The portrait of the Fat Lady swung open with a familiar creak, and the warm glow of the Gryffindor common room spilled out into the corridor. Harry stepped through first, followed closely by Ron and Hermione, the noise of excited chatter and crackling fire wrapping around them like a blanket.
For a brief moment, it felt almost normal.
Almost.
Dean Thomas was lounging near one of the armchairs, laughing at something Lavender had said, while Seamus sat on the arm of a sofa nearby, his expression guarded but lighter than it had been at the feast. Harry caught Dean's eye and lifted a hand in greeting.
"Alright, Dean?" Harry asked. "How were your holidays?"
Dean snorted. "Better than Seamus's."
Seamus shot him a look. "Oi."
Harry turned toward him, concern flickering across his face. "What happened?"
Seamus hesitated, then shrugged in that half-defensive, half-resigned way he'd perfected. "Mum's been readin' the Prophet religiously. Believes everything Fudge prints. Didn't want me comin' back to Hogwarts, said it wasn't safe with you here."
The common room quieted slightly. A few nearby students pretended not to listen, doing a poor job of it.
"And?" Harry asked softly.
"And I told her where she could stick that opinion," Seamus said flatly. "Dad backed me up. Told her she was swallowin' lies and fear because it was easier than thinkin' for herself. They had a right row. Ended with Mum stayin' with her sister 'til she comes to her senses."
Ron grimaced. "Blimey."
Hermione's expression was tight with sympathy. "I'm sorry, Seamus."
Seamus shrugged again, but there was steel in his eyes. "I'll be fine. I'm not lettin' the Prophet decide what's true."
Harry felt a familiar weight settle in his chest. He stepped forward and clasped Seamus's shoulder firmly. "You did the right thing. It's not easy, standing up to family. Thanks for believing me."
Seamus met his gaze, then nodded once. "Always, mate."
As the tension eased and conversation picked up again, Harry's attention drifted. His eyes moved slowly around the common room the circular layout, the low ceiling, the tightly clustered sofas and tables, the single fireplace crackling at one end.
A faint frown creased his brow.
Ron noticed first. "What's wrong?" he asked. "You look like you've just realised you left your Firebolt in the loo."
Hermione followed Harry's gaze, then looked back at him. "Harry?"
He turned to her, confusion plain on his face. "Why is it so… small?"
Ron blinked. "Small?"
"Yes," Harry said slowly. "Everything feels… cramped. Like it's all been squashed together."
A few students nearby, Parvati, Neville, even Dean paused and looked over, curiosity lighting their faces.
Hermione frowned. "It's always been this size."
Harry shook his head. "No. Not like this. Last time I was here, there were upper reading alcoves, wider seating areas, a practice corner for spellwork, and—" He stopped, blinking. "Merlin. Of course."
"Of course what?" Ron asked.
Those who knew, Hermione, Ron, Neville, were already catching on. The rest watched in confusion as Harry stepped into the centre of the room, his expression distant, focused.
"This is wrong," Harry murmured. "The room remembers better than this."
He raised his wand.
"What are you doing?" someone whispered.
Harry didn't answer. He began to move the wand in slow, precise arcs, far more complex than any standard charm. His other hand joined in, fingers tracing invisible runes in the air. He muttered under his breath, not Latin, not English, but something older, layered with intent.
The air hummed.
The fire flared bright gold, then settled. The walls groaned, not in protest, but in recognition.
Stone shifted.
The ceiling rose, stretching upward, revealing dark wooden beams etched with faint lion motifs. Alcoves unfolded from the walls like the opening petals of a flower, shelves filling themselves with books, chess boards, and cushions. The room widened, the floor subtly sloping into distinct areas, quiet corners, social spaces, a broad central hearth with more seating.
Gasps echoed around the room.
"Bloody hell," Dean breathed.
The staircase to the dormitories widened and curved more gracefully. Tall windows appeared along one side, enchanted to show a twilight view of the grounds. Banners unfurled, deep scarlet and gold, glowing softly with magic that felt ancient and proud.
Harry lowered his wand at last, breathing out slowly.
"There," he said quietly. "That's better."
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Then Neville laughed, a slightly hysterical sound. "Harry… you just rebuilt the common room."
Students surged forward, touching walls, peering into new spaces, laughter and excited voices filling the air. Someone discovered a hidden nook perfect for studying. Others sprawled onto newly formed sofas, marvelling at the extra space.
Hermione stared at Harry, awe plain on her face. "You didn't just expand it. You… restored it. Like it was before."
"Before?" Lavender asked.
Harry smiled faintly. "A long time ago."
That night, Gryffindor House went to bed buzzing with excitement, students still exploring and arguing over favourite corners as prefects struggled, and failed, to herd everyone upstairs.
The next morning, the Great Hall was filled with puzzled looks.
Gryffindor students were animated, laughing, talking over one another, eyes bright with excitement. The other houses noticed immediately.
"What's got into them?" a Ravenclaw asked.
"No classes for two days," a Slytherin muttered. "What are they so happy about?"
By mid-breakfast, whispers had spread. By the end, everyone knew.
After the meal, the four Heads of House, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick approached the Gryffindor portrait, Dumbledore with them. The Fat Lady beamed as she swung open.
They stepped inside and stopped dead.
Professor McGonagall's sharp intake of breath broke the silence.
"My word," Flitwick whispered, eyes sparkling.
Professor Sprout turned slowly, taking it all in. "It's… beautiful."
Even Snape looked momentarily taken aback, his gaze sweeping the expanded room with careful scrutiny.
Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling brighter than ever. "Ah. Yes. I suspected."
They stood there for several long moments before Dumbledore turned. "Mr Potter," he said gently. "Would you care to join us for a chat?"
Harry nodded.
As the Heads of House and the Headmaster led him back toward the portrait, the Gryffindor common room buzzed behind them, alive, expanded, and unmistakably changed, just like the boy who had remembered how it was meant to be.