Birds of a Feather (Stick Together)

The faint hum of children's chatter drifted into Harry's room, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional muffled thud. He stirred groggily, the thin mattress beneath him doing little to ease the aches of the previous day. Sunlight filtered through the cracks in the curtains, casting faint patterns on the wall.

For a moment, he lay still, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. The sounds outside his door were different from what he was used to. The war-torn cries of Hogwarts had been replaced by the bright, chaotic noises of life—a kind of vibrant disarray he hadn't realized he missed. Slowly, the events of the night before resurfaced: Eli, Mary Anne, Andre, the orphanage.

Another loud thud and a burst of giggles drew his attention. He sat up, running a hand through his messy hair. The small clock on the nightstand read just past eight. He'd barely managed a few hours of sleep, but the lively noise outside told him that the orphanage was already wide awake.

When he opened the door, he was greeted by a flurry of activity. Children darted back and forth through the narrow hallway, their footsteps pounding against the creaky wooden floor. Snippets of conversation reached his ears—murmurs of breakfast, lost socks, and someone daring another to sneak an extra bread's slice.

Harry stepped out cautiously, his head tilting slightly as he tried to navigate the chaos.

"Who're you?"

The voice made him pause. A boy no older than eight stood in the hallway, staring at him with wide, curious eyes. His mop of curly brown hair stuck out in every direction, and he clutched a toy car in one hand.

Before Harry could answer, another voice rang out. "Peter, don't be rude!"

A girl stormed over, her braids bouncing as she stomped. She looked to be about nine or ten, her small frame radiating an air of authority that immediately reminded Harry of Hermione. She crossed her arms and shot Peter a glare.

"I wasn't rude!" Peter protested, puffing up his chest.

"Was too."

"Was not!"

Harry raised a hand, cutting into their bickering with a small smile. "I'm Harry. I'm… helping out for a while."

Peter's eyes lit up. "You're the magic guy Eli was talking about, aren't you?"

Harry blinked, his smile faltering slightly. "Eli said that, did he?"

The girl, who Harry guessed was Diana based on yesterday's stories, rolled her eyes and grabbed Peter's arm. "Ignore him. Eli was joking. Peter believes in fairies, too."

"Do not!" Peter shouted as Diana dragged him down the hallway. Their argument faded into the background, leaving Harry standing alone, shaking his head.

The smell of breakfast drew him toward the kitchen, where the sounds of clinking dishes and Mary Anne's calm instructions floated through the air. As he entered, he found the space buzzing with life.

Mary Anne stood at the stove, stirring a bowl of porridge with practiced ease. Eli was seated at the table, scribbling in a textbook, while a younger girl hummed softly as she doodled on a scrap of paper. Samantha, her arm still in a sling, sat at the edge of the table, trying to spread jam on a slice of bread without smearing it everywhere.

"Good morning," Mary Anne greeted without turning around. "Hope you slept well."

Harry hesitated, leaning against the doorframe. "Morning. It was… different, but not bad."

Eli looked up with a smirk. "Takes some getting used to. Noise is kind of our thing."

Samantha glanced at him shyly. "Are you staying?" she asked, her voice small but hopeful.

"For now," Harry said with a faint smile.

Mary Anne turned, raising an eyebrow. "You'll need a proper breakfast, then. Sit."

Harry hesitated again but relented as she motioned to an empty chair. A bowl was placed in front of him moments later—porridge with a bit of honey on top and a slice of soft bread.

"You didn't have to go to the trouble," he said, though his stomach growled audibly, betraying his hunger.

Mary Anne waved off his thanks. "You're already helping more than enough." She turned her attention back to the stove. "Eat. No sense doing anything on an empty stomach."

As Harry dug into his food, the chatter around him ebbed and flowed. Eli, as always, was full of questions. "So, what's the plan for today? More magic?"

Harry shot him a warning look, his tone low. "Not so loud, Eli."

Eli grinned, undeterred. "Come on, you've got people curious. Andre's better this morning. You know that, right?"

Harry's fork paused mid-air. "He is?"

Mary Anne nodded. "He slept through the night. The fever's gone. Whatever you did worked."

Relief washed over Harry, though he hid it behind a sip of water. He glanced at Samantha. "What about your arm? Does it still hurt?"

Samantha wiggled her fingers in her sling. "Not much. You're going to help it heal today, right?"

Harry chuckled softly. "We'll see about that."

After breakfast, Harry offered to help clear the table, earning a grateful smile from Mary Anne. As he gathered dishes, he noticed a tall boy leaning in the doorway, arms laden with books.

"Hi," the boy said awkwardly. "I'm Jones."

"Harry," he replied, extending a hand. Jones hesitated briefly before shaking it. His grip was firm but cautious.

"Thanks for helping Andre," Jones said, his tone earnest. "He's… important to us."

Harry nodded, feeling the weight of the boy's words. "You all look out for each other."

"We try," Jones said simply, a hint of a smile on his face.

As the morning wore on, Harry met more of the children. Miriam shyly showed him her drawings, while Victor returned from running errands and immediately began recounting his adventures to Eli. Rose peeked out from behind Mary Anne's skirt before scurrying away again, her giggles echoing down the hallway.

By the time the sun was fully up, Harry felt like he'd been caught in a whirlwind. But amidst the chaos, there was a strange, comforting warmth—a sense of belonging that he hadn't expected. For now, that was enough.