firecracker ???

4-18

"This year. At the lake. After." She glanced at him, eyes narrowing faintly. "You... I don't know. I didn't expect you to stop being an idiot long enough to be kind."

Harry chuckled. "You think I'm not kind?"

"I think you're reckless. Thoughtless. And too fond of being the centre of attention."

"Well, at least I'm consistent."

"You were different that night. On the Tower. You weren't trying to impress anyone."

Harry's smile faded just slightly. "I wasn't trying to impress you either."

"No?"

"I just wanted you to know the truth."

She didn't answer. Not right away.

And in that silence, Harry sat up straighter, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve.

"I've been thinking," he said, voice too casual, "about everything. About you."

Elestara's brows drew slightly. Not in confusion—more like caution.

"And?"

He shrugged. "I thought maybe it's time I stop pretending."

She blinked. "Pretending?"

"That I only annoy- no, flirt with you because it's funny. That I follow you around because I'm annoying. That I always end up where you are because it's coincidence."

A silence opened between them, heavier than the ones before.

He looked at her properly.

"I like you," he said simply.

And that was it.

No flourish. No dramatic grin. No charm, no teasing.

Just those three words.

Elestara's expression didn't change at first. She didn't frown. Didn't smile. She just... stared.

Then she sat back in her seat, arms folding neatly over her chest. "Right."

Harry blinked. "Right?"

"You're always saying things like that."

He tilted his head. "Like what?"

"'I like you,' 'Dance with me,' 'You're terrifying but beautiful,'" she said, ticking them off with each finger. "You say things like that and then grin and walk away like it doesn't matter."

He looked mock-offended. "That's slander."

"It's not serious."

"Who says I'm not serious?"

She gave him a look. Dry. Infuriating. Familiar.

Harry sighed. "Okay, fine. I've said a lot of things. But I meant this one. I'm not saying it to get a rise out of you. I'm saying it because I wanted to. Because it's true."

She stared at him again. This time, her gaze softened—but only slightly.

Harry, sensing the silence stretch, widened his eyes. "Wait. You don't believe me."

"I didn't say that."

"You don't believe me," he said, sitting up. "You think I'm just being annoying."

"I actually do."

Harry pressed a hand to his chest, affronted. "How dare you."

Elestara arched a brow. "Are you sulking?"

"I'm wounded."

"Please don't be dramatic."

"I'm devastated," he added, sinking lower in his seat. "Here I am, baring my soul, and you—"

"You are not baring anything."

He sniffed. "Emotionally, I am naked in this train compartment."

She closed her eyes for a second. "Merlin."

"I'm very sensitive, you know."

"You're insufferable."

"You already said that."

"I mean it more now."

A beat passed.

Then he stood up, walked over, and—without waiting—sat beside her.

Elestara turned slowly. "What are you doing."

"Shifting my emotional weight," he said. "Bringing my heartbreak closer to the source."

She rolled her eyes but didn't move.

He leaned slightly toward her, voice softer. "I do like you."

"I know," she said, quieter now.

"I know you don't believe me. Not fully. But I meant it."

Her fingers curled lightly against the fabric of her skirt.

He tilted his head. "You know what helps heartbreak?"

"No."

"A hug."

She gave him a look so withering it could've evaporated an ocean.

Then, arms wrapping loosely around her shoulders, he hugged her. Harry didn't squeeze too tight. He didn't speak. He pulled her towards him and rested his chin on her head.

She gave him a wary glance. "Uh, personal space? Where was my approval?"

"Doesn't apply to confessions of true love."

"Oh, Merlin."

"Just kidding. Mostly."

"Mostly?"

He leaned closer. "I think I might like you more than Quidditch."

She tilted her chin. "That's a lie."

"Fine. You're tied."

It wasn't the same hug as the one on the Tower. This one wasn't stunned or fragile or drifting in the aftermath of chaos.

She was sharp. Awake. Entirely present.

"You're clingy," she muttered.

"I'm affectionate."

"You're going to get hexed."

"Worth it."

"Let go."

"No."

"You're absurd."

"I'm in love."

She let out a laugh. Harry decided it was the prettiest sound he'd ever heard.

He tightened the hug slightly. "I'm not letting go until you admit you like me back."

"That's blackmail."

"I learned from the best."

She sighed into his shoulder. "You're going to be insufferable next year."

He grinned. "I was insufferable this year."

She didn't argue.

"Next year," he murmured, "I'm sitting beside you on every train ride."

"You're very confident for someone who wasn't even invited."

"Oh, I'm always invited," he whispered, grinning. "You just haven't realised it yet."

She sighed.

But her hand didn't move from his arm.

And that was enough—for now.

And somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, Elestara realised something.

He wasn't lying.

Not this time.

He wasn't saying things to make her flustered. He wasn't chasing her for sport. He was just... there.

And she didn't mind.

She didn't mind at all.