The concert didn't end when the music stopped.
The common rooms buzzed for days. Someone passed around a sketch of Harry on stage mid-scream. Someone else tried to enchant it to actually scream. Gryffindors thought it was brilliant. Slytherins were amused. Most of the professors said nothing. Even Snape raised his eyebrow and moved on.
But not everyone let it go.
…
Susan found Harry near the greenhouse the next evening. She didn't sneak up. She wasn't the type.
He was sitting against the glass wall, wand on the ground beside him. She sat down without asking.
"I liked the song," she said.
Harry blinked. "Thanks."
They sat in silence for a while. The glass hummed faintly with trapped heat. Plants rustled on the other side. Some hissed. Most didn't care.
"You looked angry," she said.
"I was," Harry admitted.
"You looked like you meant every word."
"I did."
She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. "You scared some of the younger years."
"I know."
"They still liked it, though."
"I know that too."
She waited. He didn't say more.
"I get angry too, sometimes," she said finally. "About my parents. About how no one talks about them anymore, not even my auntie. How people pretend everything's fine."
Harry nodded. He didn't push. Didn't say he understood. He just let her speak.
"But I don't think I could ever scream like that in front of everyone," she added.
He looked at her. "Maybe you should."
Susan smiled, sad and quiet. "Maybe. But I think I'd rather write about it. Or tell someone like you."
Harry didn't smile, but something in his shoulders loosened.
"Thanks," he said.
She stood. "Just… don't let it eat you, okay?"
He nodded. She left him there, just long enough to think without sinking.
…
Hermione didn't wait a day.
She cornered him in the corridor outside the library, arms crossed, voice low.
"We need to talk."
Harry blinked. "Is this about the song?"
"No," she said flatly. "It's about the message behind it."
He opened his mouth. She held up a hand.
"I'm not here to scold you. I'm not your mother. But I am your friend. And friends don't let friends start slipping into whatever that was."
He narrowed his eyes. "You didn't like it?"
"I didn't say that. I liked the performance. I didn't like the... edge. The way you looked like you wanted someone to challenge you."
Harry frowned. "You think I wanted a fight?"
"I think you're still in one," she said. "Even when no one else is swinging."
That shut him up.
She uncrossed her arms. "You're allowed to be angry. What they did to you—your relatives, the press, even some of the professors—it's wrong. But if you don't find a way to use that, it'll burn you out."
He looked away. "I'm trying."
"I know you are."
Hermione stepped closer.
"You're not alone, Harry. You don't have to scream to be heard. Not with us."
He didn't answer right away.
"Did you talk to Timothy?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Not yet."
"You should."
Then she walked past him and into the library, not looking back.
…
I found him later in the Room of Echoes. That's what we started calling it. The music space with the charmed ceiling and the amplifiers made from scrap magic.
Harry was at the drums, tapping them slowly. No rhythm. Just sound. One hit at a time.
I didn't say anything. Just sat across from him and waited.
After a while, he spoke.
"You ever get angry like that?"
I shrugged. "Not often. It doesn't suit me."
Harry snorted. "Figures."
"But I've felt it," I added. "There's a lot to be angry about."
He nodded. "Hermione talked to me."
"I figured."
"She's right."
"She usually is."
He looked at me. "Did I go too far?"
I thought about it.
"No," I said finally. "But don't get used to it. Rage is a good fire starter. Bad fuel."
He tilted his head. "Did you come up with that?"
"Probably stole it," I said. "But I said it better."
That got a real laugh out of him.
We sat in the quiet for a minute more.
"I don't regret the song," he said.
"Good. You meant it."
"But I don't want to be that version of me all the time."
"You won't," I said. "That version is part of you. It's not all of you."
He nodded.
"I'm working on something new," I said casually.
"Song?"
"Sort of. Might need a slower drum line."
He smiled. "I'm in."
…
Later that week, we played again. Smaller room. No crowd.
Just Tracey messing with the lights, Blaise half-asleep in the corner, and Daphne pretending not to like it.
Hermione sat in the back, reading. Susan showed up too, didn't say much, just nodded when Harry waved at her.
It wasn't a concert. It was a breath.
And for now, that was enough.