Ryan composed herself swiftly, stepping away from the wall and smoothing out her robes. Oliver nodded simply, choosing not to push the issue. People needed time—he’d learned that lesson after pushing Angelina to talk (and having his nose hexed off for six long hours) before she was ready. She explained the situation, a knot rising in his throat. 

It was happening. It was [i]actually[/i] happening. Kearney was coming home, where he belonged, and Oliver took a moment to steady his breathing. They’d gone so long without a victory. It was a charged moment.

Following Ryan, he to admit—he was impressed with her dedication to the team. She hadn’t had to stay after the trial, hadn’t had to even push it forward—he considered her in silence, nodding as she explained the situation. He’d expected as much. The war was still fresh, and muggleborns were still scapegoated by the community. Change wouldn’t happen overnight. That wouldn’t stop Oliver from strong-arming the world into growing up.

It had been months since Oliver had communicated by patronus. He blinked at the sudden appearance of a silvery bear, truly massive in scope. He didn’t recognize the voice it spoke with, but evidently Ryan did. Personally, he was pleased that the exchange would happen elsewhere. The Ministry gave him the creeps—they were still in the process of trying to tear down the statue of subjugated muggles. Annoyingly, it repelled most of their attempts to destroy it. Bloody Death Eaters.

The journey to Diagon Alley was surreal, and before he knew it he was joining Ryan, the man who had presumably sent the patronus and—

“Kearney, mate,” Oliver greeted warmly. His old friend looked up with tired eyes. He was gaunt—had lost most of his muscle mass—and looked in need of a bath. But he was here. He was [i]home[/i]. Oliver strode forward, embracing the man with a firm clap on the back. Kearney huffed in laughter.

“Hey, Olly,” he greeted, his voice thinner than usual. Oliver pulled back, grinning wide. Even with all the work ahead of them, he hadn’t felt this light in…since before the war, easily.

“Guid tae see ye again. Ye hungry?”

“Starved,” Kearney nodded. Oliver dropped an arm around his shoulder, as if letting his friend go would risk his capture all over again. It was his fault—he should have pushed to smuggle their muggleborn players out of the country, shouldn’t have done such a stupid stunt. Never mind that Kearney had pushed for it. It had been so daft.

“Kearney, thes is Auror Ryan Lockwuid. She’ll be helpin’ us gie ye sorted. Now, lunch. Padma’s should be quiet  the time ay day.”

He gave neither of his companions a chance to protest before steering Kearney down familiar streets towards the quiet restaurant. They needed food, the three of them.