Harry Potter Imagines

[The Double Tuck]

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning noise—muffled conversations overlapping like waves crashing into one another, the clink of goblets and cutlery, the flap of owl wings swooping down with the day's post. Somewhere from the Hufflepuff table came a burst of giggles that echoed faintly across the stone walls. Warm golden light spilled through the tall windows, casting soft glows over long house tables and the polished floor.

You were just about to step inside, clutching your bag over one shoulder, when someone called your name. You paused, turning your head. A familiar face approached with a half-grin—Sebastian Rosier, a Slytherin.

You smiled back politely. You'd worked with him once in Charms, and while he could be a bit full of himself, he wasn't awful to talk to. His robes were crisp, his green-and-silver tie neatly knotted, and his dark hair was swept back like he'd spent a good five minutes making sure it looked artfully effortless.

"Y/N," he said smoothly, "You look entirely too serious for this early in the morning."

You laughed lightly despite yourself. "Just tired."

That kicked off a conversation you hadn't expected. Sebastian was sharp, full of biting humor, and—annoyingly—kind of charming when he wanted to be. He cracked a joke about Flitwick having to stand on a stack of books to reach his tea, and you giggled, covering your mouth as you did so.

You didn't notice the eyes fixed on you from across the room.

At the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter sat with his chin resting heavily on his hand, his elbow propped on the wooden surface. His toast sat untouched on his plate, slowly going cold. But his green eyes—sharp and stormy—were locked on you and Sebastian.

He watched as you laughed, a light smile on your lips that he didn't think you gave out so easily. His chest gave a tight twist.

"Mate," Ron muttered across from him, following his gaze, "you alright?"

Harry didn't answer. His fingers drummed on the table beside his goblet.

"Seriously," Ron said again, squinting toward the entrance, "you're gonna burn a hole in the back of her head if you keep staring."

Harry exhaled sharply, jaw clenched. "He came up to her and started flirting about ten minutes ago. She hasn't moved since."

Ron's brows lifted slightly, but he wisely said nothing as Hermione arrived and dropped her stack of books onto the table with a thump. She slid onto the bench across from Harry, beside Ron, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"Ooo," she said as she spotted you near the doors. "Who's she talking to?"

Harry's frown deepened. "Some Slytherin lad. Sebastian. He came up to her and started flirting about ten minutes ago," he muttered again. "She hasn't moved since."

Hermione leaned slightly to look around Ron. "Has she done the double tuck yet?"

Both boys blinked.

"The what?" Ron asked, mouth halfway full of toast.

"The double tuck," Hermione repeated, smiling knowingly. "It's this little thing Y/N does when she likes someone. She tucks her hair behind both ears while she's talking to them."

She lifted her hands and mimicked it—both at the same time—then flashed a little teasing grin. "Like this."

"No she hasn't," Ron said, peering across the hall. "Wait—she's coming back."

You glanced their way, smiling as your eyes met Harry's—his expression unreadable. Sebastian gave you a parting wave, and you returned it briefly before walking toward the Gryffindor table.

Your heart thudded in your chest—faster than it probably should've been.

"Morning," you said, sliding into the seat beside Harry, setting your bag down by your feet.

"Morning," he mumbled, barely looking at you. His posture was stiff, a slight frown still tugging at his mouth.

You blinked. "What's got you in such a mood?" you asked lightly, nudging his arm with your elbow. "Did the toast insult you or something?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, eyes flicking to his pumpkin juice. "Just... long night."

You didn't press it. You reached for the platter of eggs and spooned some onto your plate, the silence between you laced with something uncertain. You could feel his gaze flick toward you every so often, but when you looked up, he always turned away too quickly.

Then: "I saw you talking to Sebastian."

You paused, lowering your fork. "Yeah. He's funny."

Harry gave a tight, humorless smile. "Right."

There was a beat of quiet. You glanced at him. "But not really my type," you said casually, picking up your fork again.

That got his attention.

He turned to look at you properly now, brows raised just slightly, his green eyes meeting yours in a flicker of curiosity—and hope. You offered him a soft smile. And then, slowly—nervously—you tucked your hair behind both ears, holding his gaze just long enough for him to catch the meaning.

Across the table, Hermione sipped from her goblet, eyes twinkling. Ron's fork paused mid-air, his face lighting with realization. "Bloody hell."

Harry stared at you, stunned. And then, a smile broke across his face.

It was the kind of smile that made your chest flutter—genuine, wide, and almost boyish, like someone had lit a fire inside him after a long, gray winter.

You liked him.

And now he knew.

And it was the happiest he'd looked in weeks.