Harry Potter Imagines

[The First Night Back]

It's the first night back at Hogwarts. The Great Hall still glows with the golden light of floating candles, the smell of roast and treacle tart lingering in the air as laughter echoes off the enchanted ceiling. You're full, warm, and more than a little dizzy from the sheer joy of being back—back home, back with your friends... and back with him.

By the time the last plates vanish, the Great Hall is alive with the scrape of benches and the shuffle of hundreds of students all rising at once. Prefects' voices cut over the noise, corralling wide-eyed first years toward their common rooms.

"All right, all first years this way—follow me!" Hermione calls, clapping her hands to get their attention.

Ron's already herding a small group toward the doors, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"We'll see you in the common room!" you call after them, giving Hermione a quick wave.

She nods, already swallowed by the tide of nervous eleven-year-olds, and then it's just you and Harry slipping out into the corridor together.

Chaos reigns. A fifth year is already wailing about OWLs, two third years sprint past shrieking like banshees, and someone—Merlin knows who—is trying to set fire to their friend's robes. Prefects are shouting, first years are panicking, and you can't stop laughing as Harry tugs you safely through the madness, his fingers laced tightly with yours.

Finally, you reach the Fat Lady's portrait. You give the new password, climb inside, and step into the familiar warmth of the Gryffindor common room. The fire crackles in the hearth, armchairs and sofas are already full of laughing students, and everything feels right again.

And maybe it's because it feels so natural, or maybe it's just because you've missed him far too much, but when you turn to him, you don't even think before saying softly, "Wanna come upstairs?"

Harry's mouth curves into that crooked half-smirk, half-relieved smile you know too well. "Yes," he says immediately, like the word's been waiting on his tongue all summer.

You slip past the crowd together, hands still entwined, and the moment the dormitory door clicks shut behind you, something inside you both snaps. You collide in the middle of the room, mouths crashing together, his hands sliding up your back, clutching you like he's terrified to let go.

You melt against him, fingers fisting in his shirt as his lips move with a hunger that makes your knees weak. Two months apart was far too long.

He tries to shrug out of his cloak without breaking the kiss and promptly gets his arm stuck halfway. You giggle breathlessly against his mouth.

"Graceful," you tease.

"Shut up," he mutters, finally yanking it free and tossing it onto the nearest chair. Then he pulls yours off too, sending it flying in the same direction before his lips find yours again.

You stumble backward toward his bed, laughing softly between kisses until your back hits the mattress and you tumble down together, tangled and breathless. He hovers above you, one hand cupping your cheek, the other gripping your waist like he's anchoring himself.

"I missed you so much," he whispers, voice rough against your lips.

"Less talking, more kissing, Potter," you breathe, tugging him down by the waistband of his jeans until there's no space left between you.

He groans softly, smiling into the kiss. "Bossy," he murmurs before kissing you again—deeper, fiercer, like he's been starved for this.

Your heart races as his hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt, palms hot against your skin. You shiver at his touch, nails brushing through his messy hair.