The Uproar Caused by the Second Petrification Incident (3)

"All right," Harry said, moving his left arm to show him. He raised it about forty-five degrees before stopping—not because it hurt, but because the muscles were still a little stiff. "Madam Pomfrey said I need a few more days of rest, but the bone's already healed."

"Then... then can you make it back for Christmas Quidditch?" another boy asked, a hint of anticipation in his voice. "We heard Nimbus Company gave you a limited-edition broom as compensation, one even faster than Malfoy's!"

Harry froze for a moment, then could not help smiling. It was not a big smile—just the slightest upward curve of his lips, a faint brightening in his eyes. Not because what the boy said was funny, but because after so much suspicion, fear, and people avoiding him, someone had finally said something normal to his face. Something unguarded, simply curious.

"Probably," he said. "But I haven't taken it for a test flight yet. We'll see when the weather clears."

The younger students exchanged glances, then all smiled at once. It was not a polite smile, nor was it ingratiating. It was a more instinctive kind of relief, as though they had realized, So he really is just like us. They began walking forward—not around him, but toward him, like a school of little fish drawn by something, slowly, cautiously, step by step.

"Senior Potter, is that Daily Prophet headline true?" a girl asked quietly.

"No," Harry said.

"I knew it!" the boy beside her clapped his hands. "My mum says the Daily Prophet loves making things up. Last year, they even wrote that the Minister for Magic liked eating cat food!"

Everyone laughed. Their laughter echoed through the corridor, diluting the tension and silence from before.

The girl who had wanted his autograph hugged her notebook