The sun filtered gently through the high windows of the Great Hall the next morning, casting a golden wash over the long tables. But for all its warm light, the air still carried a tension—like everyone was waiting for something to break the silence again.

Lennon sat beside Hermione at the Gryffindor table, stirring her tea absently. Her cheek was healing—Pomfrey's charms had taken care of most of the damage—but the faint scab on her temple and the way she shifted slightly in her seat were quiet reminders of what had happened.

Hermione didn't look much better. She clutched her tea with both hands, the bruising on her neck just barely hidden beneath her robes. But there was something stronger in her posture today—like she was done being pushed around.

The doors creaked open, and in walked Mattheo, Lorenzo, and Theodore.

They were moving a bit slower than usual. Their ties hung loose, shirts wrinkled, dark circles heavy beneath their eyes. Lorenzo rubbed the back of his neck, yawning, while Theodore muttered something that made Mattheo grunt softly in agreement.

When they reached the Gryffindor table, Mattheo didn't hesitate—he sat right across from Lennon, his tired eyes softening the moment he saw her.

"You didn't sleep," she said quietly.

"Couldn't," Mattheo replied. "None of us could."

"She kept going on about how everyone saw her get embarrassed," Theodore added. "Said you made her look weak."

Lorenzo rolled his eyes. "She doesn't even care what she said to Hermione—just that you hit harder."

"She should be grateful I didn't hit her harder," Mattheo muttered.

Hermione gave him a faint smile. "You scared her."

"I meant to."

Before anything else could be said, the sky above the enchanted ceiling filled with wings—owls swarming down through the light clouds like an elegant storm.

Dozens of owls swooped over the tables, dropping letters and packages. It was chaos, but it was familiar, warm chaos—the kind Hogwarts was used to.

A sleek, caramel-colored owl landed in front of Lennon, dropping two parcels and a letter in her lap. Three more owls fluttered down around Mattheo, Lorenzo, and Theodore, delivering thick parcels tied with deep green ribbon.

Lennon blinked, surprised, then opened her parcel first. Inside was a warm red jumper with a golden "L" stitched across the chest, soft and unmistakably handmade. She gasped softly and unfolded the letter tucked underneath.

Dear Lennon,

Ron told me what happened with Pansy. I can't say I'm surprised—some girls are raised with bitterness as a second language. But you? You stood up. For Hermione. For your house. For yourself. And I want you to know I'm proud.

This sweater is a Weasley tradition, and you're family now.

We'd love to have you at the Burrow this summer. You, Mattheo, Lorenzo, and Theodore—if you'd like to visit. Consider it an open invitation.

Love always,

Molly Weasley

Lennon read it twice, then pressed the letter against her chest.

Meanwhile, Mattheo had pulled out a green jumper of his own, with a cream-colored "M" on the front. Lorenzo's had an "L", and Theodore's a "T", all perfectly made.

They were stunned into silence.

"She made us all jumpers," Lorenzo said, his voice caught between awe and disbelief.

Ron grinned. "She adopted you. Officially."

Theodore blinked. "Just like that?"

"That's how Mum works," Ron said with pride. "If you've got a jumper, you're in."

Dean had received one too, and so had Seamus, Oliver and Neville. Each in red, each with their initials, each folded neatly beside plates of eggs and toast.

Then, another owl swooped down to Lennon and dropped a slim envelope into her hands. She recognized the handwriting immediately.

From Remus.

Inside was a photo, and a letter. The photo stopped her breath—the original Order of the Phoenix. Her father, Declan, stood between James Potter and Sirius Black, arms crossed and smirking like the world didn't scare him. On his other side stood Remus, younger and more relaxed, with a half-smile.

Lily held Harry as a baby, her smile radiant. Molly and Arthur stood close together, and behind them, Moody scowled like a proud hound. Frank and Alice Longbottom stood near the back—brave, whole, and glowing with purpose.

Tears prickled her eyes as she unfolded the letter.

Dear Lennon,

I heard about the duel. I'm not surprised—not because it's something I expected from you, but because it's exactly what your father would've done. You stood up for what mattered. You reminded everyone why this fight isn't over.

This photo is a piece of your history. We were dreamers back then—but not fools.

You're his daughter. And you made him proud yesterday. I know it.

Love,

Remus

She wiped her eyes quietly and tucked the photo back into the envelope. Mattheo reached out and gently squeezed her hand.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I am now," she said softly.

⸻

Their first class was Potions, and as they left the Hall, something new happened.

Mattheo took Lennon's bag without a word and slung it over his shoulder as they walked.

Behind them, Harry, Seamus, Neville, and Dean flanked Hermione like a unit of quiet, determined bodyguards. Ron stuck close too, his face hard, like he was just waiting for an excuse to hex anyone who even looked wrong at her.

"What's this?" Hermione asked, raising a brow.

"Escort duty," Dean said with a grin.

"We've all got a grudge now," Neville added. "And we're not letting her near you again."

Hermione blushed, but her smile was genuine.

At one point between classes, Lennon leaned toward Mattheo. "Thanks for walking me."

He gave her a look that made her knees go a little weak. "You're mine. No one messes with what's mine."

Lorenzo made a dramatic gagging sound behind them. "Gross. But weirdly sweet."

They made it through the day—slowly, carefully, and with a thousand side-eyes from students still buzzing about the duel. But nothing else happened. No one dared speak to Pansy Parkinson, who had yet to return to classes. And that silence said everything.

After dinner, the group made their way down to Hagrid's hut, jumpers bundled under their cloaks.

Hagrid greeted them with a bellowing laugh. "Look at yeh—all dressed like Weasleys!"

He ushered them inside, where Fang slobbered on Neville's jumper and Crookshanks curled up in a corner. Hagrid had tea ready, plus rock cakes that were just slightly less lethal than usual.

Lennon sat beside Mattheo, her sweater warm even through the chill of the evening.

"We heard about the duel," Hagrid said eventually, setting down a steaming mug. "Glad yeh're alright. Both of yeh."

Hermione nodded. "It's over now."

"Maybe," Hagrid said gently. "But standin' up for what's right always leaves a mark. Just means yer doin' it right."

Lennon leaned into Mattheo's side, fingers laced with his.

"I think I needed to hear that," she said.

Mattheo brushed a kiss over her knuckles. "You've got this. We've all got you."

And in that quiet hut, under the glow of flickering candles and the smell of burning logs, it finally felt—for the first time in days—like everything was going to be okay.