firecracker ???

Harry collapsed before he hit the ground, the sword of Gryffindor slipping from his fingers with a dull clang as his knees gave out beside Ginny's barely stirring form. His glasses were cracked, one lens smeared with blood. His breathing was shallow, his frame trembling from the sheer strain of what he'd just done—what he'd survived.

Elestara stood a few feet away, her wand still clutched in her hand, the adrenaline cooling rapidly in her veins. The silence after the basilisk's fall was vast and echoing, as though the Chamber itself had lost the will to speak. The diary had dissolved into nothing, and with it, Riddle's illusion. All that remained were the broken pieces: the girl, the boy, the sword, and the stench of dying magic.

She crossed to him slowly, each step deliberate, her breath sharp in her chest. The flickering torchlight painted long shadows across the stone, but her attention stayed fixed on the boy at her feet—bloodied, still, curled just slightly around the girl he had fought to save.

She knelt beside him, slowly, as if touching him too suddenly might break something already fractured. Her fingers brushed his cheek, then moved to his throat, counting the fluttering beats of his pulse. Alive. Barely.

He didn't look heroic now. He didn't look like the figure she'd rolled her eyes at in newspapers, or the boy whose name had filled half their school corridor whispers since September. He looked exhausted. Young. Terribly human. And it made something in her chest curl tightly, uncomfortably.

She sat there, knees to stone, staring at his face.

He had thrown himself in front of a basilisk.

He had stood between death and a girl he hardly knew.

He had done it without expectation, without performance. Just resolve.

She thought of his grin in Potions, his stubborn tilt of the head when she brushed him off, the way he always seemed surprised when people were kind. The way he looked at her, like he couldn't decide if she was an enemy or a star.

He had seen her in a way she hadn't expected anyone to. And now here he was—bleeding, broken, smiling at her as if she'd always been there.

She wasn't ready for what that meant.

His eyes fluttered open.

"You," he whispered, breath shallow. He gave her a soft smile and then his lashes fell shut again.

And still she didn't move.

Behind her, a soft wind stirred the air.

Ginny gasped, sharp and startled, her body jerking.

Elestara turned, wand ready—but Ginny was awake, disoriented, blinking rapidly.

"Where—what—Harry?"

"He's alive," Elestara said, voice softer than she expected. "You are too."

Fawkes descended, feathers catching the flickering torchlight like flame.

Ginny stood shakily, reaching toward him. The phoenix extended a talon. She grabbed it.

Elestara rose, slipping one arm under Harry's waist and the other to the hand Ginny extended. She stepped beside Ginny, who still clung to Fawkes's leg. Then, together, they vanished in fire.

They landed in Dumbledore's office with a rush of heat and feathers. The scent of ash clung to them, and Ginny immediately staggered into McGonagall's arms, who had arrived only seconds before, eyes wide and terrified.

"Take her to the hospital wing," Dumbledore said quietly. "And send word to the Weasleys."

McGonagall nodded and vanished, her robes swirling behind her, Ginny clutched against her side. Then, finally, the office fell still. The soft ticking of an old brass clock and the occasional rustle of a portrait frame were the only sounds besides the shallow breathing of the boy still in Elestara's arms.