The first thing Harry felt as he stirred back to consciousness was warmth.
Something soft lay against his chest. His eyes fluttered open, and the blurred lights of the infirmary ceiling came into view. Slowly, his senses sharpened, and he realized that the warmth pressing against him was… Hermione.
Her bushy brown hair spilled over his hospital gown, and as he lifted a hand to wipe the dried tear streaks on her cheeks, he realized—she had been crying.
She shifted slightly, murmuring something in her sleep. Harry hesitated, then gently began petting her hair. It was soft. Surprisingly soft. He found himself enjoying the simple act, a comforting presence after the madness he had gone through.
Then, with a startled gasp, Hermione woke up. Her brown eyes locked onto his, wide and shining with relief.
"Harry!" she whispered.
Before he could say anything, she threw her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
Harry froze for a second, then let out a small chuckle. "Hey, 'Mione," he said softly, his hand finding its way back to her hair as she clung to him.
"I thought—I thought you—" she choked, voice muffled against his shoulder.
"I'm fine," Harry reassured her. "Just a little nap after taking down a Dark Lord."
She hit him on the shoulder. "That's not funny!"
He winced but grinned. "A little funny."
Hermione pulled back just enough to glare at him, but it was weak—her concern and exhaustion outweighed her anger.
"You were on the ground, motionless. The fire was gone, and you weren't moving. I thought—" she stopped herself, swallowing. "Dumbledore told me what happened. That… that you faced him. Voldemort."
Harry's expression darkened. The name sent a spark of rage through him, a silent promise of vengeance still burning in his chest. "Yeah. I did."
Madam Pomfrey entered the infirmary just then, clapping her hands together. "Alright, Miss Granger, out you go! Mister Potter still needs rest before I clear him to leave."
Hermione reluctantly let go, sniffling. "I'll see you later," she said before hurrying out the door.
By the time Harry was released from the infirmary, Hogwarts was buzzing with excitement. Word had spread—Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort.
When he and Hermione entered the Great Hall, applause erupted.
Gryffindor banners hung proudly, and students from all houses clapped and cheered. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, who normally didn't pay much attention to House rivalries, looked at him with admiration.
Ron was the first to reach them, clapping Harry on the back. "Mate, you're a bloody legend!"
Dumbledore stood at the podium, his usual twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "And now, before we conclude this year, let us tally up the House points!"
Slytherin, as usual, was leading. The green and silver banners hung triumphantly.
Dumbledore smiled. "However, certain recent events call for… additional points."
The Great Hall quieted.
"For remarkable chess mastery and unwavering courage in the face of danger, I award Ronald Weasley fifty points."
Cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table as Ron's ears turned red.
"For sheer brilliance and quick thinking under pressure, I award Hermione Granger fifty points."
More applause. Hermione beamed, looking both proud and a little embarrassed.
"And finally, for his bravery, self-sacrifice, and defeating Voldemort," Dumbledore announced, his voice carrying across the hall, "Harry Potter—seventy points."
The Gryffindor table exploded into cheers.
Even some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs applauded enthusiastically. The Slytherins, however, were less than pleased. Draco Malfoy looked absolutely furious.
With the new points, Gryffindor had won the House Cup.
The enchanted banners changed from green and silver to red and gold, and the celebrations began in full.
That night, the Gryffindor common room erupted into the biggest party of the year. Harry sat back, enjoying the warmth of his housemates' excitement. For the first time in a long time, he felt… at home.
The last days at Hogwarts were a mix of final lessons, celebrations, and packing. Before they knew it, they were boarding the Hogwarts Express, heading back to London.
Harry and Hermione spent most of the journey together, discussing their summer plans.
"I wish we could practice magic over the summer," Hermione sighed.
Harry smirked. "Who says we can't?"
She gave him a scandalized look. "Harry!"
He shrugged. "What? Just saying, the Trace is more about location than anything else. If you know where to practice—"
"You're incorrigible," she huffed, but he could see the wheels turning in her mind.
As they approached King's Cross, Hermione turned to him, hesitating for just a moment. Then, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
Harry froze.
Hermione giggled, her brown eyes shining with mischief. "You're a great friend, Harry. See you next year!"
She skipped off toward her waiting parents, leaving a very stunned, very red Harry Potter standing in the middle of the platform.
Ron, who had witnessed the scene, smirked. "Oh mate, you're in trouble."
Harry groaned.
Harry didn't go to the Dursleys.
As soon as he was sure no one was watching, he slipped away, jogging through London's busy streets until he found his true destination.
The Leaky Cauldron.
His home away from the Dursleys.
As he entered, the familiar warmth of the old pub greeted him. Tom the barkeep looked up and grinned. "Back so soon, Mr. Potter?"
Harry dropped a few Galleons on the counter. "I think I'll be staying for a while."
Tom chuckled. "Got plans for the summer?"
Harry smirked.
Oh, he had plans.
He was going to learn more about his strange, terrifying new ability.
He was going to understand magic like never before.
And most of all…
He was going to prepare.
Because Voldemort wasn't gone for good.
And Harry intended to kill him.