firecracker ???

The train ride home was quieter than anyone expected. After the frenzy of headlines and end-of-term goodbyes, the carriages slowly settled into the soft rhythm of the tracks and the low murmur of tired conversation.

Elestara sat with Draco, Theo, Blaise, Pansy, and Daphne, tucked into their usual compartment.

No one talked about the Chamber.

Not directly.

But glances passed. Blaise's eyebrows raised every time Elestara pulled out her letter from Regulus and reread a single line. Pansy rolled her eyes when Draco polished the clasp of the family crest on his case for the third time.

It wasn't until they were an hour from London that the silence fractured.

"Are you really not going to say goodbye?" Blaise asked casually, his tone too light to be innocent.

Elestara didn't look up from her book. "To whom?"

"To the boy you didn't let die."

Daphne snorted. "She didn't save him either."

Theo, from his corner, said dryly, "She just happened to be in the same cursed chamber. Entirely coincidental."

Draco shot them all a look. "Can you lot not—"

But the door slid open.

Harry stood there, one hand on the doorframe, his satchel slung over one shoulder, hair as impossibly messy as ever. He looked like he belonged in that doorway, like he knew stepping into their space was a provocation and had decided to enjoy it.

"Lyra," he said, deliberately.

The entire compartment froze.

Draco made a noise like he'd just choked on his own spit. Pansy gaped. Blaise let out a scandalized whistle. Theo muttered, "Well, he's dead."

Elestara's eyes cut toward Harry with a glare sharp enough to hex.

Harry just grinned wider, leaning slightly on the doorframe, like that was exactly what he'd hoped for. He didn't say anything at first. Just glanced around the compartment, eyes brushing past each face before landing on hers.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, entirely too casual, eyes still gleaming with mischief.

Draco groaned audibly. "Merlin, Potter—"

Elestara rose, silent. She followed Harry out into the corridor, the door sliding closed behind her. They stopped between compartments, the world sliding past outside in long green blurs.

"I never got the chance," he said.

She raised a brow.

"To thank you."

She crossed her arms. "I didn't do it for you, you know."

"I know," he said, voice steady. "But you were there anyway."

She looked away. "You shouldn't thank people who only help because it's politically useful."

"You didn't have to carry me out of the Chamber."

"That was logistics."

He laughed, quiet but genuine. "Of course."

She turned back to him. "I don't owe you anything, Potter."

"I never said you did."

Their eyes met.

"You're very annoying," she said, though her voice lacked its usual edge.

He grinned. "You let me call you Lyra."

"I didn't let you. You just did it. Did you not see me glare?"

"I noticed. I'm still recovering you see"

"That name is for close friends and family."

He tilted his head, thoughtful. "Then I'll try my best. Or maybe... I'll come up with something new. Just for us."

She gave him a look. "A private nickname."

He nodded. "Exactly."

"I'm terrified," she muttered.

"You should be."

"That sounds like a threat."

"It's a promise."

He didn't leave right away. Neither did she. The rhythm of the train hummed beneath them. For a moment, he just stood there, watching her, expression less smug now. "I meant it, though. Thank you. Even if it wasn't for me."

She inclined her head slightly. "You're welcome. Even if I regret it."

He smirked. "You don't."

This time, she didn't argue. With a final glance over his shoulder, he walked away.

Harry walked back to his compartment slowly, half-listening to the muffled conversations beyond the doors. His thoughts moved slower than usual. Less certain. But not confused.

There was something about her that made everything else louder and quieter at the same time. She had this way of watching him, like he was a chess piece she hadn't decided whether to move or destroy. And yet—she'd carried him. She hadn't left. She hadn't helped him. But she hadn't let him fall either.

He didn't understand her. Not fully. But he liked the way she kept him off-balance. He liked the look on Draco's face every time he caught him staring too long. He liked that she hadn't told him to stop.

Whatever this was—curiosity, challenge, some silent dare—it wasn't over.

And for once, that didn't bother him at all.

Elestara returned to the compartment and sat without comment.

The silence buzzed.

"Well?" Daphne asked.

"He thanked me," she replied.

"That's it?"

She opened her book. "It's enough."

Draco scowled. "I hate him."

Theo shrugged. "You hated him before."

"He keeps looking at her."

"And she keeps letting him," Blaise added, raising an eyebrow, "Still think you're not caught in it?"

Elestara didn't look at him.

"I'm still the one holding the match," she drawled, pretending she didn't care but the corner of her mouth twitched before she turned back to the window.

They pulled into King's Cross shortly after. Lucius and Narcissa were waiting, the noise of London already bleeding in around them. Trunks were dragged. Wands tucked away. Summer began.

But as she stepped off the train beside her brother, her boots hitting the ground, Elestara Black looked once—just once—over her shoulder.

And Harry was looking back.

Not a goodbye.

But something that burned in the quiet place between their names.