Save a dance for me.
Chapter 6
Cho knew there was only one thing she could do. Taking a deep breath, she stepped back just a little and, with a small smile on her face, said bluntly, "Harry, I'm a witch."
Harry blinked, taken aback by her lighthearted response. "Cho, I'm serious. When I disappeared during the tournament… I was bitten by a werewolf. Last night, I had my first transformation."
Cho's smile grew a little wider. "Harry, I'm serious too. Look, I've got a wand and everything. Want me to do a bit of magic to prove it?"
"Listen to m—" Harry began, but Cho pressed her finger against his lips, silencing him.
"I heard you," she said softly, her eyes locking with his. "I just don't care. You're still Harry, and I still want to be with you." Her voice trembled slightly, but her gaze was steady, imploring him to understand. "I want to be with you, Harry."
Harry stood in stunned silence. How could this be happening? Just days ago, Cho had broken things off with him because her parents didn't approve of their relationship. And now, here she was, standing before him, accepting not just him, but the darker, cursed part of him. It didn't make any sense. "What about your parents?" he asked, voice low. "Once they find out… I doubt they'll be thrilled with your decision."
Cho shook her head, her eyes softening but thoughtful. "You might be surprised, Harry," she said slowly. "My parents... well, they're very traditional, but they understand more about the magical world than you might think. They know how hard life can be for people with... conditions. Especially conditions that aren't their fault." She paused, taking his hands again and squeezing them gently. "I'm not saying they'll be thrilled about this, but they might be more understanding than you think. Especially once they see how much I care about you."
Harry swallowed, her words offering him a thread of hope, though doubt still lingered. "You really think they'll come around?"
Cho smiled, a bit of warmth shining through her eyes. "They will. Eventually. They love me, and when they see how important you are to me... they'll accept you, Harry. But even if it takes them time, I'm not going to wait for their approval. I want to be with you, regardless."
Harry's heart swelled with a mix of hope and fear. He could see the determination in her eyes, the sincerity of her promise. "I want to be with you too, Cho. But I have to know that you won't abandon me again. Things are only going to get more dangerous from here."
"I know," Cho said softly, squeezing his hands tightly, her voice filled with quiet determination. "I know it's going to take time for you to trust me again. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes… if you're willing to let me."
Harry searched her eyes, looking for any hint of doubt or deception. He could feel his heart racing in his chest as he waited. But all he saw in her gaze was sincerity—raw and honest. Slowly, he moved closer to her until they were nearly nose to nose. Cho's breath hitched, and her heartbeat quickened, but she didn't move. There was something different in the way he looked at her now, something that made her knees go weak.
Harry leaned in, brushing his lips softly against hers. The kiss was gentle, tentative—no more than a few seconds long—but in that brief moment, everything else seemed to fade away. In that moment, Harry felt a flicker of something he hadn't felt in a long time. Hope. A future. He broke the kiss but kept his forehead resting against hers, breathing her in, savoring the closeness.
"So, a werewolf, huh?" Cho said, her voice teasing but tender. "Better that than a vampire, I suppose." Her lips curled into a playful smile. "You don't have fleas, do you?"
Harry chuckled, the sound surprising even himself. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. "No fleas.
But… are you really okay with this?" His voice became serious again. "I mean, Cho, I'm not even fully human anymore. Technically, I'm a dark creature."
Cho shook her head and smiled, and Harry felt his heart lift. "You're still human, Harry—just a little different now. Besides, there are some advantages, you know."
Harry raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Advantages?"
"Of course," Cho said, grinning. "Your senses are heightened. That's an extraordinary advantage in a fight, don't you think?"
"Maybe," Harry admitted. "But it's not all great. My sense of smell and hearing are so intense I had to take a potion to dull them. It was a bit overwhelming."
"That's because you're not used to it yet," Cho pointed out. "Once you get the hang of it, I bet you'll be glad to have those heightened senses."
"Maybe…" Harry mused, starting to see her point. "And I guess it would be nice to never get sick again."
"Exactly," Cho said, beaming. "You're stronger, tougher, and practically immune to illness. Sounds like a pretty good deal, if you ask me."
Harry's smile grew, and he felt a warmth bloom in his chest. "Yeah… I guess there are some perks."
Cho squeezed his hand gently, her smile softening. "The only real downside is that you'll transform once a month. But we can handle that. We'll just take the right precautions."
We. The word echoed in Harry's mind. He looked at her, seeing the determination and care in her eyes, and felt something inside him ease. "I like the sound of that," he said quietly, the fear slowly ebbing away.
"Me too," Cho whispered. She paused, glancing around the peaceful grounds before looking back at him.
"Care to go for a walk?"
"I'd love to," Harry said, and together they began to stroll across the grounds, hand in hand, the weight of the world feeling just a little bit lighter.
…
From a window high up in the castle, a pair of brown eyes watched the scene unfold. Tears welled up but didn't fall as Hermione turned away from the window, her chest tight with unspoken feelings.
"Are you coming, Hermione?" Ron asked from behind, noticing her unshed tears. He placed an arm around her shoulders, trying to offer comfort. "I know how you feel."
Hermione sniffed and glanced at him, surprised. "You do?"
Ron nodded, his expression unusually serious. "Of course. Our best friend just told us he's a werewolf. It's a lot to take in. It's always Harry, isn't it? Sometimes… I don't know how he handles it."
Hermione turned back to the window, her heart heavy. "At least he'll always have us," she whispered, trying to sound brave, but she didn't miss the flicker of doubt that crossed Ron's face.
"Yeah," Ron muttered, though his tone lacked conviction.
Hermione frowned, her chest tightening again. "You don't sound sure."
Ron sighed, pulling his arm away. "It's not that I don't want to be there for him… it's just… I don't know if I can handle all of this right now."
Hermione stared at him, anger flaring up inside her. "It's too much for you to handle?" she snapped. "Harry's going through something unimaginable, and you don't know if you can handle it?"
Ron opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione didn't wait to hear what he had to say. She spun on her heel and stormed down the corridor, leaving Ron standing there, bewildered and alone.
"What the bloody hell was she on about?" Ron muttered to himself, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
...
Fleur, along with the other Beauxbatons students, was nearly done packing her things when Madame Maxime gently took her aside. "Fleur, there's someone here to see you."
Fleur raised an eyebrow, curious but not overly interested. "Who is it, Headmistress?" she asked, feigning indifference.
"A young man with a message for you, I believe," Madame Maxime said cryptically, smiling slightly before turning back to the carriage preparations. Fleur's curiosity piqued, but she chose not to question further and instead made her way to the visitor waiting near the carriage.
As she approached, Fleur felt her breath catch when she recognized Harry standing there, looking a little nervous but very much alive and well. She barely let him finish his greeting before she flung herself into his arms.
"I hoped you—" Harry began, but he was cut off as Fleur's arms wrapped tightly around him, her grip almost crushing.
"Harry, I'm so glad you're okay," Fleur whispered, her voice breaking slightly as she clung to him. "You don't know how worried I was. I thought… I thought…"
Her words faltered as she buried her face into his shoulder, her emotions overwhelming her.
Harry, caught off guard by the intensity of her hug, instinctively wrapped his arms around her, gently rubbing circles on her back in an attempt to soothe her. "It's okay, Fleur. I'm fine, really. I didn't mean to make you worry, and I certainly didn't mean to make you cry."
Fleur shook her head slightly, refusing to let go just yet, her forehead still resting on his shoulder. She stayed silent for a moment, her tears making it impossible to speak.
After a few moments of quiet comfort, Harry hesitated but finally spoke, his voice serious. "Fleur, there's something I need to tell you."
Sensing the weight of his words, she pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes but remained close, unwilling to break the connection. "What is it?"
Harry took a deep breath and began to tell her everything that had happened after they were separated during the Third Task—the graveyard, Voldemort's return, and, finally, his new curse: becoming a werewolf. By the time he finished, Fleur's grip on him had tightened again, her tears renewed but this time for a different reason.
They stood in silence for what felt like an eternity, neither wanting to let go. Finally, Fleur pulled herself together enough to speak. "I'm so sorry, Harry. If I had been there, if I had—"
"Fleur, no," Harry interrupted gently, shaking his head. "If you had been there, Voldemort would have killed you. There was nothing anyone could have done." He paused, meeting her eyes. "Please don't blame yourself.
You're safe, and that's all that matters."
Fleur couldn't find the words to argue. She simply nodded, resting her head on his shoulder once more, holding him tightly as if letting go would make him vanish.
After some time, the two began walking around the Beauxbatons carriage, talking about lighter things—what their summers might look like, their plans for the future. Fleur mentioned she'd be returning to France and might come back to improve her English.
"I hope we can stay in touch," Harry said earnestly, surprising himself with how much he meant it. "You've become a part of my life, Fleur. I'd hate for you to just disappear."
Fleur smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly. "We will stay in touch, Harry. You can send me an owl anytime, and maybe one day you can visit me in France. I'm sure my parents wouldn't mind, and Gabrielle would be delighted to see you again. She was very upset when you were hurt."
Harry smiled at the mention of Gabrielle but seemed thoughtful. "I'd love to visit France someday," he admitted. "I'm not sure about this summer, though. I've got a lot to deal with."
Their conversation continued until the sun was high in the sky, and Madame Maxime came to collect Fleur for their departure. The time had come to say goodbye.
"Well, I hope to see you soon, Harry," Fleur said softly, her expression full of warmth as she moved to hug him again.
"That would be nice," Harry replied, returning the hug. But before he could pull away, Fleur quickly leaned in and pressed her lips gently to his. It was brief, soft, and over before Harry had fully registered what had happened.
"Fleur…" Harry started, completely caught off guard by the kiss.
She smiled, blushing lightly. "It was just so you won't forget me," she teased, before turning back toward the carriage.
Harry stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, watching her go. He slowly began making his way back toward the castle, thoughts spinning in his head. He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the two Slytherin girls passing nearby.
"Was that Potter with the Beauxbatons champion?" Tracey Davis asked, her voice full of curiosity.
"I thought he was with that Ravenclaw," Daphne Greengrass replied, sounding slightly disappointed.
"I heard they broke up months ago. Maybe those two are together now." Tracey glanced back toward where Harry and Fleur had been standing moments before. "Well, it's not like you ever had a chance with 'The-BoyWho-Lived'." she said playfully nudging Daphne.
Daphne turned her head quickly, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. "Who said I'd want to be with him anyway?" she muttered, more to herself than to Tracey.
"Uh-huh," Tracey said with an amused grin. "Whatever you say, Daphne."
Daphne scowled slightly, speeding up her pace. "Let's just get back to the castle."
"Sure, sure," Tracey teased, falling into step beside her. "You're not trying to catch up with him, are you?" "You're impossible," Daphne muttered, her blush deepening as she avoided eye contact with her friend.
"Right, right. Impossible, but also right," Tracey laughed, grinning at Daphne's reaction. "I can't blame you though, Potter's been in the middle of quite a whirlwind."
Daphne rolled her eyes but didn't comment, choosing to focus on the path back to the castle.
"Still, you know, just because he's been with all these girls doesn't mean he can't surprise you," Tracey said, casting a knowing glance.
"I'm not interested, Tracey," Daphne insisted, though her tone was softer now, the blush on her face betraying her calm words.
"Whatever you say. Just remember, I called it first," Tracey finished with a laugh.
Daphne stayed silent, trying to hide her amusement as they continued on, her thoughts lingering on Harry longer than she cared to admit.
…
Hermione sat in the quiet stillness of the library, her hands resting idly on the page of a book she had not really been reading. The library had always been her sanctuary, the place where she could find answers to any problem—until now. This was the first time in her memory that even the vast collection of Hogwarts' library failed her. There were no books to tell her what to do when you were hopelessly in love with your best friend, especially when he was in love with someone else. No comforting pages to guide her through the quiet, private heartbreak of watching Harry Potter, the person she treasured more than anything, give his heart to another.
There was no spell to heal a broken heart, no charm to soothe the ache that settled deep within her chest. The solace she had always found in knowledge seemed cruelly absent now. She stared down at the open book, its words blurring, her thoughts racing to memories of her mother's comforting words when she was younger. Her mother had always been able to console her after the cruelty of childhood teasing, promising that one day she would find friends who accepted her for who she was. Friends who would see her for more than just the bookish, overly-keen girl.
She had found those friends at Hogwarts. First and foremost, she had found Harry. He was her very first real friend, the one who had saved her from isolation and, quite literally, from a mountain troll. Since then, they had been nearly inseparable, bound by their adventures, by their shared fears, and by an unspoken trust. She had never imagined a time when Harry wouldn't need her by his side, and yet that day seemed closer than ever.
Her eyes stung with unshed tears as her thoughts wandered to Cho Chang. Cho, who now occupied a place in Harry's heart that Hermione had once hoped—perhaps naively—might one day be hers. It hurt more than she could admit to herself, the idea that someone else would be the one Harry turned to for help, for comfort, for companionship. Harry had shared so much with her over the years, but Cho was starting to take that role, and soon, Hermione feared, her place in Harry's life would be diminished to nothing more than a fond memory.
And it wasn't Cho's fault. That was the cruelest part. Hermione couldn't bring herself to hate the other girl. In fact, in many ways, Cho was admirable. She had stood by Harry when he told her about being a werewolf, accepting him without hesitation or fear. Cho had shown bravery and trust, two things Hermione respected deeply. She couldn't even be angry with Cho for winning Harry's heart; Cho had simply done what anyone would do when faced with Harry's kindness, loyalty, and strength—she had fallen in love with him.
Yes, Hermione was jealous. Painfully, achingly jealous. But more than anything, she wanted Harry to be happy, and he seemed happy with Cho. And that, above all, was what truly mattered. But it didn't lessen the sting of knowing that she, Hermione Granger, who had been by Harry's side through every battle, every danger, and every triumph, was not the one who held his heart.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a gentle tap on her shoulder. She looked up, startled, to find Viktor Krum standing next to her, his usually stoic face softened with a tentative smile.
"Do you have a moment, Hermione?" he asked, his voice quiet and respectful. "May I sit here?"
Hermione blinked, still pulling herself out of her thoughts, and nodded. Viktor sat down in the chair beside her, his large frame dwarfing the space. His presence was calming in a way she hadn't expected, though a pang of guilt quickly followed. She had accepted his invitation to the Yule Ball, but she had never really intended for their relationship to be anything more than a friendship.
"I was wondering," Viktor began, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "if perhaps you could write to me. I know… I know you may not feel for me what I feel for you, but I would still very much like to stay in touch. Maybe… maybe even see you from time to time?"
Hermione felt her heart squeeze at his words. She hadn't meant to lead him on, and she knew that she had, even if unintentionally. Viktor had been nothing but kind to her, and she hadn't been able to fully reciprocate his feelings.
"Of course, Viktor," she said softly, giving him a small, sincere smile. "I wouldn't dream of throwing this friendship away." She emphasized the word "friendship" as gently as she could, hoping he would understand.
Viktor nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "That is good to hear. You have been a wonderful friend, Hermione. I will miss you." He reached into his pocket and handed her a piece of parchment. "Here… this is where you can reach me."
Hermione took the parchment, touched by his quiet sincerity. "Thank you, Viktor. I'll write to you, I promise."
"Thank you for accepting my invitation to the Ball," Viktor said, standing and giving her a small, formal bow. "You were the most beautiful girl there."
Blushing lightly, Hermione smiled up at him. "Thank you, Viktor. That's very kind of you."
With a final bow and a brief, lingering kiss on the back of her hand, Viktor left the library, his broad shoulders disappearing through the doors.
Hermione watched him go, her heart aching anew. How she wished it had been Harry saying those words to her, telling her she was beautiful, telling her that he wanted to stay close, to share something more than friendship. But those words would never come from Harry, because his heart belonged to someone else.
"Goodbye, Viktor," she whispered softly to the now empty space. And just like that, she was alone again, with nothing but her thoughts and the quiet ache in her heart.
...
Harry had been on his way to the library, searching for Hermione. He had been meaning to talk to her since their last conversation, which had been cut short by the chaos of the past few days. However, as he approached, he heard a familiar voice: Viktor Krum's low, accented tone saying Hermione's name. Not wanting to intrude on what seemed like a private moment, Harry hesitated, stepping back into the shadows of the bookshelf nearby. He told himself he was just giving them space, but a part of him couldn't resist eavesdropping on their conversation.
As Viktor spoke, his words were straightforward but sincere, telling Hermione that he wanted to keep in touch, to stay close even if they couldn't be more than friends. Harry listened as Viktor's deep voice conveyed something Harry wasn't prepared to hear—Viktor's admiration for Hermione, the affection in his words, and the subtle disappointment at not being able to pursue her more seriously. And then came the words that hit Harry like a bludger to the chest: Viktor's parting compliment about Hermione being the most beautiful girl at the Yule Ball.
A strange sensation washed over Harry. He had never really thought of Hermione that way—not consciously, at least. Yes, he had admired how stunning she looked that night, but his thoughts had been focused on Cho, on his own nervousness about the dance. Yet hearing Viktor say it aloud stirred something unfamiliar in Harry's heart. The memory of their dance—the warm feeling of her in his arms, the way she had smiled up at him— came rushing back with unexpected force.
He remembered how he had brushed those feelings aside, too focused on his crush on Cho to let himself think about Hermione that way. But now, seeing Hermione's face as she softly whispered goodbye to Viktor, the pain and disappointment clear in her expression, something in Harry shifted. He felt a deep, unfamiliar protectiveness well up inside him, along with a surge of anger—anger at Viktor for putting that sadness in Hermione's eyes, and anger at himself for not noticing how much she had been hurting.
He wanted to fix it, to wipe away the look of pain from her face and make her smile again—the smile she gave him after his first transformation, when he had felt like a monster, and she had made him feel human. The smile that had always been there for him, through every dark moment. He loved that smile. Loved...
Harry's heart skipped a beat, his cheeks flushing hot with confusion. Love? Where had that thought come from? He shook his head, trying to dismiss the idea. It wasn't possible. He was in love with Cho... wasn't he?
His mind was spinning, a tangled web of confusion and feelings he couldn't make sense of. I need some air, he thought, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the flood of emotions. Turning quickly, Harry bolted toward the exit, only to collide headfirst with someone on the other side of the bookshelf.
"I'm sorry—are you okay?" Harry blurted out, instinctively grabbing the person by the waist to steady them. "Yes." The voice was clipped and sharp, and as Harry looked up, he realized he had just run into a Slytherin girl, her robes trimmed with green and silver. She angrily pushed his hands away, her icy blue eyes glaring at him.
"No thanks to you, Potter," she snapped coldly.
Surprised by her hostility, Harry quickly released her and took a step back. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to...," he began, but then stopped as curiosity got the better of him. "What's your name?" he asked, perhaps more bluntly than he intended. "I don't think we've ever been properly introduced."
The girl blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his sudden question. "My name is none of your concern, Potter," she said, her cold composure returning swiftly.
Harry wasn't deterred by her frostiness. "Well, considering how angry you are, I must have done something to upset you. And unless you're one of Malfoy's crowd, I don't see why you'd have a reason to hate me," he said with a small, frustrated frown.
At the mention of Malfoy, the girl blushed ever so slightly, but her expression hardened again. "What does it matter why I dislike you?" she retorted. "You being a Gryffindor is reason enough."
Harry raised an eyebrow, her bluntness almost amusing. "I see," he said dryly. "Well, if that's all it takes, I suppose I should apologize for being sorted into the wrong house." He paused, noticing her flustered expression, then sighed. "But if you hate me just because of that, I guess I don't need to know your name after all. Goodbye."
Without waiting for her response, Harry turned and walked away, leaving the girl standing there, fuming silently. As he left the library, a surge of irritation bubbled inside him. It wasn't fair that some people hated him without ever really knowing him. Maybe that was just the way of Slytherins—quick to judge, slower to understand. Shrugging it off, Harry made his way back to the common room, still preoccupied by the conversation he had overheard.
…
"The nerve of some people!" Astoria Greengrass muttered irritably as she sat down with her older sister, Daphne, and their friend Tracey Davis.
"Who got your wand in a twist?" Tracey asked, her tone nonchalant.
"Potter! That idiot almost knocked me over and then had the gall to demand to know who I was!" Astoria fumed, her blue eyes blazing.
Tracey rolled her eyes. "What is it with you and Potter? You sound just like Malfoy when you talk about him."
Astoria crossed her arms defensively. "Draco's right. Potter's completely full of himself," she grumbled, ignoring the looks of annoyance that passed between Daphne and Tracey.
"Why are you so hung up on that pompous, bigoted prat?" Tracey asked, her voice dripping with disgust.
"He's not a prat! One day, he'll be an amazing wizard!" Astoria defended, her cheeks turning pink with anger.
"Yeah, and one day I'll be the Queen of England," Tracey quipped sarcastically. "Honestly, Astoria, the only amazing thing about Malfoy is how much time he spends trying to be just like his father."
Daphne, sensing her sister's growing irritation, decided to intervene. "What exactly did Potter do that got you so worked up?" she asked calmly, trying to redirect the conversation.
Astoria huffed. "He nearly knocked me over, and then he had the nerve to demand my name as if I owe him anything."
Daphne sighed. "And that's all?"
Astoria scowled. "Isn't that enough?"
Realizing the conversation was going nowhere, Daphne decided to change the subject, casting a glance at Tracey. "So, Tracey, what are your plans for the summer holidays?" she asked, steering the discussion away from Potter and Malfoy before another argument could break out.
…
It had been one day since Harry and Dumbledore had gone to The Daily Prophet to give the full account of what had happened the night Voldemort returned. Harry hadn't held anything back. He'd told them about the graveyard, about the Death Eaters, the duel with Voldemort, and how he had managed to escape thanks to the presence of his parents' 'ghosts.' To make sure there were no doubts, Dumbledore had allowed the Chief Editor to view Harry's memories through the Pensieve.
The editor had been both ecstatic and terrified by what he had seen and heard. Dumbledore had also warned him that Minister Fudge would do everything in his power to discredit both Harry and Dumbledore once this information came to light. They needed to publish the story quickly, before Fudge could suppress it, and Dumbledore had assured them he would take full responsibility for any fallout.
Of course, the substantial amount of gold Harry had offered didn't hurt either. Harry had agreed to their request to hold the story for two more days until the summer holidays began. It would be a massive story, and they weren't going to let anyone else break it first.
…
The compartment on the Hogwarts Express heading back to King's Cross felt small and awkward, especially with the tension in the air. Harry, sitting between Cho and Hermione, held that day's edition of The Daily Prophet open to the front page, reading the headline again and again:
Harry Potter. The 'Boy-Who-Lived.' Infected.
It had only been ten minutes since the post arrived, and already the entire train was buzzing about one thing and one thing only—Harry Potter was a werewolf, and Voldemort had returned. Thanks to Cho and
Hermione's Notice-Me-Notenchantments and silencing charms, no one had yet interrupted their compartment, but the noise from the corridor suggested plenty of people were trying to find them. A group of particularly angry Slytherins, whose fathers had been named as Death Eaters in the article, seemed the most determined.
Harry, however, wasn't too concerned. He was surrounded by Cho, Hermione, Fred and George, Neville,
Ginny, Ron, and Luna. The fact that Ron was there, even if he wouldn't quite meet Harry's eyes, was comforting. With so many opposing wands ready to defend him, the odds of anyone attempting anything were slim to none.
Fred broke the tense silence with his usual nonchalance, dispelling the awkward atmosphere with a grin. "So, Harry, now that you've got a furry little problem of your own, what's the plan for the summer full moon?" Harry chuckled at Fred's phrasing. "Well, Dumbledore and Remus have come up with something. Since the first full moon isn't for nearly two weeks, I'll spend that time with the Dursleys. After that, Remus will pick me up, and I'll head back to the place where I had my first transformation. I'll stay there with him for the rest of the summer."
"That's wonderful, Harry!" Hermione said, her voice filled with genuine excitement, clearly relieved that Harry wouldn't have to face this on his own.
Cho, who had been holding Harry's hand, squeezed it gently. "Any chance I might be able to see you over the summer?" she asked softly. Across the compartment, both Ginny and Hermione glanced away, their faces tightening slightly.
Harry gave her hand a reassuring squeeze in return. "I'm not sure yet, but I think it's possible. I've got a few things to take care of over the summer," he added mysteriously, his tone light but serious enough to intrigue the group. "But either way, this summer's bound to be better than the last one."
Fred leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, mate, as long as we don't have to worry about you howling at the moon during our Quidditch matches, I think we'll survive."
Everyone laughed, even Harry, who felt a little more at ease knowing that despite everything, his friends were still by his side. Even if things were going to be different now, they would find a way through it together.