firecracker ???

There were more articles than ever.

The other students had barely been back at school a week before the Daily Prophet ran a special "Chosen One" issue, complete with full-colour moving photos of Harry casting a simple shield charm in the courtyard. Somehow it had been framed like he'd single-handedly fended off a siege.

He, of course, didn't mind.

Harry barely made it through breakfast without being asked about his "prophetic destiny," his recent training sessions, and—most obnoxiously—what it was like to date the Ice Queen of Slytherin.

"Elestara Lyra Black, is it true she's descended from Sirens?" one overeager third-year asked him in Herbology.

"She descends from 'leave me alone,'" Harry muttered, dodging a fluttering heart-shaped note that had tried to stick itself to his forehead.

Even Hermione looked like she might crack by lunchtime. Not the fanmail, not the students flocking to Harry, but because of Harry himself. Harry and his overinflated head, of course.

"Page four," he said, nudging Ron and unfolding the newest paper delivered. "They call me a symbol."

Ron glanced at it blearily. "Of what? Idiocy?"

"Heroic promise."

"They don't know you very well, do they?"

"The girls do, haven't you seen? They-"

Hermione snatched the paper away. 

"Hey! I wasn't finished reading!"

"You shouldn't be proud of this," she said, frowning. "You know they're only interested because you're the Chosen One."

Harry, with all the infuriating charm of someone at the height of their powers, smirked over his toast. "But I am the Chosen One."

A hard smack landed on his face — courtesy of Hermione.

He winced. "Ow! What was that for?"

"For forgetting that you're not single," she hissed. "Do you want me to write to Lyra? Or shall I let her hex you when she finds out you're soaking up fan mail like it's oxygen?"

Harry laughed. "Let's not do either. Honestly, I wasn't soaking—"

Hermione gave him a look colder than the Black Lake frozen over in winter. "Harry James Potter. Yes. You are the Chosen One. But Also, you have a girlfriend who you declared yourself in love with numerous times. Her name is Elestara Lyra Black, might I remind you?"

That wiped the smirk clean off his face.

"Right," he said quickly. "You're right. Absolutely. One hundred percent. No need to mention this to her—"

"I'm not your confidante, Potter."

"Please?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Try being less insufferable."

-

By the time Valentine's Day arrived, the castle had transformed into something obscene.

Charms-class cupids floated overhead. Red and pink sparkles rained from nowhere. The library had installed a "Love Poetry Only" table. Harry watched one student nearly choke on a chocolate frog that started reciting romantic verse.

He intended to avoid all of it.

He and Ron were holed up in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory that morning, both pretending they weren't hiding from the storm of pink chaos in the corridors.