June 17th, 1994, Three Broomsticks, 2:47 PM
The Three Broomsticks carried the particular atmosphere of weekend afternoon—students celebrating term's end, adults enjoying rare leisure, the air thick with butterbeer steam and conversation. Sunlight streamed through leaded windows, illuminating floating dust motes whilst the scent of roasted nuts and sweet pastries made the space feel warm and welcoming.
Harry sat at a corner table with Luna pressed close to his left side, their hands intertwined beneath the table in what had become comfortable habit. Across from them, Ron sprawled in his chair looking considerably healthier than yesterday—his ankle fully healed, his energy restored through Madam Pomfrey's efficient care. Hermione occupied the space beside Ron, her bruises faded to yellow-green but still visible. And Draco sat at the table's end with aristocratic composure that didn't quite hide his amusement at the others' antics.
"So," Ron said with exaggerated innocence, "about yesterday. In the Hospital Wing. When Luna decided to—"
"Don't," Harry interrupted, his ears already going red.
"—demonstrate her profound concern through rather enthusiastic physical affection—"
"Ronald Weasley, I swear—"
"—which resulted in Potter's spectacular nosebleed—"
"I'm going to hex you," Harry threatened, though his grip on Luna's hand tightened rather than releasing his wand.
Luna's own ears had gone pink, but her expression carried the particular serenity she adopted when refusing to be embarrassed by things beyond her control. "The Nargles say physical comfort is important after traumatic events. I was simply following their guidance."
"The Nargles," Draco observed dryly, "have remarkably convenient timing as always. Almost as though they specifically encouraged behaviour designed to render Potter unconscious via blood loss."
"It wasn't that bad," Harry muttered.
"You required three handkerchiefs," Hermione pointed out, poorly suppressing laughter. "Madam Pomfrey was threatening to keep you overnight for observation."
"My body's natural response to—to unexpected physical contact isn't—I didn't ask to—" Harry stopped, realizing he was only making it worse.
Ron was grinning like he'd won the Quidditch Cup single-handedly. "Harry James Potter. Defeated a basilisk. Drove away a hundred Dementors. Completely destroyed by a hug."
"I hate all of you," Harry said without heat.
"No you don't," Luna said simply, squeezing his hand beneath the table.
And she was right, of course. Harry's annoyance was purely surface-level, covering the warmth that came from friendship comfortable enough for merciless teasing.
Though the teasing had produced one unexpected consequence: Harry and Luna had become considerably more cautious about physical contact. Hand-holding felt safer now—intimate but manageable, expressing affection without triggering the overwhelming sensory overload that hugging apparently caused.
'If just pressing against her chest caused that reaction,' Harry thought whilst carefully not looking at Luna, 'what would happen if we actually hugged properly? I'd probably pass out entirely. Or worse.'
Luna's grey eyes had gone slightly distant in that way that suggested similar contemplation. 'Harry's heartbeat was so fast yesterday. I could feel it through his chest. And he smelled like pine and parchment and something uniquely him. If we hugged face-to-face instead of me pulling his head down—'
Their eyes met accidentally across the small space between them.
Both immediately looked away, their faces burning scarlet whilst their friends dissolved into snickering amusement.
"You two are absolutely hopeless," Hermione observed fondly.
"Utterly," Draco agreed. "It's almost endearing. Almost."
"Sod off, both of you," Harry muttered, his free hand reaching for his butterbeer and taking a long drink to hide his burning face.
The Three Broomsticks door opened with its customary bell chime, and the conversation died as two figures entered.
Remus Lupin looked tired but content and beside him—
Sirius Black had transformed.
Not completely—the years in Azkaban had left permanent marks that no amount of healing could fully erase. His face still carried gauntness that spoke of long starvation. His dark eyes held shadows that suggested nightmares would haunt him for years yet. His hair, whilst clean and trimmed properly, showed premature grey that made him look older than his actual age.
But he stood straighter. Moved with confidence rather than furtive caution. And he'd dressed properly—robes that fit well, clean and pressed, carrying the particular quality that suggested expensive tailoring. He looked like the Black family heir rather than escaped convict.
He looked free.
Sirius's eyes found Harry immediately, and something complicated crossed his features—joy, grief, hope, fear, love so intense it was almost painful to witness.
He crossed the pub in several long strides, dropped to one knee beside Harry's chair, and pulled him into an embrace that somehow managed to be both desperate and gentle.
"Harry," Sirius whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. For everything. For not being there. For the choices I made. For—" His voice broke entirely. "I'm so sorry."
Harry's arms came up automatically, returning the embrace whilst his throat tightened with emotion. "It's not—you don't need to apologize. You didn't betray them. You were trying to protect them."
"But I failed," Sirius said, pulling back enough to look at Harry properly whilst tears tracked down his face without shame. "I failed your parents. Failed you. You grew up without family because of my choices—"
"I had Dad," Harry interrupted. "Ethan. He raised me. Trained me. Loved me. I made great friends. I wasn't—I wasn't alone, Sirius. I turned out alright."
"You turned out better than alright," Sirius said, his laugh mixing with tears. "You're brilliant. Brave. Everything James and Lily would have wanted you to be. And I—" His voice steadied slightly. "Thank you. For believing in my innocence. For trusting Remus and your father. For giving me the chance to prove the truth."
Remus had settled into the chair beside Hermione with the particular sigh of someone who'd spent considerable time managing Sirius's emotional states. "Sirius, you're making a scene. Perhaps sit down before Rosmerta throws us out?"
Sirius managed a watery laugh, releasing Harry and pulling himself together with visible effort. He turned his attention to the others, his expression brightening despite lingering tears. "Right. Introductions. Hermione Granger—brilliant witch, saved my godson's life more times than I can count. Thank you."
Hermione went pink with pleasure. "You're welcome, sir."
"Ronald Weasley," Sirius continued, his smile widening. "Loyal friend, excellent chess player from what Remus tells me, and unfortunately the former owner of my traitorous ex-friend."
Ron's ears went red, but he grinned. "Not my fault Peter's a git. Though I do miss having a pet."
"We'll address that shortly," Sirius promised. His attention shifted to Luna, and his expression softened into something warm and knowing. "Luna Lovegood. You'll have my full support." He winked at her.
Luna's own blush deepened, but she met Sirius's eyes with characteristic directness. "The Nargles say you have a good heart. They approve."
"High praise," Sirius said seriously, though his eyes danced with amusement. Then he turned to Draco, and surprise flickered across his features. "Draco Malfoy. Lucius's son. And yet—" He studied Draco carefully. "—you're friends with Harry? Actually friends, not political maneuvering?"
"Actually friends," Draco confirmed with aristocratic dignity. "Despite our families' complicated history. Harry's proven himself worth befriending regardless of blood politics."
"Good," Sirius said with satisfaction. "Your father and I—well. Our history is ugly. But you're not your father, clearly. And I'm pleased my godson's doing better than I managed at his age. I never would have befriended a Malfoy."
"Times change," Draco said mildly. "People adapt. Or they stagnate."
Sirius laughed—genuine amusement that transformed his face into something younger, less haunted. "I like you, kid. You've got spine."
Remus had been quietly ordering drinks whilst Sirius made introductions, and now butterbeers appeared alongside plates of food that made Ron's eyes light with anticipation. They settled into comfortable chaos—Ron immediately attacking the food with his customary enthusiasm whilst Hermione and Draco made matching sounds of disdain, Sirius and Remus exchanging amused glances that spoke of years of friendship.
"So," Harry said once everyone had food and drink, "what happens now? What are you going to do?"
Remus fielded the question whilst Sirius demolished a sandwich with the particular intensity of someone still remembering starvation. "Sirius's name has been fully cleared. The Ministry issued formal exoneration this morning—front page of the Daily Prophet, complete with apology and acknowledgment of procedural failures."
"Procedural failures," Sirius muttered around his sandwich. "That's Ministry-speak for 'we threw an innocent man in prison without trial because we were too lazy to do our jobs properly.'"
"They're also providing compensation," Remus continued. "The Black family fortune was frozen whilst Sirius was imprisoned. It's being restored with interest. Plus additional payment for wrongful imprisonment—standard rate is one thousand Galleons per year, which makes—"
"Ten thousand Galleons," Draco calculated immediately. "Substantial, though hardly adequate compensation for a decade in Azkaban."
"Nothing's adequate compensation," Sirius said. "But I'll take what I can get. The money will be useful for—" He stopped, glancing at Remus.
"A certain Seer and his associates helped negotiate favourable terms," Remus said carefully. "Ensured the Ministry couldn't minimize Sirius's compensation or attempt to extract political concessions in exchange for exoneration."
Harry and Draco exchanged knowing glances. Ethan and Samantheus. Obviously.
"So I'm financially secure," Sirius continued. "Have my freedom. Have my name back. And the Ministry's trying very hard to pretend they didn't massively cock up by imprisoning me without due process."
"Language," Remus said mildly.
"They deserve worse language than that," Sirius said unrepentantly. "But fine. The point is—I'm free. Which means I need to figure out what to do with that freedom."
His expression grew more serious, the levity fading into something thoughtful. "First priority is recuperation. Ethan was very insistent about that. Said pushing myself too hard too fast would result in physical and psychological damage that could take years to heal properly."
"He's not wrong," Remus observed. "You're doing better than yesterday, but you're still recovering from a decade of Dementor exposure and malnutrition. Proper healing takes time."
"I hate that he's right," Sirius admitted. "Especially knowing Peter and Mordred are still out there. But they'll be lying low for months at minimum—Ministry's hunting them now, Aurors actively searching, international notices posted. They can't operate openly. Which gives me time to recover without feeling like I'm abandoning the fight."
"So you're taking time to heal," Harry said. "Then what?"
Sirius's smile widened into something approaching mischief. "First, I reclaim my house. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place—Black family headquarters in London. It's been sealed since I was imprisoned, protected by family magic that only recognized me as heir. Now that I'm free, I can access it properly. Clean it out. Make it livable rather than the depressing mausoleum my mother preferred."
"And after that?" Hermione asked.
"Travel," Sirius said simply. "See the world I've been locked away from for ten years. Visit places I've always wanted to see. Maybe find a purpose beyond revenge and survival." His expression softened. "Remus is coming with me, actually."
"Not exactly by choice," Remus said with resignation, though affection colored his tone. "Ethan's sending me to 'supervise Sirius's recovery and ensure he doesn't do anything stupid.'"
"Also known as 'babysitting,'" Sirius added cheerfully.
"Indeed." Remus turned to the students with theatrical sorrow. "I'm afraid this means I'll be resigning my teaching position at Hogwarts."
Surprise rippled through the group, though Harry noticed Luna showed no reaction—clearly she'd already suspected.
"Resigning?" Hermione asked. "But you're an excellent professor! The students love you!"
"Thank you," Remus said with genuine warmth. "But truthfully, I was never meant to be a permanent fixture. My primary purpose at Hogwarts was supervising the implementation of Atid Stella's products—the cameras, the enhanced ward stones, various quality-of-life improvements. Collecting feedback, ensuring integration went smoothly, serving as liaison between Atid Stella and Hogwarts staff."
"And now that's complete," Harry realized.
"Exactly. The systems are functioning well. Dumbledore's satisfied. The cooperation framework is established. Which means my actual job—Secretary of Atid Stella, or as I prefer to call it, 'Ethan's substitute for paperwork he doesn't want to do'—is calling me back."
Snickering spread across the table whilst Sirius grinned into his butterbeer.
"Though I suspect," Remus continued with knowing resignation, "that Ethan's insistence I travel with Sirius has ulterior motives beyond simple babysitting."
"Such as?" Draco asked.
"Checking on Atid Stella branches in various locations," Remus said. "Assessing new building progress. Gathering data on international magical markets. Essentially combining Sirius's recovery tour with my professional responsibilities."
"Efficient," Draco observed. "Accomplish multiple objectives through single action. Very Slytherin of Esther."
"He is rather good at that," Remus agreed. "Makes me wonder if he's secretly been Sorted into multiple houses simultaneously."
The conversation flowed naturally whilst they ate, touching on lighter topics—Ron's Quidditch season, Hermione's academic achievements, Draco's summer plans with his mother. The atmosphere carried warmth that came from genuine affection mixed with the particular relief of having survived something terrible together.
Then Sirius reached into his robes and produced a small cage containing a tiny owl—barely larger than a Snitch, with enormous eyes and feathers that seemed perpetually ruffled.
"Ronald Weasley," Sirius said with mock formality. "It's allegedly my fault you no longer have a pet. Peter deceived you for years, and when his deception was revealed, you lost a companion you'd grown fond of. As inadequate recompense, please accept this owl."
Ron's eyes went enormous. His mouth opened and closed without sound. Then tears began streaming down his face whilst his nose started running in ways that made Hermione produce a handkerchief with practiced efficiency.
"You—you got me—an actual owl—" Ron managed between sobs.
"She's yours if you want her," Sirius confirmed. "Tiny thing, but healthy. Good temperament. Should serve you well for years."
Ron stood with such violence his chair nearly toppled, rounded the table, and pulled Sirius into an embrace that made the older wizard's eyes widen with surprise. Remus caught Harry's eye and made a gesture that clearly meant 'help him,' which made Harry grin whilst Sirius awkwardly patted Ron's back.
"Thank you," Ron whispered. "Thank you so much. I'll take excellent care of her. I promise. She'll be the best-treated owl in Britain—"
"I believe you," Sirius said, managing to extract himself from Ron's grip whilst looking touched despite his discomfort. "She'll be lucky to have you."
Ron returned to his seat cradling the cage with reverence whilst Hermione smiled with genuine warmth and the others made appropriate congratulatory noises.
"Also," Sirius added, turning to Harry with expression mixing pride and sheepishness, "I should probably mention—the Firebolt was from me. Christmas gift. Had help from Crookshanks to get it past Hogwarts security, but the thought was mine."
Remus rolled his eyes with affection whilst Harry managed a smile. "I suspected after yesterday. The timing was too convenient. Thank you, Sirius. It's—it's an amazing broom."
"You're welcome," Sirius said. "Figured you deserved something special. Plus, James was brilliant at Quidditch. Seemed fitting his son should have the best broom available."
They stayed at the Three Broomsticks until late afternoon, conversation flowing easily, the weight of recent trauma gradually lifting beneath friendship and butterbeer and the particular comfort that came from knowing the worst was behind them.
Finally, as shadows lengthened and closing time approached, they prepared to depart. The five students stood together whilst Sirius and Remus settled their bill.
"Will we see you again?" Harry asked Sirius quietly. "During summer? Or—"
"Absolutely," Sirius interrupted. "I'm your godfather, Harry. That means something. Once I've got Grimmauld Place sorted and started my recovery properly, I'll be in touch. Regular letters at minimum. Visits when possible. You're stuck with me now."
Harry nodded with a smile.
Remus pulled Harry aside whilst the others said farewells. "Your father asked me to confirm something," he said quietly. "About your Patronus. The stag."
"Let me guess," Harry said. "Dad's Animagus form?"
"James's Animagus form," Remus corrected gently. "Yes. Your biological father became a stag. Which means your Patronus taking that shape—it's James. Part of him, living on through you. Through the magic you've inherited."
Harry's throat tightened. "I thought—when I saw it—I wondered—"
"He'd be proud," Remus said. "Of everything you've become. Everything you've accomplished. You're his son in the ways that matter most."
They stood together for a moment whilst Harry processed this, then Remus pulled him into a brief embrace. "Take care of yourself, Harry. And Luna. And that circus of friends you've assembled."
"I will," Harry promised.
Outside, warm June air carried the scent of growing things and approaching summer. Harry and Luna walked hand-in-hand toward Hogwarts whilst their friends bickered companionably around them. Despite the teasing, despite the embarrassment, despite everything—the hand-holding felt right. Natural. Something they'd been doing for years.
And if Harry occasionally thought about how overwhelming hugging might be, well. That was a problem for future Harry to navigate.
For now, this was enough.
June 20th, 1994, Great Hall, 7:47 PM
The Great Hall had been decorated in Gryffindor's scarlet and gold, the colours streaming from ceiling to floor in celebration of their double victory. The Quidditch Cup sat at the head table beside the massive House Cup, both gleaming in candlelight whilst enchanted fireworks burst overhead in elaborate patterns.
Gryffindor table roared with celebration—students singing, laughing, pounding tables with enthusiasm that made dishes rattle. The other houses showed varying degrees of acceptance: Hufflepuff applauded politely, Ravenclaw offered genuine congratulations, whilst Slytherin... mostly sulked.
Harry noticed Theodore Nott and his friends clustered at Slytherin table's far end, eating quietly whilst shooting resentful glares toward Gryffindor. Their isolation seemed self-imposed—other Slytherins had clearly decided association with Nott's failures wasn't worth the social cost.
"They look miserable," Ron observed with satisfaction. "Good. Let them sulk."
"Don't gloat," Hermione said, though her tone lacked conviction. "It's unseemly."
"I'm not gloating," Ron defended. "I'm simply... appreciating natural consequences."
"That's literally the definition of gloating," Draco observed from across the table. He'd been invited to sit with Gryffindor for the feast—a gesture of friendship that had raised eyebrows but faced no serious objection.
Further down the table, Percy Weasley sat with Penelope Clearwater, both wearing the particular expressions of seventh-years preparing to leave Hogwarts forever. Harry caught Percy's eye and gestured him over.
"Congratulations, Harry," Percy said formally as he approached. "Outstanding year. Both academically and in extracurricular activities."
"Thanks, Percy. Congratulations on graduating. What are your plans?"
Percy's formal expression softened slightly. "I did well on my N.E.W.T.s. Twelve Outstanding marks across all subjects. Which should position me favorably for Ministry applications."
"That's brilliant," Hermione said with genuine enthusiasm. "What department are you targeting?"
"International Magical Cooperation initially," Percy said. "Though I'm spending summer at Atid Stella first—Mister Esther offered internship opportunities to high-performing Hogwarts graduates. Penelope's joining me."
He glanced at Penelope, and they exchanged the particular look of young people completely besotted with each other. Harry bit back a smile whilst Ron made quiet gagging noises.
"Learning practical magical business before entering Ministry service," Percy continued. "Understanding how international magical corporations operate, studying trade frameworks, developing professional networks. It should prove invaluable for future career development."
"And spending summer with Penelope," Ron added with knowing grin. "Can't forget that part."
Percy's ears went red. "That's—the professional development is the primary motivator—"
"Sure it is," Ron said. "Whatever you say, Percy."
"I'm happy for you both," Harry said sincerely. "Atid Stella's a good place. You'll learn a lot."
"Thank you," Percy said with dignity despite his burning ears. He and Penelope returned to their seats whilst Ron continued making quiet comments about his brother's obvious infatuation.
...
Near the head table, Oliver Wood stood surrounded by the Gryffindor Quidditch team in what had clearly become an emotional farewell. The team was crying—actual tears streaming down faces whilst they clutched their captain in group embrace that looked simultaneously ridiculous and touching.
Hermione had initially been designated photographer before successfully pawning the responsibility off on Colin Creevey, who'd appeared with his usual enthusiasm and relieved Hermione of camera duty. She'd swiveled back to Harry's side with satisfaction whilst Colin captured the team's theatrical goodbye.
"I can't believe he's actually leaving," Ron said, watching Wood with something approaching awe. "Seven years of mental Quidditch obsession. And now he's just... going."
"He's trying out for Puddlemere United," Katie Bell was explaining to anyone who'd listen. "Reserve team Keeper position. If he makes it, he could be playing professional Quidditch within two years!"
Wood himself was addressing the team with the particular intensity he brought to all Quidditch-related matters. "You've been brilliant. All of you. This Cup—" His voice cracked. "—this is everything I dreamed of. Everything I worked for. And you made it happen. Thank you."
More crying. More hugging. Harry watched with affection mixed, strangely enough he'd miss seeing Ron struggling Wood's increasingly unhinged training methods next year.
"Good luck, Captain," Ron shouted. "Show them what Gryffindor Keepers can do!"
Wood's smile could have lit the entire castle. "I will! I promise!"
The feast continued for hours—food and drink flowing endlessly whilst students celebrated term's end and the particular freedom that came with survived danger and completed examinations. Harry sat with Luna pressed against his side, their friends around them, and felt something settle in his chest.
Peace. Satisfaction. The knowledge that despite everything, they'd made it through.
Third year was ending exactly as it should: together, victorious, and ready for whatever came next.
June 21st, 1994, King's Cross Station, Platform 9¾, 11:34 AM
The Hogwarts Express had arrived with its customary punctuality, disgorging students onto the platform in chaos of luggage, pets, and tearful reunions. Steam billowed across Platform 9¾ whilst parents called for their children and friends made plans for summer correspondence.
Harry spotted Ethan immediately—impossible to miss with his height and distinctive dark-amber eyes. His father stood near the platform's edge with the particular stillness that came from carefully observing everything whilst appearing casual.
Harry didn't hesitate. He grabbed Luna's hand, and ran straight for his father.
Ethan caught them both in an embrace that somehow accommodated two teenagers without awkwardness, pulling Harry and Luna close with the particular warmth that suggested he'd been worried despite knowing intellectually they'd survived.
"Dad," Harry said, his face pressed against Ethan's shoulder. "We're fine. We made it."
"I know," Ethan murmured. "But seeing you safe is different from knowing you should be safe. Forgive a father's indulgence."
Luna had gone slightly pink at being included in the embrace, but she didn't pull away. Instead she leaned into Ethan's side with the trust of someone who'd been welcomed into family despite no blood connection.
When Ethan finally released them, Harry noticed another familiar figure approaching through the crowd.
Samantheus Faramundo cut an impressive figure—tall, well-dressed, moving with the particular confidence of someone comfortable in his own considerable power. His silver-grey eyes found Harry immediately, and his stern expression softened into genuine warmth.
"Harry!" Sam pulled him into another embrace—briefer than Ethan's but no less sincere. "Excellent work this year. Heard you drove away a hundred Dementors. Remarkable magic."
"Thanks, Uncle Sam," Harry managed whilst being squeezed. When Sam released him, Harry stepped back so Luna could greet him properly.
"Miss Lovegood," Sam said with formal courtesy, offering his hand. "A pleasure to see you again."
Luna shook his hand with her usual directness. "The Nargles approve of you, Mister Faramundo. They say your aura is very steady."
"High praise indeed," Sam said seriously, though his eyes danced with amusement.
Movement from further down the platform caught Harry's attention. Draco was approaching with his usual aristocratic grace, and when he spotted Sam, his face lit with uncharacteristic joy.
The embrace between godfather and godson carried years of affection and trust—Draco burying his face in Sam's shoulder whilst the older wizard held him with careful gentleness.
"You've grown," Sam observed when they finally separated. "And I hear you've been causing trouble with Harry. Excellent. Keep doing that."
"Planning on it," Draco said with satisfaction.
Hermione appeared with her parents in tow—the Grangers looking slightly overwhelmed by Platform 9¾'s particular chaos but smiling with obvious pride at their daughter. Introductions were made: Ethan and Sam greeted Hermione's parents with polite courtesy whilst Hermione explained various year highlights with her usual thoroughness.
"A corporeal Patronus," Mrs. Granger was saying with awe. "At thirteen. Hermione's told us how difficult that spell is. You must be extraordinarily talented, Harry."
"Dad's a good teacher," Harry said, deflecting. "And I had help from Professor Lupin."
Ethan and the Grangers were discussing summer plans—apparently Hermione would be visiting Atid Stella for a week in July to examine their research library, which had sent her into raptures of academic enthusiasm—when Ron burst through the crowd with the particular energy of someone on a mission.
"Harry! Draco! Luna! Hermione!" Ron skidded to a stop, breathing heavily. "I've got brilliant news. Dad can get us tickets to the Quidditch World Cup! The finals! Ireland versus Bulgaria! He's got Ministry connections and—"
He stopped, suddenly registering the adults present. "Er. Hello, Mister Esther. Mister... Faramundo. Mister and Mrs Granger."
"Ronald," Ethan said with amusement. "Congratulations on an excellent Quidditch season. And good timing with your announcement—saves me from having to acquire tickets through alternative channels."
"Same here," Sam added. "I was planning to get Draco World Cup seats, but if Mister Weasley's father has Ministry access, that's considerably more convenient."
"We were going to purchase tickets as well," Mr. Granger said. "Hermione's been asking about attending. But if Ron's father has arranged them already—"
Ron's expression had gone panicked. "I mean—if you've already got tickets—I don't want to—I was just offering—"
"Ronald," Hermione interrupted gently with her raised eyebrows.
Understanding dawned across Ron's face, followed by gratitude so intense his ears went red. "Oh. Right. Well then—" He straightened with dignity. "—I formally invite Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood, and Hermione Granger to attend the Quidditch World Cup finals as guests of the Weasley family. We've got tickets in the Top Box. Best seats in the stadium."
"We accept," Harry said immediately, before any of the adults could politely decline. "With gratitude. Thank you, Ron."
"Yes, thank you," Luna added. "The Nargles are very excited about international Quidditch."
"Looking forward to it," Draco said with aristocratic courtesy that somehow avoided being condescending.
"Can't wait," Hermione confirmed.
Ron's smile could have powered the Hogwarts Express for a week. "Brilliant! I'll write with details once Dad's confirmed everything. We'll meet you there!" He glanced back toward his family—Harry could see Mrs. Weasley waving impatiently—and grinned. "Got to go. Mum's giving me the look. But I'll see you at the World Cup!"
He disappeared into the crowd whilst the adults exchanged knowing glances.
"Kind of you," Mr. Granger observed. "Letting him maintain his pride."
"Ron doesn't get many opportunities to be generous with material things," Hermione said quietly. "His family struggles financially. Letting him provide tickets—even though any of you could acquire better ones easily—means the world to him."
"Then we're happy to accept his hospitality," Ethan said simply. "Friends support each other. Sometimes that means accepting gifts even when you don't need them."
The platform was gradually emptying—students departing with families, trunks being loaded into cars, the particular organized chaos that marked term's end settling into quieter farewells.
Harry stood between Ethan and Luna, his hand still holding hers, whilst his friends gathered close and summer stretched before them with promise of rest and Quidditch and the particular freedom that came with survived challenges.