Chapter Text
“Ouch!” Harry cried out as he was jolted awake by something dropping onto his head. Swearing under his breath, he sat up and saw Hedwig, his white owl, fluttering around him expectantly, clearly waiting for a reward after delivering the package that had just struck him.
It took a few seconds for Harry, still groggy, to grab his glasses and notice the package now resting in his lap. Finally, he reached out and stroked Hedwig’s feathers. She had been gone for a whole week.
“Thanks, Hedwig. Where have you been, you silly thing? Try to aim better next time, yeah?”
Grinning, he turned his attention to the package. He was certain it was a birthday present. Today, he was turning seventeen, and sure enough, the package was from his best friend, Hermione Granger. Tearing away the wrapping, he found himself staring at a silver-covered book with bold black lettering: Life After School: What Comes Next?
“Typical,” Harry muttered. Hermione always gave him books. But his smile faded as a sobering thought crossed his mind. His final year at Hogwarts was about to begin, but… what then?
Flipping through the book, he confirmed what he had suspected—it was essentially a career guide for young witches and wizards seeking their first jobs. Harry sighed. Will I even make it that far? he wondered. Hermione, at least, seemed to have no doubts, despite the fact that his life was constantly in danger.
But the confidence and faith she placed in him made him shake off his darker thoughts. Hermione was brilliant, and he admired her greatly. More than anything, he loved her like a sister. She and Ron Weasley, his other best friend, were the siblings he had never had.
At that moment, a small owl zoomed in through the attic window of Number Four, Privet Drive, where Harry lived with his insufferable Muggle relatives, the Dursleys.
“Pig!” he exclaimed, catching the tiny owl as Hedwig ruffled her feathers and made a disgruntled noise of protest.
Attached to Pigwidgeon’s leg was another parcel, this time from Ron, the owl’s owner. Harry quickly untied the package, giving Pigwidgeon a biscuit in return. The tiny owl hooted excitedly, pecked affectionately at Harry’s ear, and then darted back out the window.
Hedwig hooted even louder in jealousy. Laughing, Harry tossed her two owl treats.
“Jealous!”
Still smiling, he unwrapped Ron’s gift, and his green eyes sparkled behind his glasses at the sight of yet another book—but this one was quite different from Hermione’s. Its brightly coloured cover constantly shifted hues, and the title, which also changed colours, read: Quidditch Heroes.
“Wow!” Harry breathed, opening the book to a random page. It was filled with moving photographs of Quidditch matches and legendary players.
Flipping through the pages, he suddenly spotted a familiar face, and a mischievous grin crossed his features. Viktor Krum, Bulgaria’s star Seeker, was waving in a rare moment of cheerful enthusiasm—a stark contrast to his usual brooding expression that made him look like a vampire about to pounce.
“I wonder if Ron saw this page?” Harry mused. “If he’s got this book too, I bet he’s ripped it right out.”
Chuckling, he let himself reminisce. Back in their fourth year at Hogwarts, they had met Viktor Krum, and Ron—once his biggest fan—had quickly changed his tune after Krum took Hermione to the Yule Ball. To this day, Krum and Hermione still exchanged letters, and he was clearly smitten with her. Why that bothered Ron so much, he didn’t seem to understand himself, but Harry had figured it out long ago. Since their heated arguments in fourth year, it had been obvious to him: repressed feelings.
Harry let out a small laugh, silently resolving that this year, he would do everything he could to make his two best friends finally acknowledge what they felt for each other. It would be great for them—they would be happy together. And, just as importantly, it would finally put an end to all those ridiculous rumours that he was romantically involved with Hermione.
It amazed him that no one else seemed to see what was so blatantly obvious. To him, it was crystal clear. He even found it amusing how Hermione—so incredibly intelligent when it came to books—was utterly clueless about her own emotions.
Still smiling, Harry got out of bed, walked to his door, and headed downstairs. Just as he reached the bathroom, Uncle Vernon’s gruff voice made him pause.
“Well, at least say ‘good morning’!” his uncle grunted.
“At least say ‘happy birthday,’” Harry shot back, raising an eyebrow.
Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes, muttered something unintelligible, and stomped off towards the kitchen. Over his shoulder, he begrudgingly grumbled:
“Good morning, happy birthday, and hurry up for breakfast.”
Harry stifled a laugh. Ever since he had (unintentionally) inflated Aunt Marge four years ago, the Dursleys had been tiptoeing around him, terrified that he might lose control and cause more magical mishaps.
But today, Harry was genuinely happy. He would soon be returning to Hogwarts. He would see his friends again. And, most importantly, he was now seventeen—which meant he was of age. He was finally free. Free from the Dursleys. Free to do whatever he pleased.
Stepping into the shower, he let the warm water cascade over him, relishing the simple pleasure of it. It’s the little things in life, he thought. And at that moment, for the first time in a long while, Harry felt truly content.
After his shower, he pulled on the oversized clothes that had once belonged to his cousin Dudley (who was enormous—both in size and in sheer annoyance). Harry had never owned clothes of his own, apart from his Hogwarts robes and the woolly jumpers Mrs. Weasley insisted on knitting him every Christmas.
But now, all that was going to change. He was about to step fully into the wizarding world—a world where he was wealthy, where he would never have to wear hand-me-downs again.
Feeling a deep sense of joy, Harry bounded downstairs for breakfast.
The beginning of the end had arrived.