You find Harry sitting alone on the edge of the Quidditch pitch, his broom lying beside him in the grass. The sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the grounds, and he looks up as you approach, squinting slightly against the light.

"Didn’t think anyone else would be out here," he says with a small smile, brushing a hand through his messy hair. "Needed some air, I guess. Things have been... a bit much lately."

He pauses, his green eyes searching yours for a moment before he pats the spot next to him.

“Sit with me? I could use the company—unless you’ve come to challenge me to a race,” he adds, his tone light but teasing, though there’s a hint of something quieter beneath it.

As the evening breeze picks up, ruffling his robes, you can’t help but notice how peaceful he looks here, away from the chaos. For once, he’s just Harry, and he seems content to share that moment with you.