After the duel, Lennon's name echoed through the halls of Hogwarts like a spell itself. The Gryffindors wore their pride boldly, high-fiving her in corridors and throwing her knowing smirks during meals. Fred and George composed a ridiculous song about her victory, complete with a chorus that involved a howling enchanted lute. Even Oliver, usually the steady and responsible one, gave her an approving nod from across the Great Hall.
But Lennon didn't bask in the attention. Not really. She noticed how Harry seemed a little taller these days, how Ron's jokes came quicker, more confident. And Hermione—Hermione was beginning to look at her not just with admiration, but with a glimmer of belief. Like Lennon was the bridge between the rigid rules and the wild magic of Hogwarts.
It wasn't something she planned. But it was something she stepped into, naturally.
---
"Alright, wands out," she said one evening in the empty Transfiguration classroom. "We're going over Shield Charms again."
Ron groaned. "We already did them in class."
"Right," Lennon said. "And you barely blocked a floating feather. Let's try with a real spell now. Harry, hit him with something light. Hermione, you're with me."
Hermione looked delighted. Ron looked betrayed.
Harry cast a weak Jinx, and Ron's shield fizzled like a wet sparkler.
"See?" Lennon said dryly. "Feathers everywhere would be proud."
She didn't let up. Over the next hour, she corrected their stances, improved Hermione's control, helped Harry strengthen his form. She made them laugh but didn't let them slack. There was something about teaching them that gave her purpose—it was like looking out for younger siblings.
And they responded to her. They trusted her.
---
By November, they had a rhythm. After classes, before dinner, late on weekends—Harry, Ron, and Hermione would find Lennon. Sometimes Oliver would join in, correcting a wand motion or casting a harmless charm as a distraction. Fred and George would appear at random with ideas that were more chaotic than useful, but always good for morale.
One evening, as they practiced disarming spells near the lake, Lennon caught Harry staring at the distant treetops of the Forbidden Forest.
"You alright, Potter?"
He blinked. "Yeah. Just... I dunno. It's all a bit much sometimes."
She nodded, sitting on a nearby boulder. "It is. Hogwarts is magic and monsters and mysteries. But it's also friends. And choices."
Harry sat beside her. "You make it look easy."
Lennon snorted. "I've just had more time to fake it. And I've got people backing me up. You do too, you know."
He smiled. "You're one of them."
She nudged his shoulder. "Damn right I am."
---
It wasn't all training. She encouraged Hermione to speak up more in class, telling her that knowledge wasn't arrogance—it was power. She taught Ron how to focus during spellwork by turning it into a game of reflexes. She walked Harry through the differences between magical instincts and rash decisions, always careful not to speak down to him.
They started coming to her for advice on everything. Spellwork. Quidditch. Friendship. Even how to avoid Filch's corridors late at night.
She became their compass, their protector.
Their older sister in all but blood.
---
It was during one of these late-night talks by the fireplace that Hermione looked up from her notes and asked quietly, "Do you think we'll ever be like you?"
Lennon blinked. "What do you mean?"
Ron added, "You're... brave. Strong. You know who you are."
Harry nodded. "You're not scared."
Lennon stared into the fire. "I am scared. All the time. That's what bravery is—doing the right thing anyway."
She looked at each of them. "You'll be better than me. Because you've got each other. You've got heart. And I'll be here. Every step. Got it?"
They nodded.
Hermione smiled.
Harry whispered, "Thanks, Lennon."
She ruffled his hair. "Anytime, little lion."
---
In the shadows beyond the common room entrance, Mattheo leaned silently against the stone wall.
He hadn't meant to eavesdrop—but he couldn't help it.
She was changing them. And maybe... changing him too.
---