Two Years Later
He was free.
He could feel the wind tearing through his hair, could hear it whistling past his ears.
In his eyes was the wash of colours, bright and flashing against the backdrop of the night sky.
He led the trail of green, and to either side the others led their own trails, some purple, some white. And together they spun, and rose, then dove down, all in perfect tandem.
There were more flashes in the corner of his eye, timed to coincide with the swell of music.
Gasps sounded out, scarcely heard in the mere moments that they soared over the stands and then they were ascending again, weaving in and out of their formation, defying gravity as they exchanged brooms in the air, still spinning.
As one they released their pouches and the glittering lights joined the streams of colours and the fireworks that continued to fly past and explode in the air around them.
Then the music was building to a climax, horns calling out triumphantly as one by one they flipped from their brooms, tumbling to the next broom below, forming a cascade of flowing movement. And then they were soaring again to the final beats of sound, halting suddenly as silence washed over the area and the light of the fireworks was abruptly extinguished.
The still silence lasted three heartbeats before the crowd burst into roaring applause, cheers and whistles calling out, and Harry's team flew laps over the stands to bow and wave at the spectators.
Hermione was there with Viktor right up front in the first row. Ron was right next to them, holding a squirming toddler in his lap, and a few seats over was Ginny, surrounded by some of her friends from the Harpies. Sirius and Remus were behind them, the former grinning while the latter smiled calmly. Around them were a mix of his Tepignac neighbours, whom he'd finally gotten to know and beyond that. . . .
They were all people who, like him, had a love of flying, regardless of who he was and what mark was on his forehead.
There was a tingle in that mark as he landed and threw his broom over his shoulder, grinning and exchanging shoulder slaps with his teammates. Then he waved them off and approached the stands, and his family.
"Impressive," Viktor said, his accent helping his voice cut through the clamour of similar exclamations from the others. "That vos some excellent flying."
"Thanks," Harry replied, the adrenaline from the show starting to leave him, making him feel all loose and happy.
"You didn't say that it would be so dangerous," Hermione chided, her voice pitched a bit high. "I mean, it's obviously not as dangerous as Quidditch but at one point no one was on a broom at all!"
"Hermione, Harry's managed to swallow a snitch, survive a bunch of dementors, and face a dragon while on a broom. Maybe he's actually safer when he's not on one?" Ginny suggested, tipping Harry a friendly wink.
"Boom!" interrupted the toddler, pointing at Harry's Firebolt with one hand while he tugged at Ron's ear with the other.
"You coming back with us, mate?" Ron asked as he bounced his son Eddie on his hip.
"Nah, he's probably got to run off with his lovely older man," Ginny said with an evil grin. Sirius promptly choked at those words.
"I'll catch up later," Harry said, a hand rising to pull awkwardly at his hair.
"Don't worry about it, Harry," Hermione said kindly. "We'll be at the party in 151 whenever you can make it by."
"If his man lets him go before dawn, you mean," Ginny chortled, before she and part of the group headed off toward one of the forest trails.
He sighed, a smile pulling at his lips. "Thanks for coming tonight," he finally said to his friends, though what he meant was, 'Thanks for being so amazing, thanks for not writing me off when I abandoned you all, thanks for being alive. . . .'
His scar tingled with mixed fondness and impatience, so he said his goodbyes and more of his friends trickled off. When only Sirius remained, Remus waiting a few paces away, his godfather swept him up in his arms.
"I'm so proud of you," he whispered into Harry's ear, those words bringing him back to those moments on the train all those years earlier, surrounded by mist.
And he felt so much overwhelming love for this man, the man who'd come back from the in-between with him, for him, and who had been there through everything. The man who knew full well who the 'lovely older man' was and was letting him make his own choices, and live his own life, and just wanted to see him happy.
'I love you, Sirius,' he wanted to say, but the words wouldn't make it past his useless excuse for a throat so he only nodded, then smiled when Sirius pulled back. And once the two men finally turned to join the sounds of cheering and laughter that were headed to the post-show party Harry followed the tingling in his scar to the shadows past the stands, away from the revelry, where there stood a man.
The faint frown lines that were usually present were smoothed out in the man's warm smile. The threads of silver in his dark hair caught the edges of the lighting from the stands, appearing to glimmer. The eyes that were usually brown these days had a red cast, brought on by his heightened emotions—emotions that Harry could feel through their connection.
Harry stepped up to him, his smile stretching wider across his face until it was almost painful. When he was finally standing just in front of him, a crackling energy snapping between them, he searched for his words, and the man waited patiently, amused.
Finally, he settled on the ones that encompassed everything. What they'd achieved together. What the man had helped him become, and allowed himself to become in turn. Everything.
"Thank you," he said simply, and he felt the words in return.
Then the man—for he was a man now, truly—took him in his arms, and met his lips with his own, and together they left in a dizzying swirl of magic.
And maybe he'd make it back to the party later. Maybe he'd bring his flying to Britain one day. Maybe he'd even teach, in some hazy and distant future.
But if any of those options were ones that he would choose it would be his choice, because he didn't need to follow anyone else's plan for him.
No more.
Notes:
Thank you all so much for the love!
—
A few notes on inspiration:
(Not required reading by any means, so feel free to ignore my blathering)
I've taken inspiration for the ICW committees from actual UN committees (as it has been stated that the ICW is the magical world's UN equivalent). The main entity that saw the most focus here was the Convention on the Rights of the Child, an actual UN treaty that is overseen by the Committee on the Rights of the Child, one of the UN's many Human Rights bodies.
Obviously the ICW engaged much more directly than the UN does. I imagine if the ICW had member states with veto powers like the way that the UN operates, things would unfold quite differently. For the sake of this story, I've decided that that's not the case.
Malta was chosen as a first stop because while it is in the Commonwealth, it was not part of the EU at the time this story is set (though they were in the UN, so yes I've fudged things as far as their ICW membership goes). I imagine this might cause some muddled jurisdictions in magical terms because we all know the Ministry is supremely out of touch with muggle affairs.
I've dropped the magical part of Moncton right next to Magnetic Hill, because why wouldn't a phenomenon like that be caused by magic? (And I've been there, and honestly I don't understand the fuss, but then again some muggles like that sort of thing. Of course another big tourist attraction there is the tidal bore, and. . . . Okay maybe I'm just not into touristy things.)
The aerobatics were of course inspired by real-world air shows. The muggle air show in Shearwater is a real event, one which I attended once in the early '90s, and the 1998 show was cancelled due to a nearby flight disaster (Swissair Flight 111). The performance in the epilogue also incorporates some elements of international fireworks competitions; the ones that I attended for many years involved spectacular fireworks displays choreographed to music.
Tepignac is not a real place, though its name is adapted from the Mi'kmaq word 'tepignaq' meaning 'strong enough' (according to the Internet—the most massive apologies if that's not quite correct). There are so many places in New Brunswick whose names have evolved from this language, among them Kouchibouguac, Bouctouche, Quispamsis, and Richibucto. Also referenced is the Acadian star, a common sight on the sides of homes in the Maritime provinces.
Miramichi, on the other hand, is a real place, and the fire referenced occurred in 1825. It was one of the three largest forest fires ever recorded in North America.
And yes, that 'red paper cup' portkey is absolutely a Timmies Roll Up The Rim cup.