firecracker ???

7-9

"I wasn't sure if it would be enough," she said quietly, passing it to him. "But then I remembered... it wasn't supposed to be about worth. It was supposed to be about protection."

Harry opened it slowly.

Inside was a chain—silver, but not quite. It shimmered too brightly for any ordinary metal. The links were impossibly fine, almost threadlike, but there was weight to them. A pull. A hum of something old. Something real.

Harry looked up. "This is—"

"I had it spun from a strand of my hair," Lyra said. "It's a lost art. Most don't do it anymore. Too expensive. Too delicate. Too easy to get wrong."

He didn't speak.

"It's woven with Black family protections," she continued, voice a little steadier now. "Ancestral shielding. Spell-binding practices passed down for centuries in our family. I paid... far more than I should've. It took three wandwrights to stabilise it."

Harry swallowed.

"It's not just jewelry," Lyra said. "It's a ward. It's armor. It's me."

She met his eyes.

"I made it so hopefully I can keep you alive."

He stared at the chain, still not breathing.

Then looked at her again.

"I don't deserve you."

"You never have," she said lightly. "But I still choose you. It's... everything I could give you, Harry."

He opened his mouth—but found no words.

She moved closer, took the necklace gently from his hand, and looped it around his neck.

Her fingers brushed the nape of his neck as she clasped it shut.

Then, with a flash of mischief in her eyes—softened by something deeper, she leaned in and kissed his Adam's apple.

Harry inhaled sharply, startled.

"You," he said hoarsely, "are going to ruin me."

The chain settled over his chest like a promise.

He tucked it under his shirt.

And then pulled her close, forehead pressed to hers.

"You protect me," he murmured. "And I'll come home to you."

"We're very dramatic," she whispered.

Harry smiled. "We're very in love."

They sat like that for a while, her head on his shoulder, the fire casting gold across their skin. He held her close like she might slip away if he loosened his grip. She didn't move.

And after a while, she spoke again.

"I used to think we'd never have this."

Harry was quiet.

"I thought people like us didn't get peace. Didn't get softness. We don't deserve sentimentality. That maybe we were built for war and nothing else."

Harry's fingers tightened around hers. "We were built for each other."

She looked up at him. "And after?"

He kissed her temple. "After the war?"

"After everything."

He pulled her closer. "We live."

She let out a soft breath.

Harry smiled. "We get a house. One that doesn't creak every five seconds."