firecracker ???

7-24

Near the Transfiguration corridor, Lyra paused.

She turned toward an old wooden desk tucked near the classroom entrance. Her fingers drifted over the grain.

She opened it.

Inside, beneath a pile of curled parchment and doodles from students past, she found a yellowed essay.

Her first.

"Charms can conceal," it read in young, uneven handwriting, "but Transfiguration transforms."

It was covered in red ink.

Professor McGonagall's comments were ruthless. Precise. Proud.

Lyra stared at it for a long moment.

Then, with a whisper of a spell, she lit it on fire.

The paper curled, smoked, and burned.

Ash spiraled upward in soft surrender.

The writing was young, unsure, insecure.

There was no need for it now. She knew exactly who she was.

-

That evening, the Great Hall shimmered with enchantments. The banners of all four Houses draped proudly from the rafters. The enchanted ceiling reflected the stars above—clear, unclouded.

The long tables gleamed. Goblets sparkled.

The final House Cup Feast had begun.

McGonagall stood to speak first. Her words were brief, but sharp with pride. Regulus followed. His speech was shorter, dry and biting.

Then Sirius stood up.

And chaos followed.

"I wasn't asked to speak," he began, "which is why I'm doing it."

Snape made a strangled noise at the staff table.

Sirius continued. "I have nothing wise to say, except this: some best decisions in life start with someone telling you not to do something—especially if that someone teaches Potions and glares like it's a full-time job."

Harry laughed so hard pumpkin juice went down the wrong pipe.

And then he stood.

Everyone groaned.

"Right," he said, mock-serious, holding a folded parchment. "Seventeen pages. Double-sided. Let's begin—"

"Potter, I swear to Merlin—" Sirius shouted.

"Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to keep it under five minutes," Harry said innocently. "So I will. But I'm not making promises about my future memoir."

Laughter rang out.

Then Harry paused.

The grin softened.

He looked out across the room—at the familiar faces, the ones who had survived with him. The ones who had chosen him.

"You've all made this place a home," he said. "Even when it was falling apart. Even when we were. And if this is the end of something... it's also the beginning."

He looked at Draco, who was smiling into his goblet like he didn't know what to do with all the feelings.

He looked at Lyra, who met his gaze and didn't blink.

"So thank you," he finished. "For being here. For staying. For fighting. For everything."

He raised his goblet.

"To Hogwarts."

The hall echoed it. Loud. Full. Alive.

Dessert arrived in chaos.

There were puddings—treacle and chocolate. Enchanted floating cakes. A sculpture of Voldemort made entirely of raspberry mousse and cursed to cry sticky jelly tears.

Harry cackled as he watched a first-year smack it with a spoon.

Then the owls came.

Three letters.

Harry.

Lyra.

Draco.

They opened them together, as though it had been planned.

Inside—Ministry seals. Auror Department. Placement offers.

"Training," Draco said aloud, holding up his letter. "They want us."

Harry nodded. "Of course they do."

Lyra folded hers neatly. "We're not saying yes yet."

"No," Harry agreed. "Not yet."

"We've got the summer."

—

Later that night, when the Great Hall had emptied and the stars had dimmed, Harry sat on the Gryffindor tower steps, watching the sky.

The castle breathed below him.

He thought about every corridor. Every battle. Every class. Every dare. Every mistake.

He thought about the troll in the dungeon.

He thought about the Triwizard Cup.

He thought about Draco bleeding and grinning beside him, about Sirius asleep on the couch in the staff room, about Regulus and his quiet tea, about Lyra's laughter.

He looked at the stars.

And whispered, "Thank you."

Not to anyone.

Just to the castle.

Just to everything.

Tomorrow, the world would change.

But tonight?

Tonight they were still students.

Still kids.

Still home.

And for the first time in his life, Harry Potter didn't feel like something was coming to take it away.

He had made it.

They all had.