firecracker ???

Diagon Alley had never felt more magical.

It wasn't that the shops were different—they weren't. Flourish and Blotts still had that peculiar dusty charm. The apothecary still smelled like old cabbage and dragon hide. And the ice cream at Florean Fortescue's still tasted like actual joy. But something about being here alone—well, mostly alone—made it feel new again.

Since leaving the Dursleys, Harry had been staying at the Leaky Cauldron and enjoying the first freedom he'd ever really had. He could wake up when he wanted. Walk where he liked. No Vernon barking orders, no Dudley slamming doors, no bars on his window.

He'd spent his mornings practicing spells behind the Cauldron with a stack of borrowed books. Afternoons wandering the alley. Evenings people-watching from Fortescue's terrace with free sundaes and notes on werewolf laws spread out in front of him. It should've been perfect.

But something felt... unfinished.

He told himself it was just the news about Sirius Black. Or maybe the slight weirdness of how the Ministry had handled everything after he ran away. But deep down, he knew it wasn't that.

He'd been waiting.

And today, he realized, he'd been waiting for her.

The had Weasleys arrived in a blaze of red hair and shouting. Mrs. Weasley was already frazzled, Ron was complaining about Percy, and the twins were arguing about whether Skiving Snackboxes would be a hit or a disaster.

It felt like coming home.

"Harry!" Hermione rushed up first, her arms full of books, a quill stuck behind one ear. She hugged him tightly. "You're alive!"

"Er—yeah," Harry said, grinning. "Thanks."

"Thought the Muggles had you locked in a cupboard again," Fred added.

"Or run over," George supplied. "Would've been a shame, really. You owe us a rematch on Exploding Snap."

They moved as a group through the alley, shopping bags swinging. Mr. Weasley had vanished into the apothecary with Percy. The rest of them headed toward the cauldron shop. Harry wasn't paying attention to the conversation anymore. His eyes were scanning the crowd.

He wasn't even sure what he was looking for until he saw her.

She stepped out of Knockturn Alley, moving like she always did—like she owned the ground beneath her feet. Her robes were neat, pale green and silver, a shade that somehow made everything around her look dull. Draco trailed just behind her, talking about something animatedly, but Lyra wasn't listening.

She looked ahead. She saw them.

Harry froze.

He hadn't seen her since the hospital wing, when she'd watched him like she was trying to figure out whether he was a puzzle or a problem.

And now she was here.

She looked exactly the same. Sharper, maybe. A little older. But still... her. Still the same unreadable expression, the same cold grace that made people part without realizing they had.

As she passed, she glanced briefly at Ginny and said, "Still wearing robes five sizes too big, I see,"

Ginny stiffened. Ron let out a shocked, indignant noise.

Harry didn't hear what they said next.

Because Lyra looked at him.

For a moment, everything went quiet.

No bustling crowd, no clinking shop bells. Just her gaze—cool, steady, unreadable.

Then something flickered.

It wasn't recognition. That had already happened.

It was awareness.

And then she turned away.

Harry stood there, still staring long after she'd disappeared into the crowd.

He didn't know why it stung.

But it did.

Hermione touched his arm. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said quickly. "Just... distracted."

She didn't press.

They finished the shopping trip as planned. Harry got his new books, stocked up on potion ingredients and bought a new bottle of ink. The twins spent twenty minutes debating the cost-effectiveness of joke cauldrons. Ron tried to sneak an extra wand polish kit into the family supplies.

But Harry didn't really focus on any of it.

His mind kept going back to the flash of pale eyes and the slight catch of breath he hadn't expected. She hadn't said his name. She hadn't sneered. She hadn't even looked disgusted.

She had just looked at him.

Like he mattered.

But then like he didn't.

He didn't understand why that felt worse than indifference.

That night, back in his room at the Leaky Cauldron, he opened his trunk to organize his supplies and found himself staring at the empty side of the bed for a long time.

He didn't dream of her that night.

But he expected he would again soon.