Chapter Text
Harry Potter was, without a shadow of a doubt, a menace. Not the dangerous kind. Not the kind that made professors whisper nervously in staff meetings or had parents glance over their shoulders in Diagon Alley. No, Harry Potter was the kind of menace who knew exactly how charming he was and used that knowledge entirely irresponsibly. Raised in the sprawling, affectionate chaos of Godric’s Hollow by James and Lily Potter - with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin permanently occupying the role of extremely questionable uncles - Harry had grown up surrounded by unconditional love, loud laughter and a ridiculous amount of confidence. He had inherited Lily’s brilliant, piercing green eyes, James’s impossible, wind-blown black hair and the unfortunate habit of walking into any given room as though it had been waiting specifically for his arrival. He was naturally talented, wildly popular and devastatingly good on a broom. The absolute worst part of the entire equation was that he was completely aware of it.
"Harry Potter is physically incapable of entering a room normally," Hermione Granger announced to the Gryffindor table one crisp September morning. Ron Weasley looked up from his breakfast, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth, thoroughly confused by the sudden declaration. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Hermione said, slamming her copy of Advanced Rune Translation onto the polished wood hard enough to make the pumpkin juice containers rattle, "that normal people walk into a room. Harry Potter makes an entrance."
Down the long Gryffindor table, Harry caught her glaring and chose that exact moment to lean backwards on his bench. He laughed at something Seamus Finnigan had said, draping one arm over the backrest with an effortless, lazy grace that looked like it belonged in a moving photograph. Hermione narrowed her eyes, gesturing aggressively with her quill. "See?
Ron looked over, shrugging his shoulders, returning his attention to his bacon. "He’s just sitting."
"He knows people are watching him," Hermione insisted, her voice tight.
"People watch him because he’s Harry Potter," Ron reasoned plainly.
"Exactly," Hermione said, her frustration mounting. "It’s unbearable."
Harry, unfortunately, possessed seeker level hearing when it came to his loudest critic. He drifted down the bench, a classic, mocking smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he caught her eye. "Did you hear that, Seamus?"
"Hear what?" Seamus asked, blinking.
"She thinks I’m unbearable."
"Harry, she’s been telling you that for six years," Seamus pointed out.
Harry considered this for a moment, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Yes, but today she said it with extra disappointment."
"Maybe because you deserve it," Seamus joked.
Harry completely ignored him, his green eyes locked onto Hermione. To him, Hermione Granger was a very specific, deeply irritating problem. She was brilliant - annoyingly so - capable of memorizing an entire textbook overnight, correcting a professor's wand technique without ever meaning to insult them and somehow making even basic cleaning spells look like a major academic achievement. But she was also bossy - aggressively bossy. She had once interrupted him halfway through explaining a vital Quidditch strategy because she wanted to inform him that his handwriting on the blackboard was 'a crime against literacy.' Who did that? Who looked at a tactical diagram and declared war on penmanship? Hermione Granger, apparently.
"She's doing it again," Harry muttered, his posture stiffening. Seamus followed his gaze across the room. "Doing what?"
"The look."
"What look?"
"The Hermione Granger look," Harry said, shaking his head.
"You mean the one where she looks like she's about to write a twelve page essay explaining why you're wrong?"
"Exactly," Harry sighed. Seamus grinned widely. "She does that because you are usually wrong."
Harry looked highly offended by the betrayal. "That is a deeply unfair accusation."
"You once argued that a potion ingredient was unnecessary because 'the potion looked like it knew what it was doing.'"
"It did look confident," Harry defended.
"It was exploding," Seamus reminded him.
"Minor detail."
The universe, however, was not finished entertaining itself. Because three weeks into seventh year, Hogwarts received a major Ministry announcement regarding the Inter-House Alignment Act. It was a brilliant idea according to the Ministry and a terrible idea according to literally everyone else. To encourage unity between the houses, selected seventh years were to be re-sorted. The Great Hall was dead silent as Professor McGonagall stepped up to read the names.
"Granger, Hermione," she called out.
The entire Gryffindor table froze in shock. Harry stopped eating entirely. Ron leaned over and whispered, "Well. This is going to be interesting."
Hermione walked toward the stool with the absolute confidence of someone going to argue with the Ministry itself. The Sorting Hat fell over her head and for several seconds, nothing happened. Then, the Hat's dry voice echoed in her mind. "Hmm. Very interesting."
Hermione stiffened beneath the brim.
"Don't start."
"Excuse me?" the Hat asked.
"You have a habit of making dramatic speeches," she thought testily.
The Hat chuckled softly. "Bossy too. How refreshing. Your heart placed you in Gryffindor once but your mind... your mind has always belonged somewhere else."
Hermione frowned. "No."
"No?"
"I like Gryffindor," she insisted.
"Yes. And you also like proving everyone wrong."
Hermione crossed her arms tightly. "I do not."
"You corrected a professor yesterday."
"He was wrong," she reasoned.
"You corrected him politely."
"Exactly."
The Hat laughed loudly in her mind. "Ah. There it is. The thing that will drive Harry Potter insane."
Hermione froze at the name. "What does Harry have to do with this?" The Hat went completely silent for a moment. Then, it murmured, "Interesting question. You spend an impressive amount of time complaining about him."
"Because he is annoying," Hermione defended quickly.
"Of course."
"He is."
"Naturally."
"He is arrogant."
"Naturally."
"And reckless."
"Naturally." A long pause followed. "Yet you knew he skipped breakfast yesterday."
Hermione went completely silent, her cheeks warming. "I noticed because he is irresponsible."
"Naturally," the Hat finished with a final chuckle.
"I did not."
"RAVENCLAW!"
The Great Hall exploded into a frenzy of loud whispers. For a moment, Hermione simply sat there on the stool in shock. Then, she removed the Hat, stood up and walked toward the Ravenclaw table. Harry stared at her in disbelief but then, slowly, a massive smile broke across his face. He immediately jumped up onto the wooden bench.
"YES!" Harry shouted, the entire hall turning to look at him. He pointed dramatically across the room. "Freedom! The common room is finally peaceful!"
Ron covered his face with his hands in absolute embarrassment. "Harry."
"What?"
"You are making this so much worse."
Hermione stopped walking dead in her tracks. Her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as she slowly turned around and walked straight back toward him. Harry stopped smiling immediately, up close, her expression was dangerous. She stood right in front of him. "Enjoy your temporary victory, Potter."
Harry raised an eyebrow, trying to regain his cool. "Temporary?"
"From across the Hall, I will destroy your grades, your Quidditch statistics and your ridiculous confidence," she promised in a sharp whisper.
Harry grinned, matching her intensity. "That sounds like a challenge."
"It is."
"Good."
Hermione stared at him, momentarily caught off guard. "Why are you happy?"
Harry shrugged easily. "Because now I have someone interesting to compete against." For one second, Hermione completely forgot how to respond. Then, she turned away with a huff. "You're impossible."
Harry watched her go, his eyes tracking the sway of her robes until she sat down surrounded by the Ravenclaws and for some completely unknown reason, the Great Hall suddenly felt a massive amount larger than it had a few moments ago.
The house change did not end their rivalry,
it made it much worse. Because now, they officially represented opposing sides. Gryffindor had Harry Potter and Ravenclaw had Hermione Granger. Hogwarts quickly learned that putting those two specific people in separate houses did absolutely nothing except give them brand new, highly public reasons to argue.
The boiling point of their new dynamic arrived under the crisp, biting wind of the winter term’s first Quidditch match: Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw.
Harry soared effortlessly above the pitch, the pale morning sunlight glinting off the polished mahogany of his Firebolt. He was brilliant in the air and he knew it. Everyone knew it. He performed a lazy, arrogant loop-de-loop simply because he could, grinning as the Gryffindor stands erupted into cheers.
"Potter opens the match with a completely unnecessary aerial flourish!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed across the stadium.
"It was a standard maneuver, Jordan," Professor McGonagall said sharply over the magical megaphone.
"It was a standard maneuver performed entirely for dramatic effect, Professor. He practically blew a kiss to the third years."
The Gryffindors cheered louder.
Then Harry leveled out near midfield and entirely against his better judgment, glanced toward the Ravenclaw section. There she was. Hermione was sitting near the front railing, wrapped in a ridiculous enchanted blue and bronze scarf that practically swallowed her neck. A massive Arithmancy textbook lay open in her lap, because apparently even Quidditch matches were opportunities for academic enrichment.
But she wasn't reading. She was laughing. At Michael Corner.
The Ravenclaw Chaser swept past her section of the stands and executed an unnecessarily dramatic, sweeping bow from his broom. Hermione laughed brightly and waved back.
"Brilliant move, Michael!" her voice carried clearly over the wind.
Harry's grip tightened around his broom handle until the wood creaked. Something sharp and unpleasant twisted in his chest.
He immediately decided it was because Ravenclaw was being obnoxious. Obviously.
What other explanation could there possibly be?
"Oh," Harry muttered to himself. His green eyes narrowed dangerously. "So we're cheering for Corner now."
Far below in the stands, Ron frowned, shielding his eyes from the sun. "Why does Harry suddenly look like he's trying to murder the air?"
Ginny followed his gaze. Hermione. Michael Corner. Harry. Understanding dawned immediately and a slow, wicked smirk spread across her face. "Oh."
Ron looked at her. "Oh what?"
"Nothing."
"That's never a good sign."
Above them, Lee Jordan's voice boomed through the stadium, tinged with sheer confusion.
"Interesting development from Potter. He spent the first minute of this match looking relaxed, confident and mildly irritating."
"Jordan."
"Now he looks like someone has personally insulted his ancestors."
The crowd laughed. McGonagall sighed heavily into her microphone.
Harry, fortunately, couldn't hear any of it over the wind rushing past his ears. He had a point to make. A very specific point. To a very specific Ravenclaw.
The game accelerated into a blur around him. Every movement became sharper. Faster. More precise. Michael feinted left with the Quaffle. Harry shot overhead so quickly that the Ravenclaw Chaser nearly lost track of him entirely.
A moment later, Michael glanced up again. Potter was already there. Watching. Michael blinked. Potter immediately accelerated away. A minute later, Michael looked up again. Potter was somehow above him. Again. "What is he doing?" Michael muttered. No one had an answer.
Harry tore across the pitch like a gold and scarlet comet. The crowd roared.
"Merlin's beard!" Lee shouted. "Potter appears to have entered a state of pure, unadulterated athletic rage!"
"Jordan."
"The Ravenclaw Seeker is currently flying away from him out of self-preservation, Professor!"
The stadium erupted into laughter.
A flash of gold appeared near the Ravenclaw hoops. Harry saw it instantly. And dove.
The stadium erupted. Students leapt to their feet as the Firebolt dropped like a falling star. The wind howled, the ground rushed upward and for one breathtaking second, it looked as though Harry intended to permanently bury himself in the pitch just to prove a point.
Then he pulled up. The tail twigs of his broom grazing the frozen grass. His hand snapped shut.
Silence fell over the stadium. Then ~
Absolute pandemonium.
"HE'S GOT IT!" Lee Jordan screamed, abandoning every trace of commentator professionalism.
The stadium exploded.
"ELEVEN SECONDS! Eleven seconds! People are standing on the benches! Someone just dropped a thermos of hot chocolate onto Colin Creevey! A first year Ravenclaw has fainted from sheer adrenaline! POTTER HAS JUST OBLITERATED THE SCHOOL RECORD! I DIDN'T EVEN HAVE TIME TO UNWRAP MY PEPPERMINT!"
"JORDAN!"
"I'M EXPERIENCING AN EMOTIONAL CRISIS, PROFESSOR!"
The Gryffindor stands descended into absolute, unadulterated bedlam. Harry barely noticed. He could have flown toward his team. He could have accepted the high-fives. He could have taken a glorious victory lap. Instead, he angled his broom and flew directly toward the Ravenclaw stands. Straight toward Hermione.
Lee paused, his voice dropping into an intrigued whisper that somehow carried perfectly across the suddenly attentive stadium. "Interesting choice from Potter."
McGonagall immediately sounded suspicious.
"Jordan."
"Most Seekers traditionally celebrate with people wearing the same colours as them."
The crowd began snickering. Harry continued flying. Directly. Toward Hermione.
"Potter, however," Lee continued, "appears to be holding a private victory parade for a specific Ravenclaw."
The crowd erupted into whistles and catcalls.
"JORDAN."
"What? I'm merely reporting observable facts, Professor. It's journalism."
Harry ignored the entire school. Ignored the whistles. Ignored the laughter. Ignored the fact that half the stadium appeared to be staring at him. His eyes never left Hermione. He brought the Firebolt to a perfect hover directly in front of her row. For one ridiculous moment, neither of them spoke. The winter wind tugged at Hermione's scarf. Harry could see the annoyance already gathering behind her eyes. Then, slowly and deliberately, he tossed the Snitch a few inches into the air, caught it with a casual flick of his wrist and flashed her his most infuriatingly smug, arrogant grin.
Hermione stared at him. For a moment, her usually sharp, endlessly prepared mind completely stalled. Not because he had caught the Snitch - Harry catching the Snitch was hardly surprising. It was because after breaking a school record, with the entire stadium screaming his name, Harry Potter had flown straight toward her.
She recovered quickly because she was Hermione Granger and she refused to let Harry Potter have the satisfaction of leaving her speechless. She rose swiftly to her feet, pointed an accusing finger directly at his nose and very clearly mouthed the words:
"You are an insufferable show-off."
Harry felt a strange, violent, incredibly addictive flip somewhere beneath his ribs. His grin widened until his face practically hurt.
To his absolute confusion, he couldn't remember ever enjoying an insult more in his entire life.