their dorms, Harry and Jean found themselves alone in the Gryffindor Common Room. The fire in the hearth crackled lazily, casting a warm glow across the room, but Harry wasn't paying much attention to the flames. Instead, he was watching Jean, the mischievous glint in his eyes betraying his carefully crafted nonchalance.
"Hey, Jean," he called, giving her a wink, "got something for you."
Jean raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-skeptical. "What is it this time, Potter? Another cursed broomstick? A life-sized replica of the Weasley twins' latest misfire?"
Harry smirked, shaking his head as he fished a mokeskin pouch from his belt. "Nah, nothing that destructive. Just thought you might appreciate this one."
He flicked open the pouch with a flourish. Out came a sleek, green bodysuit that shimmered with dark metallic undertones, like a snake slithering through shadows. It was a perfect mix of style and practicality. And right in the center of the chest, gleaming in the firelight like it was showing off, was a golden Phoenix emblem.
Jean's eyes widened as she took in the sight. "Harry," she said, her voice softening with surprise, "What is this?"
"Your new superhero armor," Harry said with a grin that screamed 'I'm ridiculously proud of myself.' "You're gonna need something more than just your mind-blowing telekinesis when we're out there leading missions, right? So I got you something that's got your back."
Jean took the suit carefully, her fingers brushing over the glossy fabric. The way it felt, it was hard to tell if it was a soft, high-end fabric or something tougher than dragonhide. The design was undeniably impressive. "Green, huh?" she said, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You know how to flatter a girl."
"Hey," Harry shrugged with mock innocence, "green is the color of power, sophistication, and also, you know, when you're trying to look badass and save the world. Figured you could rock it better than anyone."
Jean snorted. "You're ridiculous."
"Maybe," Harry replied, leaning casually against the wall as if he wasn't holding up an entire conversation about how cool he was. "But that doesn't make me wrong. Plus, this little beauty is made from Basilisk hide and Acromantula silk. Only the best for my co-leader of MageX."
Jean blinked, her expression shifting from mock amusement to a touch of awe. "You're kidding. Basilisk hide? Acromantula silk? You got this from the goblins, didn't you?"
"Yep," Harry confirmed. "Had to sell them all of the Basilisk parts as well as the Acromantula Venom and Silk, but I might've... let's say, 'persuaded' them into giving me a good deal. You know, for the cause."
Jean grinned, clearly impressed. "You're something else, Potter. Seriously, though, this is amazing." She ran her hand over the golden Phoenix emblem. "It's perfect."
Harry's grin grew wider. "Of course it's perfect. I'm me."
"Right," Jean laughed, shaking her head. "And your humility is what makes you so charming."
"I know, right?" Harry said, flashing her a playful grin. "It's basically my best quality. That, and my heroic good looks."
Jean rolled her eyes, but there was a spark in her gaze that wasn't entirely amusement. "You've got too much confidence for someone who nearly got caught by Filch a few hours ago."
"Ah, but I didn't, did I?" Harry shot back with a wink. "And that's the mark of true skill, Jean. Subtlety and sneaking around. And, of course, the ability to make Filch think he's seeing things."
Jean crossed her arms and leaned against the fireplace, still holding the armor in one hand. "You know, I could've taken care of that if I'd known you were going for the Filch-scam technique. I've got some tricks up my sleeve, too."
"Yeah, and what are you planning, Jean?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Another 'accidental' turning him into a frog? Because that never gets old."
"Please," Jean said with a smirk, "I'm thinking bigger. Maybe a permanent transformation. Make him the next house elf, or even—"
"Please, no more animal metaphors," Harry groaned. "I do not want to see Filch in a tutu, ever."
Jean smirked, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable Harry looked. "You just wait, Potter. I've got ideas."
Harry raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. No need to make Filch your personal experiment." He paused for a moment, eyeing her carefully. "But seriously, Jean. You're co-leading MageX now. You've got responsibilities, and I think you deserve something that reflects that."
Jean's expression softened, and for a moment, there was no teasing, no banter. Just her and the armor, the weight of everything they were about to face together settling in. "You really think I'm ready for all of this, don't you?" she said quietly.
Harry looked at her, his usual grin softened into something more sincere. "I've always thought you were ready. You've got more power than you know, Jean. More heart than most people. You'll be great at this."
Her lips quirked into a smile, just a little bit shy, just a little bit pleased. "Thanks, Harry. That actually means a lot."
"Yeah, well," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm full of surprises. But seriously, you've got this. And when the missions get tough, just remember—if you need a distraction, I'm your guy."
Jean snorted. "I'll keep that in mind. And I'll definitely keep you around for your… undeniable charm."
"Don't act like you don't love it," Harry shot back with a grin, clearly pleased with himself.
Jean laughed, shaking her head as she tucked the armor under her arm. "I think I'll go try it on. See how it fits the co-leader of MageX."
"Wouldn't be the first time I've seen you change in front of me," Harry teased, leaning casually against the wall again, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But hey, I'm a gentleman. I'll look away."
Jean gave him an exaggerated eye-roll. "Right. Like you could resist."
"Oh, I can resist. But I have self-control," Harry said, putting on an overly dramatic pose, "unlike some people."
"Sure," Jean replied with a smirk, "and pigs can fly."
Harry chuckled as she headed off to change. "You keep telling yourself that."
When Jean returned, the armor fitting snugly and proudly on her, Harry took a moment to appreciate just how well it looked on her. "Well, well," he said, his voice lowering slightly, "I think we've got a new hero in town. And she's looking way too cool for school."
Jean smirked. "You're not too bad yourself, Potter."
Harry winked. "Just doing my part. You know, being awesome."
Jean walked up to him, her smile softening. "Thanks again, Harry. This really means a lot."
"No problem," he said, his voice unexpectedly sincere. "You're worth it."
With a final nod, Jean turned to head to her dorm. Harry watched her go, feeling a little lighter than before, like he'd just given something more than just a piece of armor. He'd given her something that might just make all the chaos ahead a little more manageable.
"See you later, co-leader," he called after her.
Jean glanced back over her shoulder, a playful glint in her eyes. "Don't forget who's in charge, Potter."
"Who, me?" Harry said, his grin returning full force. "I'd never dream of it."
And with that, the fire flickered one last time as the door to the Common Room swung shut, leaving Harry standing there with nothing but a grin on his face and the knowledge that this was only the beginning.
---
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