In Shadow and Signal (Book 2)

Harriet Potter's POV

The cheering didn't feel real.

It roared behind me like a wave, crashing over the broken silence of the arena, but I was already stumbling into the tent, lungs seared and heart rattling like a snitch in a jar.

My hands were shaking.

Not from fear.

From after.

The kind of shaking that only comes when the danger is over but your body hasn't caught up yet.

The egg was warm against my chest.

I dropped into the nearest chair, burying my face in my hands.

And then I felt it.

The contract flared.

Stronger than it ever had before - not hot, not painful.

Just present.

Like someone exhaling next to my skin.

And when I looked up, he was there.

Oliver.

He pushed through the side flap of the tent like the Ministry didn't exist, like the guards hadn't tried to stop him, like the rest of the world didn't matter.

He was windblown. Breathless.

And furious.

"You-" His voice caught. He crossed the space in three long strides, dropped to his knees in front of me, and took my face in both hands. "You could've died."

I didn't flinch.

"I didn't," I whispered.

He didn't kiss me.

But his forehead touched mine.

And in that moment, I let go.

Of the fear.

Of the anger.

Of every flaming whisper that had chased me since my name came out of that Goblet.

"I felt it," he said softly. "When the fire hit. When you cast that shield."

"You saw it?"

"I felt you. It wasn't just magic. It was you. And I swear, Harriet, if you'd fallen-"

"I didn't," I said again. Firmer. "I didn't fall."

His thumb brushed the soot from my cheek.

"I know. You rose."

⸻

Outside, the crowd chanted my name.

Inside, I let Oliver hold my hands - not because I needed saving, but because I finally understood:

He wasn't my shield.

He was my mirror.

And the girl in the mirror had just survived a dragon.