The last exam ended and Hogwarts students finally lost their minds.
Some crashed for days after all-nighters, dark circles so deep they looked punched. Others grabbed brooms the second they could and filled the sky from dawn till dusk. Down at the Black Lake, kids crowded the shore throwing breadcrumbs, rocks, and Weasley twins joke products at the giant squid until it sprayed ink everywhere in protest.
But the real main event was the Quidditch final—Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
"Oh, that was a monster hit from George! Absolutely brutal! Too bad it only grazed the Slytherin Chaser!"
Lee Jordan's voice boomed through the magical microphone, still shamelessly biased even with McGonagall shooting him death glares from the stands. He didn't care. Term was basically over—what was she going to do, give him detention next year?
Ravenclaw stands.
Lucien watched George land a clean Bludger hit, then immediately start yelling and waving his fist at Lee Jordan's commentary box. The wind swallowed every word. On the opposite side of the pitch, the other redheaded twin—Fred—threw both arms up like he was soaking in the roar of the crowd.
Lucien snorted. Lee had mixed up the twins again. Or maybe they were flying too fast for even him to tell. Either way, it was hilarious.
Quidditch kept getting faster and flashier, just like racing brooms in the Muggle world. Ever since Lucien's East Wind broom hit the market, the real big orders had come from professional teams. Being the guy who sold the fastest broom in the wizarding world had its perks—like scoring the best seats at any match he wanted.
"Lucien, are you ever going to wear that hat I gave you?"
He turned. Luna had somehow squeezed in beside him, wearing a fluffy lion hat with bared fangs. The giant eagle hat she'd given him earlier—the one that flapped its wings and actually squawked—sat in his trunk.
"I'll put it on the day Ravenclaw makes it to the final," Lucien said honestly. He couldn't lie to those big silver eyes.
He reached over and gently patted the lion hat on her head.
"ROOOAAAR!"
A real, earsplitting lion roar exploded from the hat. Lucien blinked. That was new—the eagle hat hadn't done that. Luckily the crowd's cheer for Gryffindor's latest goal swallowed the sound.
Even though Ravenclaw hadn't made the final, the Ravenclaw students were still cheering their hearts out. At Hogwarts, anything that wasn't studying—sweeping leaves, whatever—got them excited. A full-on Quidditch match? They were living for it.
Down on the pitch, the Snitch chase began.
Harry and Malfoy shot forward at the same time—one red blur, one green—brooms slicing through the air so fast they blurred. They twisted and dove, locked in a brutal tangle.
Then Harry's fingers closed around the tiny golden ball.
Riding his East Wind broom high above the pitch, cold wind in his face and the Snitch warm in his fist, Harry felt almost dizzy.
This term was really over?
A completely normal, completely safe term—over.
…
Great Hall.
Blue and bronze decorations everywhere—Ravenclaw colors. A massive eagle made of deep-blue smoke soared overhead, scattering sparks like stars from its tail.
Last year's House Cup race had been insane—Dumbledore adding points here, subtracting there, the cup bouncing between Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw like a crazy pinball. Hufflepuff hadn't cared. As long as there was a giant feast at the end, the badgers were happy.
This year Ravenclaw had taken the cup with zero drama.
Dumbledore stood at the staff table in a brand-new set of magnificent robes, giving his usual end-of-year speech.
"…It has been a year full of twists, yet also full of beauty. We faced challenges and we grew from them. No matter what lies ahead, remember this—"
He paused, blue eyes sweeping the hall.
"The future may bring fog. It may bring darkness. But never forget—Hogwarts will always be your home."
Most students just blinked, confused. Why was the headmaster talking about fog and darkness when the sun was literally shining outside?
The older kids just clapped like usual. Dumbledore said weird stuff sometimes. You got used to it.
Lucien clapped along with everyone else, but his mind was sharper. The old man was laying groundwork. Even though Trelawney hadn't made her prophecy about Voldemort's return yet, Dumbledore already knew the truth from the Horcruxes. A few lines about "darkness" and "fog" now would make it less shocking later.
Smart move.