The day of departure had arrived.
Before leaving, Orli made one final sweep of Snape's office, collecting the potions she was meant to retrieve this term and transferring the corresponding Galleons to the Board of Governors' account.
As for her quarterly dealings with Lucius, Dryncorpse had returned from Malfoy Manor with only a terse note: Trade suspended.
Her belongings were all tucked away in her enchanted satchel, and Dryncorpse sat docilely in his cage. She joined Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the crowded entrance hall, waiting for the carriages to ferry them to Hogsmeade Station.
Another glorious summer day stretched before them. Orli could picture Waters Manor as she'd find it—herbs flourishing in wild abundance, flower beds bursting with color. Yet the thought stirred no warmth in her chest.
"Wonder how the Durmstrang lot will get back," Ron mused, squinting at the great ship moored in the distance. "Reckon they can sail that thing without Karkaroff?"
"Karkaroff did not steer," came a familiar gruff voice. "He stayed in his cabin and let us do ze vork."
Krum had appeared to bid Hermione farewell.
"Could I have a vord?" he asked her quietly.
"Oh... yes... of course," Hermione replied, a faint blush coloring her cheeks as she followed him through the crowd until they vanished from sight.
"You'd better be quick!" Ron shouted after her retreating figure. "The carriages'll be here any minute!"
For the next several minutes, Ron left Harry and Orli to watch for the approaching carriages while he stretched his neck like a curious giraffe, desperately trying to glimpse what Krum and Hermione were up to.
"Ron Weasley," Orli said, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh.
"Please, Orli, don't use my full name like Mum does!" Ron yelped, startled.
"If you fancy Hermione, tell her—stop torturing yourself like this," Orli said bluntly.
"What are you—how could I possibly—I... she!" Ron's face blazed as red as his hair.
Hermione returned shortly, and Ron immediately fixed her with an intense stare. Her expression, however, remained perfectly serene.
Their journey back to London unfolded under skies vastly different from the September day they'd first traveled to Hogwarts. Not a cloud marred the blue expanse as the train carried them southward. Hermione pulled out her copy of the Daily Prophet, scanning it with a deepening frown.
"There's absolutely nothing," she said, frustration creeping into her voice. "I check every single day—they ran one measly paragraph the day after the third task, mentioning Harry won the Triwizard Cup. Not a word about anything else. Nothing about contestants being seriously injured or placed under the Imperius Curse. Fudge must be forcing them to stay silent."
"Fat chance," Orli scoffed.
"Remember Rita Skeeter?"
"Bloody hell, yes!" Harry's eyes sparked with sudden understanding.
"She wrote to me recently, complaining she hadn't published anything in ages and asking when I'd throw some work her way." For the first time in days, Orli's smile held genuine mischief.
"I think it's time our favorite beetle got back to buzzing."
The remainder of their journey flew by in a blur. Before they knew it, the Hogwarts Express was gliding into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and students began pouring off the train in their usual chaotic exodus.
Beyond the barrier, Orli spotted Harry's Muggle uncle standing beside Mrs. Weasley. The moment she saw the children, Mrs. Weasley rushed forward and pulled both Harry and Orli into a fierce embrace.
"I expect Dumbledore will arrange for you to visit us later this summer. Keep in touch, Harry," she whispered urgently in his ear before turning to Orli:
"You can come straight to the Burrow, dear. Come with me."
"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Orli said, shaking her head gently. "But I need to go home first."
"See you, Harry, Orli!" Ron called out, giving Harry a hearty clap on the back.
"Goodbye, Harry, Orli!" Hermione said, pulling them both into warm hugs.
For reasons they all understood without speaking, no one made promises to write this summer. But they shared an unspoken certainty—whatever was coming would come... and when it did, they would face it together.
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