Harry Potter Imagines

[The Dreaded "Special" Lesson]

It started like any other Monday morning — grey skies, warm porridge, and Ron nearly setting the bacon on fire with a careless wand flick. You were halfway through buttering a croissant when the quiet hum of the Great Hall shifted, parchment fluttering through the air like startled owls.

A folded slip landed neatly on your plate.

At first, you thought it was a note — maybe one of those silly flirty ones people had been passing around all week — but when you spotted the same confused expression on every sixth-year Gryffindor down the table, you realized something else was going on.

Hermione unfolded hers and read aloud, frowning.
"Special Lesson: Monday, Fourth Period. All Sixth Years. Professor McGonagall. Attendance is not optional."

Ron, still chewing on a sausage, went pale. "Oh no."

You raised an eyebrow. "What d'you mean, oh no?"

Before he could answer, he coughed — then promptly started choking on his sausage.

You gave his back a thump. "Careful, Ron," you said with a smirk. "Wouldn't want you choking on your sausage."

Harry nearly spat his pumpkin juice across the table, shaking with laughter while Ron turned beet red and glared at you.

"Honestly, Y/N," Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes. "Must you?"

You smiled sweetly, snatching one of Ron's toast slices. "Always."

Hermione sighed dramatically, still inspecting the parchment. "This is clearly a response to what's been happening lately — the handholding, the kissing in corridors, the lack of self-control some people have been showing—"

Harry muttered under his breath, smirking, "She means us."

Hermione ignored him completely. "It makes sense really — they're just trying to address it all before things get out of hand."

You leaned back in your seat, eyes gleaming. "Oh, I've got loads of questions lined up already."

Harry choked on a laugh. "Oh, brilliant. Y/N, Gryffindor's very own sex-ed spokesperson."

You grinned. Even Ron was snorting into his toast now.

Hermione, however, looked ready to hex the entire table. "You three better not embarrass me," she said sternly.

You placed a hand over your heart. "Me? Never."

"Liar," she said automatically.

Harry nudged your knee under the table, smirk tugging at his mouth. "I'm actually excited now."

"Same," Ron said through a mouthful of toast.

Hermione groaned. "You're all insufferable."

If you'd had any sense, you would've faked dragon pox or hidden in the library come fourth period. But of course, you didn't.

By the time you filed into the classroom, your stomach was already twisting — rows of desks, quills perfectly lined, parchment laid out, and one horrifying phrase scrawled on the blackboard:

Sex Education: Magical Responsibility.

Hermione clutched her bag like a lifeline.
Ron groaned so loudly half the class turned to look. "This is gonna be the best lesson all year."

"Ronald," Hermione hissed. "Don't you dare."

You dropped into your seat — Ron on your left, Harry on your right — trying not to laugh. "This is either going to be really useful," you whispered, "or the most humiliating thing we've ever endured."