The skies above Hogwarts had shifted. After months of gloom, the clouds had finally broken, letting summer sunlight flood through the castle windows. The grounds were vibrant again, humming with laughter and late afternoon heat. Where fear had once walked the halls in silence, joy was beginning to fill them again—quietly, tentatively, but unmistakably.
The Chamber of Secrets was no longer just a whispered threat. It was over.
Ginny had been rescued. Hermione was awake, eyes bright and sharper than ever. The petrified students had been revived. And Hagrid—dear, beloved Hagrid—had returned from Azkaban with tears in his eyes and a bear-crushing hug for every student who ran to greet him.
Lennon had been standing near the lake when she heard his booming laugh roll across the grounds again. She'd turned slowly, watching as Hagrid waved at students with teary eyes, his beard an unkempt mess but his smile full of light.
"He's back," she said to herself, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"There's your proof," came a voice from behind her.
She turned to find Mattheo stepping through the grass, hands in his pockets, his shirt rolled up at the sleeves and his tie hanging loose. "Proof of what?"
"That sometimes," he said, glancing toward the castle, "things really do work out."
Lennon looked at him, taking in the softer way he stood, the way his usual tension had eased like a knot slowly unraveling. "You didn't used to believe that."
"I still don't," he said honestly. "But I'm starting to think… maybe I want to."
They stood in silence for a few moments, just watching the sun ripple over the lake's surface. Seagulls passed in the distance, and someone was laughing—maybe Fred or George, or both. Lennon wouldn't be surprised.
Mattheo shifted beside her. "You've done a lot for them, you know. For all of us."
She raised a brow. "You make it sound like I led an army."
"You kind of did," he said with a smirk, then added, quieter, "And I don't think anyone's ever led me before."
Before Lennon could respond, a pair of familiar voices approached from behind.
"Well, look who's gone soft," Theodore said, strolling up beside Mattheo with his usual dry sarcasm.
"Careful," Lorenzo added, bumping his shoulder lightly against Theo's. "You're standing under sunshine. You might melt."
Mattheo rolled his eyes. "Do you two ever not sound like you're narrating a Shakespearean soap opera?"
"Only when we're asleep," Lorenzo grinned.
Lennon chuckled as they joined her near the lake. There was something easier in their presence now—like whatever lines had been drawn between Slytherin and the rest of the world had started to blur.
Theodore glanced at Lennon, expression turning a touch more serious. "We've been meaning to talk to you, actually."
She tilted her head. "Oh?"
Lorenzo ran a hand through his hair, then looked at her, earnest and open. "We know we've been… cautious. Cold, maybe. But that wasn't you—it was just… what we've been taught."
Theodore continued. "You never cared who our families were. Or what the rumors said. You treated us like people—not names."
"You were kind," Lorenzo added. "Even when you didn't have to be. Especially when you didn't have to be."
Lennon blinked, surprised by the warmth behind their words.
"So," Theodore said, his voice dipping low with quiet vulnerability, "we wanted to ask… officially."
Lorenzo grinned. "Will you be our friend?"
There was a beat of silence, and then Lennon let out a breathy laugh, hand covering her mouth as she tried not to grin too wide. "You two do realize I already have the Weasley twins in my life, right?"
Mattheo snorted behind her.
"They drag me into more chaos before breakfast than most people manage in a lifetime."
Lorenzo looked mock-wounded. "We're chaos with class."
Theodore folded his arms. "And darker color palettes."
Lennon shook her head, laughing. "Well then… sure. I'll take your chaos too. I'd be happy to."
The relief on their faces was immediate, and it struck her how much they had needed to hear it.
Mattheo stepped beside her again, his tone light but edged with meaning. "You've got quite the army now."
"Not an army," she said softly. "Just people worth fighting for."
As the sun began to lower over the lake, they stood together—three Slytherins and one Gryffindor, lines blurred by loyalty, not blood. From the castle came the distant sound of music: the end-of-term feast already beginning to stir inside.
They turned, eventually, walking back toward Hogwarts together.
And though the year had started in shadows, it was ending in light—wrapped in laughter, acceptance, and the beginnings of something none of them had expected:
Family.
Not the kind you're born into.
The kind you choose.