Chapter Text
Today was the last game of the season.
Ravenclaw vs Gryffindor.
It was rumored that everyone would be there; all students from all Houses, even Hufflepuff, who had nothing to gain from the outcome of this match. To be honest, neither did Ravenclaw. Gryffindor stood in a distant second place to Slytherin and Ravenclaw a close third, so Gryffindor would have to win by a near-impossible amount of points to stand a chance of overtaking Slytherin.
But it wasn’t about the Quidditch cup, not really.
The stands would be full-to-bursting, with all students decked out in their House colors, and probably most of the staff, too.
Though none had spoken the words aloud, most saw this event as an opportunity for solidarity among the students of Hogwarts. Dumbledore’s funeral seemed to have flicked a switch, somehow, or lit a fire under everyone’s feet, urging them to show up in support, not just of the competing teams, but of the school itself. Even the students that may not have been fully in support of the late headmaster would still be there, knowing full well that refraining would be a poor showing.
But the game wasn’t until later, after lunch, and Harry and his housemates were just sitting down to breakfast.
“Who d’you reckon will win?” Anthony asked, wiping a smear of butter off his chin.
“Since when do you care?” Stephen remarked. “Have you even been to any of the matches?”
Anthony shrugged. “I’m going to this one.”
“My bet’s on Gryffindor,” said Su. “They’ve got the better Chasers. And the Weasley twins are ferocious.”
“We’ve got the better Seeker, though.”
“But Gryffindor will want the game to last as long as possible to get their points up, and with their Chasers and Beaters, they could easily surpass one hundred fifty points.”
“We do have a good Keeper…”
Stephen trailed off when a sudden rush of wings burst into the Great Hall for morning post delivery. There was an unusually large number of owls this morning, and when Hedwig dropped an official-looking envelope next to Harry’s plate in unison with a hoard of other owls delivering similar envelopes to everyone else, Harry realized what it was.
“Exam results,” Lisa breathed.
Harry’s appetite abruptly vanished, and for an unpleasant moment, he feared his half-eaten breakfast would make a swift reappearance. But Anthony’s loud whoop distracted him.
“I passed Transfiguration! And Potions!”
Padma flung her arms around Anthony. “I told you you would!”
Harry grabbed for his envelope and ripped it open with fumbling fingers. Su, next to him, sat motionless, staring at the envelope next to her plate.
“Well?” Harry asked, his eyes darting in her direction.
She took a shallow breath, swallowing audibly.
“Together?” Harry murmured.
After a moment, she nodded, and the two of them extracted their exam results and held them upright.
Relief rushed through Harry’s lungs like a breath of fresh air. He’d passed everything, and Su’s long exhale told Harry she’d done the same.
He’d received top marks in Potions, which he had to admit was least surprising, as well as Defense Against the Dark Arts. He’d done near perfectly in Charms and Herbology, and very well in Transfiguration, Astronomy, and even History of Magic.
Su let out a breathless sort of giggle, and Harry grinned, his smile growing wider and wider until he couldn’t help but bound out of his seat and run to find the one person he wanted to share this with.
Severus had told Harry he wouldn’t be at breakfast, occupied with last minute tasks to attend to before the end of term. The man was hunched over a cauldron in his personal lab, his face partially concealed behind billowing purple steam. He looked up when Harry entered the room, waving his wand over the cauldron, which seemed to freeze the steam in place, leaving behind a purple, cloudlike substance hovering above the cauldron. He stepped around it, towards Harry, who wordlessly held out his exam results.
Severus’ eyes scanned the parchment quickly, his lips turning up in a pleased smile. “Very well done, Harry!”
Harry smiled again, helplessly, and without having planned it, he rushed forward to fling his arms around his guardian.
“Thank you,” he whispered against Severus’ chest. “Thank you.”
He wasn’t even sure what he was thanking Severus for. Everything, and anything. Being there. Believing in him. Wanting Harry to succeed more than Harry had ever wanted for himself.
Severus didn’t tell Harry not to thank him this time, but the hand smoothing down Harry’s back said more than enough. Harry slumped in Severus’ embrace, his limbs feeling jelly-like in his relief, the intensity of which far exceeding his feelings over his exam results. It was just knowing, truly knowing for the first time, which was different than believing, or even trusting, that Severus would always be there.
Harry eventually extracted himself from Severus’ grip, his heart as warm as the flush on his face. Severus seemed reluctant to let him go, his hold tightening briefly before releasing Harry.
“Go join your friends,” Severus said gruffly.
Harry grinned again, turning to run back towards the Great Hall.
***
Tomorrow, Harry would be going home from school for the first time.
Technically, he’d done the same every day for years in primary school, but that hadn’t been home. He’d heard other kids talk excitedly about what they’d do after school, eagerly awaiting the ring of the bell that signaled the end of the day, and he’d never understood their eagerness to leave.
At the end of each year, in June, they’d all share their plans for the holiday, looking forward to an extended holiday with no classes, homework, or exams, and days chock-full of family trips, swimming, and all the ice cream they could stomach.
But Harry had hated it. He’d wished time would slow down as the clock ticked towards the end of the school day, dread steadily rising in his throat, and as the end of the school year approached, he’d felt as though he were facing a years-long prison sentence in the house he’d grown up in. Time in the cupboard often felt as though it were moving through molasses, and, often, when he was let out, he’d longed to go back in if it meant he’d be left alone.
But this time was different. For the first time, he could join the enthusiastic conversations about the summer, talk about his plans to go with Severus to France for work and make a trip out of it so Harry could see all the places he’d only ever read about, to fly and brew and read all he liked. He might also help Sirius remodel his childhood home, to make it livable and minimally reminiscent of the house it used to be. Remus’ cottage was just getting too small.
He’d be able to invite Jade over whenever he wanted. There was even a spare room for her at home that Severus said he’d help Harry prepare. Between visits, they’d be able to send letters. Years ago, Jade’s mother, young and estranged from her family as the only Squib among wizards, had set out on her own and had a charm cast on her to make herself unplottable to owls, which had extended to her child. She’d wanted to make a life for herself on her own terms without magical assistance and feared her family might interfere in an attempt to help, despite her wishes. But things were different, now, and for Jade and Harry, she was willing to make a change.
He’d go to see his parents’ graves again.
Severus had said it was important not to forget them, that he should visit once or twice a year but not much more than that, because it wouldn’t do to think so much about lost lives that he’d neglect to forge his own. But his parents were the reason he was here now, and they’d loved him and fought for him and died for him, even though they’d wanted nothing more than to live for him instead.
“Coming, Harry?”
Harry jumped at Anthony’s voice, abruptly jerked out of his thoughts, and made to follow his friends out of the common room for the Quidditch match.
“Wait,” Harry said, doubling back. “I forgot my scarf. I’ll catch up.”
Anthony waved and dashed for the door, while Harry headed back to the dormitory to retrieve his Ravenclaw scarf.
He wasn’t anywhere near packed yet, his clothes in untidy piles on his bed, which he had to sift through for a few moments to find what he was looking for. Less than a year ago, he’d had nothing to his name but the clothes on his back, a knife, and a few pounds, and now he had almost too many possessions to fit into his trunk.
He’d have to deal with it later, though, because the Quidditch match was starting soon.
On his way to the pitch, he’d wave at Hagrid, who was trudging in the same direction and had what looked like a huge red and gold quilt wrapped around his shoulders, too short to be a cloak, but far too big to be a scarf. Hagrid would wave back jovially, his eyes lighting up just the way they had when Harry had first met him in the summer.
Blaise Zabini, also on his way, decked out in green and silver along with his Slytherin friends, would grin in greeting, which Harry would return with a smile of his own. Malfoy would be walking a few paces ahead, accompanied by a boy whose name Harry didn’t know. His eyes would meet Harry’s, briefly before darting away, and his face would not be drawn in contempt.
As he approached the pitch, Hermione would wave frantically from the Gryffindor stands, flanked by Ron and Neville. Harry would wave back and find his friends in the Ravenclaw stands, who’d all but drag him into a seat they’d saved for him, Anthony hooking an arm around his shoulder and yanking his scarf out of place.
By then, the stands would be full, all clearly marked by color save for the staff box, which would boast a healthy mix of red, yellow, blue, green, and black of course, because Severus would never have worn anything else.
The two Quidditch teams would then stand in formation, waiting for Madam Hooch to blow her whistle.
And the game would begin.