Chapter Text
The wind howled across the edge of the Forbidden Forest, bending the treetops into long black waves beneath a thin silver moon. Somewhere in the distance an owl screeched, sharp and afraid.
A large figure was running.
Branches whipped against his enormous coat as he thundered along the narrow forest path, breath steaming in great gusts before him.
When he looked back, far behind him, gliding soundlessly between the trees, came a short, hooded figure. No face showed beneath the hood. Only darkness. A darkness somehow deeper than the night around it.
“Blimey…”
The figure did not run. It drifted.
Yet somehow it was gaining on him.
His heart hammered painfully in his chest when a loss of breath forced him to stop.
He knew dark magic when he saw it.
“Who are yeh?” he roared, turning clumsily to face the figure. “What d’yeh want with me?”
The short figure stopped short. It lifted one long, pale hand. A blinding light shined from the palm.
While stunned, the large man was covered by his own shadow. A shadow the came to life and grabbed him from behind, restraining him. From another shadow, rose the hooded figure. It slowly reached and grasped the wand in the large man’s hand. An intense rush of pain pulled from his wrists. Before he could speak, he collapsed on the pavement.
The hooded figure pointed the broken wand directly at the large man.
The late afternoon sun lay warm and golden across the streets of Hogsmeade, turning the shop windows into sheets of amber light. Owls swept lazily overhead between crooked chimneys, and enchanted signs creaked softly in the breeze. The air smelled of roasted meats and fresh sweets.
Harry Potter walked with his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark wool coat, a gift to himself insisted by his now ex-girlfriend. Normally too expensive for his taste, but the comfort and compliments made it worth the cost. He moved at an easy pace through the crowd.
At twenty-five, he had grown into himself in a way the wizarding world still found slightly startling. He was more fit and lean than many remembered, broader in the shoulders now. His messy dark hair remained impossible as ever, and his scar still stood out pale against his forehead beneath the sunlight.
People noticed him immediately. But these days, it was different.
No fear. No whispers.
Joy.
A little boy passing with his mother suddenly froze mid-step, eyes enormous. “Mum,” he whispered loudly, tugging her sleeve. “Mum, it’s Harry Potter!”
Harry glanced over with the practiced half-smile he had developed over the years.
The boy went scarlet with excitement.
Harry gave them a wave. He laughed despite himself and kept walking, cheeks faintly pink.
A pair of young adult witches seated outside a café smiled as he passed. One gave him a small, shy wave. The other was bolder.
“Evening, Harry,” she said brightly, brushing long blonde hair behind one ear. “Looking dashing today.”
Harry nearly walked straight into a post.
The witches dissolved into laughter, not cruel, merely amused by his awkwardness.
Harry shook his head as he continued onward.
He still never quite knew what to do with attention. Fame had once felt exhausting and heavy. But after the war ended and the years began to heal things little by little, the attention had softened into something gentler.
Gratitude.
The wizarding world had changed.
Children born after the war laughed openly in the streets now without parents lowering their voices in fear. Hogwarts students travelled freely between villages on weekends without whispers of danger shadowing every corner.
And as a result, people still looked at Harry, Hermione, and Ron as symbols of that peace.
Especially Harry.
A moment later he paused to take in the cool evening air of the village, looking beautiful beneath the fading sky.
Lanterns glowed warmly in frosted windows. Rooftops shimmered silver-blue in the twilight. Somewhere nearby came the sound of music and laughter drifting from crowded taverns.
Harry breathed in deeply.
Peace.
Real peace. It still felt miraculous sometimes.
“Harry Potter!”
“Oi, Potter!”
“Legend!”
Several older teenagers in familiar school uniforms raised butterbeer bottles toward him in greeting.
Then at last he reached the warm glowing windows of The Three Broomsticks.
The familiar wooden sign swung gently overhead.
For a brief moment Harry simply stood there listening to the muffled laughter from inside, watching golden light spill across the melted snow puddles.
Every time felt like the first time.
Harry pushed open the door.
Warmth, music, and the rich smell of butterbeer rushed out to meet him at once. The waiter ushered him to his usual booth. It was near the back, for privacy, but still amongst the public so he could enjoy the atmosphere.
He looked around in joy, giving a wave to the onlookers. True, he could afford to go anywhere he wanted, but there was a certain charm The Three Broomsticks had.
After the war, Harry’s fame catapulted him to the highest level of celebrity. The hero of the wizarding world. But he always made sure to credit others, especially Ron and Hermione in any press he did. Over the years the fandom had continued, grew actually. He was a living legend, but Harry realized the more he went in public, the more normal he became to fans. People wanted to greet him, hangout with him, but no stalking or rudeness...for the most part. It helped that he stayed away from tourist areas and nightlife. They all learned that the hard way.
“Harry!”
The delightful voice caught his attention. No matter how much time had passed, the best things truly never changed.
Hermione Granger entered the pub, patting down her bushy hair from the wind with her free hand, while the other carried what looked to be at least 3 books.
Harry waved off the waiter escorting her and stood to hug his friend. The books cut him off at the chest before falling to the ground.
“Sorry, I’m a little antsy,” Hermione said. “It’s just that this is all starting to sink in.”
Harry picked up the books, returning all but a note sheet full of inked sentences with circles and cross outs.
“Grad speech? You aren’t an expert in this by now?”
She snatched it away from him, sliding into the booth. “And you should know this by now. No peeking.”
Harry removed her coat, sliding his hands down her slim frame, before settling next to her in the booth. “Wouldn’t dream of it. How are you feeling?”
Hermione sighed, still trying to tame her hair. “Honestly, it’s just so much. My tutoring duties technically don’t end until after the weekend, because the returning students still have their exams in two weeks. Mum and dad arrive next week, and the guest room still needs cleaning. I have to answer the Ministry and Hogwarts by next week. And the girls keep trying to drag me out to celebrate.”
She looked around the empty table for something. “And on top of all of that, I still have to finish this speech. I thought keeping busy would ease my mind about it, but it is still front and center.”
Following the war, Hermione led the remodeling for the Hogwarts during their final year. Harry and Ron reluctantly returned to school as well, per Molly Weasley’s wishes. Despite, the reconstruction of the castle and staffing, it actually turned out to be the best year they had together. A year with no threat of evil wizards, and limited exams, resulted in blissful atmosphere from the students. Still, Hermione worked closely with the staff to bring Hogwarts to new heights, even after they graduated. Her most proud accomplishment was establishing higher wizard education, based on small Muggle universities.
Dumbledore Academy, was founded by Minerva McGonagall a few years later for a small number of select outstanding Hogwarts students. Her first selection was Hermione who McGonagall announced at Hogwarts graduation as the highest scores in the wizarding world, certifying her as “The Brightest Witch of her Age.”
Despite being a grad student, Hermione spent her free time helping McGonagall in office. Today she has been offered a full-time Ministry office job, Hogwarts head master’s job, and an Auror job.
“Harry!”
Ron Weasley sat across from Harry, after giving him a fist bump. “Sorry, I’m late mate. Did I miss the professional student’s rant about entering the real world?”
“Nearly. She’s been craving a drink,” Harry chuckled, waving down the waiter.
Hermione scoffed. “Real world? What do you call higher education? And five minutes late, is actually impressive in your world, Ron.”
Harry leaned passed the bickering to address the waiter. “The usual, three butterbeers and an order of fish and chips. Family size.”
That earned him a glare from Hermione.
“Please” he added.
The waiter smiles and heads off.
“Manners, Harry. The new Lead Auror of the Ministry should conduct himself as such.” Hermione slapped away Ron’s hand from peeking at her speech. “Despite who he associates with.”
“Oi!” Ron pulled back. “Reminder that you’re one of those associates too. And fashionably late is appropriate in the Weasley house.”
Harry laughed, passing out the butterbeers that just arrived.
This never got old.
“I’m sure your mother would beg to differ. But we can always ask.” Hermione challenged with a smirk.
“Ah, don’t say anything, and I’ll make sure she cooks up your favorite dessert for graduation.”
“Deal!”
And that’s how it has been since the war. All of them had been advancing in their careers, but never lost touch with one another. Though they all regularly communicated and found time to see each other throughout the week, Friday was ALWAYS their day. They rotated hangout spots, but on the first Friday of the month they returned to their old stomping grounds.
The only thing that really changed, was Ron and Hermione’s romance. They dated on and off for a couple of years, in which the Friday schedule started, to make sure Harry didn’t feel left out. There was a brief break up halfway through, then another few months together. Then it was over. No big argument, no blaming each other, and Harry wasn’t forced to choose sides. They simply came up to Harry one day and told him that they tried it out and just found that they preferred to be friends.
Harry would be lying if he said it bothered him. Truth is, while happy for his friends, there was a part of him that liked the three of them together and not being left behind. He never told them, of course. After the war, all he wanted was for them to be happy. The strangest thing was, there was no awkwardness after the final breakup. He always expected there would be some turbulence but, it was if they all went back to their normal routine. Every once in a while, there would be a joke or mention of their past relationship, but that was it. Iconically, the final breakup was the most mature moment Harry ever saw the two of them do together.
He tried asking each of them what happened. To which, each of them assured him that there was no love lost and they liked how things originally were.
“Well then, I like to propose a toast,” Ron raised his glass. “To my two best mates, all grown up and finally ready to contribute to society.”
Harry laughed. “Yes, and you should join us sometime. After you’re done contributing to the joke shop.”
“Never. Keeps me young.”
“I’m almost hesitant to give a compliment,” Hermione wiped the beer foam from her lip. “But laugher is a necessity in the world.”
“Well allow me to return the compliment. Tonight’s tab is on me.”
Hermione and Harry raised their glasses high. “Drink to that!”
“Least I could do to celebrate. I’m proud of both you.”
The three glasses clanged together before they took big gulps.
“Thanks mate,” Harry said. “All jokes aside, I am eager to be done with training and get back out into the field.”
Hermione wiped her mouth and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Promise you’ll be careful out there, Harry.”
“Of course I will. And besides, no serious threats have come up since the war.”
She smiled. “That courage. I’ve always admired it.”
Her smile grew, while her hand continued to linger on his shoulder.
“You sure that’s not just the butterbeer talking?” he said, giving her a playful shove, earning him one back.
They only stopped when the large food tray is sat on the table. Ron raised his glass to the waiter.
“Let’s get another round. Drunk Hermione is my favorite.”
“Ronald! I’ll have you know, I have never been drunk. Tipsy sure, but I know my limit. Tell him Harry.”
“One way to find out. Another round, please.”
The streets of Hogsmeade were nearly empty by the time Harry and Hermione left the pub.
Behind them, laughter spilled through the doorway as Ron flirted with waitresses. The door swung shut, muffling the noise, and suddenly the village felt quiet.
A cool breeze stirred the trees lining the road. Hermione pulled Harry’s coat tighter around her shoulders while they walked. A recent routine of theirs, preferring not to rely on magical transportation all the time.
The night air held a lingering warmth, though the hour had crept well past midnight. A hush lay over the street, broken only by the soft echo of their footsteps on the uneven cobblestones. Harry shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, glancing sideways at Hermione.
“You didn’t have to walk me back,” she said, though her tone lacked conviction.
“I know,” Harry replied. “But I wanted to.”
Hermione smiled faintly, her breath visible in the cool air. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
“Making sure you get home safely? Shocking behavior, really.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “You’ve been… around more.”
Harry shrugged, though there was a trace of self-consciousness in the gesture. “Work’s quieter these days.”
“Mm,” Hermione said, though her raised eyebrow suggested she didn’t entirely believe him.
They walked a few more steps in companionable silence. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed. Hermione slowed slightly, her expression turning thoughtful.
“Do you ever think about what’s next? The future?” she asked.
“All the time.”
“And?”
Harry considered.
“Mostly I try not to. I like the present. Things are great the way they are.”
They walked a few more steps in silence before Hermione spoke again.
“It’s funny,” she said lightly. “How things change.”
“How do you mean?”
“Oh, everything,” she replied. “Careers. Friendships. Expectations.” She glanced at him again. “Relationships.”
Harry shifted slightly. “Yeah. I suppose.”
She raised an eyebrow, studying him. “No fan girls this weekend?”
“Rubbish,” he chuckled. “Besides, I think Ron can handle enough for the both of us.”
Hermione gave a soft giggle. “Well, I suppose I can’t really blame them. You have a way of making people feel good,” she pulled the coat tighter around her shoulders. “Safe.”
Harry nodded, missing the way her gaze lingered just a second too long.
They reached her street. The familiar door stood just ahead, warm light glowing through the curtains.
“Hey,” Harry said, stopping. “I want you to enjoy this next week. Don’t worry about the speech. You’ll be brilliant. Like always.”
Hermione smiled, removing the coat and helping it back on Harry.
“Ginny always did have good taste,” she said, straightening out his collar.
Harry looked away, avoiding the comment, until he felt Hermione’s soft lips against his cheek and her warm breath in his ear.
“Goodnight, Harry,” she whispered before turning to enter her home, closing the door behind her.
Locked and bolted.
Harry let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and walked off.
Grimmauld Place was only a couple of blocks away. Harry could have apparated, but there was something peaceful about a quiet walk at the end of the night. Empty streets, tree’s changing leaves for the season, and stunning skyscrapers.
Very quiet, very peaceful. All that could be heard was footsteps. Footsteps, and not his own…
Harry came to a stop, and so did the footsteps. There was a presence among him. A kind of presence he had not felt in years.
Dark magic.
It was so quiet, the silence was ringing in his ears. In his pocket, his wand danced between his fingertips.
The sound of another footstep triggered Harry to turn toward his follower, wand pointed forward.
“Stand down!”
Ahead, a short, hooded figure complied, pausing on command.
"Lower your wand,” Harry demanded.
The hooded figured complied and slowly laid a broken wand on the ground before raising its pale white hands in the air to remove threat.
Harry’s eyes twitched at the sight of the wand before deciding he couldn’t afford a distraction.
“Show yourself.”
No response was given. The mysterious follower remained still and silent.
“I won’t repeat myself,” Harry warned, walking toward the figure, wand locked forward.
The hooded figure remained still, hands in the air with a quick twitch of the fingers. In the blink of an eye, a light shined bight against Harry.
Harry stopped to shield his eyes. He tried to move out of the way, but felt a grasp on his ankles. He looked down, blinking rapidly to regain sight, he saw a shadow emerge from the ground, holding him still.
Looking ahead, the hooded figure drifted toward him slowly, pale hands reaching out.
Harry’s eyes shifted at shadow beneath him and the attacker closing in. With a quick reflex, he spiraled his wand and struck it forward.
“Expelliarmus!”
A blast released from his wand, knocking the attacker out of the air and removed the shining light. Harry felt his ankles free. Looking down, the shadow sunk back into the ground.
When he looked back up, the figure was gone. All of the dark magic presence had been removed. Harry walked the alley but could find no trace of his attacker. Whoever they were, they had escaped very quickly.
Harry caught his breath, heart rate returning to normal. Years of peace had now been disrupted. Once again, strong dark magic had posed a threat to the world. He didn’t know why this was happening now, or who it was.
The one thing he did know, beneath his feet was definitely the wand of Hagrid.