The sun had long begun to dip behind the Forbidden Forest, casting a warm, golden hue across the grounds of Hogwarts. The group still lingered at Hagrid's hut, basking in the fading light and the comforting scent of treacle fudge and wood smoke. The air buzzed with a soft hum of conversation, laughter, and the occasional hoot from the nearby owlery.
Hagrid had brewed a massive kettle of tea, passing around chipped mugs far too large for any of their hands. They all sat sprawled across the grass outside his hut—Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Seamus, Dean, Oliver, Lennon, Mattheo, Theodore, and Lorenzo.
"Two days 'til the final," Oliver said suddenly, unable to contain himself any longer.
Everyone groaned.
"Really?" Ron asked with a grin. "We were almost having a moment."
Oliver huffed. "We need to keep our heads in the game. This is it. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. It's going to be the roughest match we've played all year."
Ginny tossed a biscuit at him. "We'll be fine, Captain."
Lennon nudged Mattheo playfully. "You sure you're not secretly coaching from the Slytherin stands?"
He smirked. "Don't tempt me."
They all laughed, but the moment sobered quickly as silence fell again—unspoken, but present.
Sirius.
The name wasn't said aloud, but everyone thought it. The spot he once occupied among them felt painfully empty. For Harry, the ache was sharp. For the others, it was quieter but no less real.
Hagrid was the one to speak. "He'd be proud of yeh, yeh know. Of all o' yeh."
Harry gave a tight smile and nodded, but didn't speak.
They stayed another hour after that, sipping tea and watching the stars emerge, reluctant to leave the warmth and safety of Hagrid's presence. But when the castle bell chimed the approaching curfew, they began to gather their things.
As they trudged up the hill and neared the castle steps, the group naturally began to split. Gryffindors toward their tower, and the three Slytherin boys veering to the side.
Mattheo hesitated.
"Wait," he said, glancing at Lennon, then back at his friends. "Do you think… we could stay in the Gryffindor Tower tonight?"
Theodore shifted, clearly exhausted. "We really haven't slept much. Again."
Lorenzo ran a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I think if I see the green and silver hangings again, I'll scream."
Before the Gryffindors could answer, a familiar stern voice called from behind them.
"What's this?"
They turned around. Professor McGonagall stood at the top of the stairs, her sharp eyes softening as she took in their tired faces.
"Mr. Riddle. Mr. Nott. Mr. Berkshire," she addressed them one by one. "You three look dreadful."
Mattheo looked down sheepishly. "We haven't really been sleeping well."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "And you're asking to stay in the Gryffindor Tower?"
"Yes, Professor," said Theodore quickly. "Just for a night or two."
She studied them for a long, quiet moment. The wind stirred her tartan robes.
"Very well," she said at last, with a small sigh. "Just this once. But if I hear of any rule-breaking—"
"You won't," Mattheo said quickly.
"See that I don't," she said, then turned to ascend the steps. "Get inside before curfew."
Once inside the common room, the three Slytherin boys stood awkwardly near the fire, staring at the couches.
"They look uncomfortable," Lorenzo muttered.
Mattheo crossed his arms. "Could be worse. Could be the floor."
He paused, a memory flickering behind his eyes. "I slept in Lennon's dorm once. Her roommates screamed the next morning."
"You what?" Dean laughed from across the room.
"I got caught in the stairs," Mattheo said with a shrug. "It was late. I wasn't thinking."
"Classic," Seamus chuckled.
Hermione suddenly stood, her eyes lighting up. "Wait! I have an idea."
She darted up to the girls' dormitory and returned moments later, floating a mattress behind her with her wand. "We can all sleep here. Like a proper sleepover."
Ginny grinned. "Best idea you've had in weeks."
Everyone sprang into action. Soon, pillows, mattresses, and blankets covered the floor of the common room. The furniture was pushed aside to make space for their makeshift camp.
It was chaotic but cozy. Theodore and Lorenzo didn't even last ten minutes after laying down—they were asleep almost instantly, snoring softly. Dean and Seamus whispered jokes in the dark, while Hermione tucked herself in beside Ginny and Lennon.
Lennon curled into Mattheo's side at the end of the line, their hands clasped between them. He brushed a kiss against her temple, and they lay in comfortable silence, surrounded by warmth and peace they hadn't known in weeks.
Hours later, when the tower had fallen quiet and only the fire crackled gently in the hearth, Professor McGonagall slipped through the portrait hole. She looked over the sleeping group, her expression unreadable for a moment—then, slowly, it softened into a smile.
She said nothing as she turned and left, allowing them their brief moment of peace.
⸻
The Next Morning
The sun streamed through the tall windows of the Great Hall, glinting off goblets and golden plates. The Gryffindor table was unusually lively for so early in the day.
Mattheo, Theodore, and Lorenzo sat among the Gryffindor boys as if they belonged there. They still looked tired, but there was less tension around their shoulders—less weight. Hermione poured tea for everyone while Ginny passed toast down the line.
Oliver arrived slightly late, hair still damp from the shower, a piece of parchment in his hand.
"I just got this," he said, breathless.
Harry blinked. "What is it?"
Oliver scanned the table, and his eyes landed on Lennon. Then he screamed.
"I MADE IT! I MADE IT INTO PUDDLEME—"
"Oliver!" McGonagall snapped from across the hall.
"—Puddlemere United!" he finished in a loud whisper, holding the parchment above his head. "Reserve player. After I graduate. They want me!"
The table exploded with applause and cheers. Lennon threw her arms around him. "You did it!"
Oliver beamed. "I can't believe it. My dream—it's happening!"
Ron shook his head. "This is insane."
Hermione smiled brightly. "You earned it."
As the table buzzed with congratulations, Mattheo sat back quietly, watching the excitement unfold. Lorenzo nudged his arm.
"Thinking about the future now?"
Mattheo nodded. "Yeah. It's closer than we think."
"I have no idea what I want to do," Theodore admitted. "Do we even get to choose?"
"We do now," Lorenzo said, stealing a piece of toast. "We've already changed everything."
Lennon, still grinning, reached into her bag and pulled out a letter. She had nearly forgotten about it in the chaos. Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
"From Remus," she murmured.
Inside was a folded photograph—worn but treasured. The original Order of the Phoenix stood smiling, frozen in time. Harry's parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Dumbledore, Mad-Eye Moody, Molly and Arthur, Sirius. And in the center, Declan McCauley, standing between James Potter and Sirius Black like he belonged there.
A few stray inked words beneath it read:
"Your father was one of the best of us. I see that same fire in you. I heard what happened with Pansy. He'd be proud of you for standing up for your friend."
Lennon clutched the letter tightly. A warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the morning sun.
"I wish he could see us now," she whispered.
Mattheo glanced at the photograph and gently took her hand beneath the table. "Maybe he can."
As breakfast continued and the chatter turned once again to Quidditch tactics and future plans, Lennon sat quietly for a moment, surrounded by her chosen family.
In a castle full of magic, they had carved out something rare and extraordinary.
Home.