firecracker ???

The day before the final task, the castle felt... odd.

Not silent. Not chaotic. Just tight. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

By midday, the Great Hall buzzed with conversation over lunch, but beneath it was something sharper—expectation, nerves, the edge of something none of them could name.

And then Harry Potter walked up to the Slytherin table.

Every fork paused. Every conversation faltered. The audacity of it alone made heads swivel.

But Harry didn't flinch.

He moved with the ease of someone who had nothing to lose and everything to grin about. His Gryffindor tie hung slightly loose, and his hair looked like it had argued with a breeze and lost spectacularly. His green eyes glittered with something both reckless and amused.

He stopped behind Elestara.

"Elestara," he said lightly. "I need you."

The entire table stared.

She didn't turn. "That's bold. Even for you."

"Come on," he drawled. "Last task's tomorrow. Thought I'd collect all my lucky charms before I die tragically and heroically."

Now she turned, slowly.

Her expression was unreadable. Too calm. Too sharp.

"Oh? I'm the lucky charm now?"

"Top of the list," he said, smile widening. "You're practically my patronus at this point."

"Do I look like a shimmering deer to you?"

"More like a unicorn," he replied. "Very deadly. Very stylish. Might gouge my eyes out if I say the wrong thing."

"You say the wrong thing quite often."

"It's a talent."

Elestara stared at him.

There was something in her gaze that hadn't been there a week ago. Something cautious. Something warm.

Then—without another word—she reached into her cloak and produced the brooch.

Silver. Ancient. Serpentine.

She held it out with graceful fingers.

"Good luck, Potter."

His smile faltered just for a second. Because he knew what it was. What it meant.

Not just the heirloom.

But her giving it to him.

He took it carefully. "You sure?"

"I don't give charms lightly."

"Or affection."

She said nothing.

Harry studied her for a moment. He wanted to say something ridiculous. Something that would make her roll her eyes. Something to cut the weight of what this really was.

But he didn't.

He just nodded once, solemn for once.

"Thank you."

She inclined her head. "Don't get yourself killed. It would be very inconvenient."

"For you?"

"For my reputation."

He grinned. "I'll stay alive, then. For the sake of your social standing."

As he turned and walked back toward the Gryffindor table, the Slytherins remained quiet.

Until Theo leaned forward, voice low.

"You're not going to be able to keep this up much longer."

Elestara didn't look away from Harry's retreating back. "What?"

"The pretending," Theo said gently. "Like you don't care."

"I don't," she replied, too fast.

Theo just looked at her.

"You gave him your brooch."

"It was Regulus's idea."

"But you agreed."

She didn't answer.

Across the table, Daphne exchanged a look with Pansy.

Behind them, Blaise gave a low whistle. "Didn't think I'd see the day Princess Black gifts Potter with family heirlooms."

"Don't start," Elestara said quietly.

But her voice lacked venom.

And they noticed.

Especially Draco.

He hadn't said a word through the entire exchange. Not when Harry approached. Not when Elestara handed over the brooch. Not even when the Slytherins began murmuring in low voices about what it meant.

He simply sat, eyes trained on the table, fork slicing cleanly through his lunch.

When Theo raised a brow at him later, Draco just muttered, "He's a war hero in the making. Let him enjoy it while it lasts."

Theo didn't push. But he noticed Draco didn't make a single insult. Not one.

That was new.

That was something.

Back at the Gryffindor table, Fred and George were watching Harry with open amusement.

"Mate," Fred said, "you've got half the Hall whispering."

"Should we start printing badges?" George asked. "'Harry Potter: Slytherin Slayer'? No—'Brooch Boy' has a nice ring to it."

Ron leaned over, frowning. "Did she actually give you that? That thing?"

Harry didn't answer at first.

He turned the brooch over in his hand, the weight of it pressing into his palm. He knew what it was. He could feel the power of the spells embedded in the silver. Subtle. Ancient. Protective.

Regulus's magic. Hers now, given to him.

He slipped it into the pocket of his robes.

"Yeah," he said finally. "She did."

Hermione's eyes were sharp as she studied him.

"You really like her," she said, quiet but not unkind.

Harry didn't look at her. He didn't need to.

"I really do."

There was no grin now. No cocky smile.

Just truth.

Hermione softened. "Then win. And come back."

Harry finally turned to her, lips tilting into that familiar smirk.

"Please. I'm Harry Potter. I always come back."