firecracker ???

The tower window was half open, and the breeze was warm.

Summer air rolled over the windowsill like a sigh, stirring the edges of parchment on Lyra's desk. Her curtains were drawn back, the moonlight silvering every dark shape in the room. She sat in bed, knees drawn up, her nightgown soft and sleeveless, her hair loose around her shoulders.

She didn't move when the door creaked open.

She didn't have to.

Harry didn't knock.

He never did.

He just walked in, barefoot, hair a wild halo around his head. He was already grinning. He always was these days.

"Nightmare," he announced.

Lyra turned her head. "Oh, was it the one where you didn't get enough attention for five whole minutes?"

"No," he said solemnly, crawling toward her. "A really real one this time."

She arched a brow. "And you thought the solution was breaking into my room at midnight?"

Harry flopped onto the bed beside her, making the mattress shift with his weight. He rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Yes."

She sighed. "You're ridiculous."

"You adore me."

"I do," she muttered, shifting to make room anyway.

He slid beneath the blankets like he'd always belonged there.

And in some ways—he had.

-

They lay facing each other, the hush of the castle wrapped around them like a second blanket.

Harry's eyes were bright, almost too bright in the dark. He'd been like this for weeks now—intolerably smug, full of nervous energy, cracking jokes even when he was dead tired. Cockier than ever. Infinitely more annoying.

And she let him.

Because he'd died.

Because she'd thought he wasn't coming back.

Because she would rather put up with a thousand smug comments about how everyone had watched her cry than see him lying still again.

"Do you think," he whispered, eyes on hers, "we'll ever be this happy again?"

"I hope so."

"We'll be different, though."

"Sure," she said, brushing his hair from his forehead. "You'll get even more arrogant. I'll be forced to hex you daily."

"You'll fall more in love with me."

She didn't deny it.

"Everything changes tomorrow," he said, a little more quietly.

"Not everything," she replied. "Not this."

His hand slid around her waist.

He tugged her closer.

She let him.

-

"Remember first year?" Harry murmured. "You were terrifying."

"I am terrifying."

"You insulted my broom."

"You crashed your broom."

"You hexed me in front of the Fat Lady."

"You were asking for it."

"I've been asking for it ever since," he grinned.

"Unfortunately," she said, but her voice was warm.

He sighed and buried his face in her neck. "You're going to miss me when I go off to be a famous Auror."

"You're not saying yes to that."

"Eventually I will."

"We have the summer."

Harry hummed. "I plan to ruin you all season."

Lyra snorted. "You already do."

"Ruin you better, then."

She wrapped a leg over his. "You're clingy."

"I almost died."

"You did die."

"I got better."

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she said, "I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes. Just to check you're breathing."

Harry kissed her collarbone. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You promised that once."

"And I kept it."

Lyra closed her eyes.

His hand slid up to cup the side of her face, gentle, reverent.

"I love you," he said.

"I know," she whispered.

She pressed her mouth to his jaw, then his cheek, then his lips. He kissed her back like he had nowhere else to be—no dark lord to fight, no war to win, no future bearing down on them.

Just this.

Just her.

Just now.

Outside the window, the stars swirled lazily overhead.

Inside, Harry pulled Lyra even closer, shifting so that her leg tangled with his, her arms around his ribs.

"Hey," he said quietly.

She didn't open her eyes. "What?"

"I'm scared."

Her arms tightened.

"Not of what's coming. Just of losing this."

"You won't."

"You promise?"

"Yes."

He smiled. "Okay."

She opened her eyes then. Met his.

"You know what I remember most about you?"

He blinked. "The broom crashing?"

"No," she said. "It's not one moment. It's every time you looked at me like I was the only thing in the room."

"Because you were."

Her breath caught.

She didn't say anything more.

"I love you," he said again, because he couldn't stop saying it.

"I know," she replied, because she never had to say it back for him to feel it.

He sighed into her.

She held him through it.

When he finally began to doze, she brushed her fingers through his hair again.

Just like Lily might have once.

She stayed awake just long enough to memorize the shape of his face in the moonlight.

He looked young like this.

Safe.

Soft.

Alive.

She kissed his temple.

And he whispered, half-asleep, "We made it."

She smiled.

"You did."

"No," he said. "We did."

She kissed him again..

Pulled the blankets up.

Let her eyes fall closed.

They fell asleep the same way they always had—twined together, limbs knotted, breaths slow and even.

And for the first time in his life...

Harry Potter didn't wake up afraid.