The sky above Diagon Alley was a washed-out grey, heavy with clouds and tension. What was once the bustling heart of magical Britain now felt like a graveyard — quiet, hollow, echoing with fear instead of laughter.
Harry stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron first, cloak shifting like a shadow behind him. Neville and Hermione followed close, each carrying their Hogwarts letters and booklists.
But the moment they crossed into Diagon Alley…
All three stopped.
Hermione whispered, "Merlin… it's empty."
Neville swallowed hard. "I've never seen it like this."
It was true.
Only few shops had their doors open. The rest were shuttered, locked, or boarded from the inside. Windows were reinforced. Signs hung crooked, some graffitied with warnings:
STAY INSIDE
DEATH EATERS RETURN
A witch rushed by clutching two toddlers, eyes darting at every sound.
A group of elderly wizards hurried into Gringotts without speaking.
Even the goblins looked tense.
Hermione whispered, "Harry… the attacks changed everything."
Harry didn't hesitate. "No. The attacks didn't change them. They were always like this."
Neville blinked. "Like what?"
Harry stepped forward, boots echoing sharply on the cobblestones.
"Cowards."
Hermione flinched. "Harry—"
"No, Hermione." Harry turned, eyes blazing and voice deadly calm. "Fifty people fled from ten cloaked idiots firing random spells."
Neville raised a hand. "To be fair… they were Death Eaters—"
"They were insects," Harry cut in coldly. "And this whole country ran like mice before them."
Hermione opened her mouth, but Harry continued — quieter, sharper.
"This is why Voldemort rose the first time. This is why he'll rise again. Because this country doesn't fight. It hides. It trembles. It waits for someone else to stand up first."
Neville looked down. "People are scared, Harry."
Harry scoffed. "They're always scared.
They'll try to make someone a hero when they need them…
Then spit on them the moment life gets easy again."
Hermione touched his arm gently. "Harry… you're hurting."
Harry stared down at her hand… then gently pulled away.
"I'm not hurt. I'm disgusted."
The wind hissed through the empty street, lifting stray pieces of parchment and scattering them.
The three walked into the only bookshop open, and even the bell above the door sounded timid.
Madam Prince looked up with wide, terrified eyes — then sighed in relief. "Oh, thank Merlin, it's just children."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Just children?"
She flushed and wrung her hands. "I—I meant… I didn't want more… attacks…"
Hermione stepped forward. "We only need our textbooks."
Neville added, "And potion supplies."
As Madam Prince gathered books, she kept glancing at the window like she expected masked killers to burst in any second.
Neville whispered, "She's terrified."
Harry didn't even bother whispering. "She's pathetic."
Hermione glared softly. "Harry!"
But Madam Prince pretended she didn't hear.
The Icecream shop remained closed. A sign read:
Closed until further notice — safety concerns.
Harry snorted. "Cowards, all of them."
Neville muttered, "Harry…"
"I'm done pretending these people are brave," Harry said. "Britain expects heroes… but runs at the first sign of trouble."
Hermione softened. "But you came, Harry."
"Yes," Harry replied without hesitation. "Because unlike them… I don't run."
Neville nodded, voice quiet. "Yeah. That's why they're scared of you too."
Harry smirked. "Good."
Inside, the shopkeeper trembled so badly he spilled half a jar of lacewing flies.
Neville winced and helped him pick it up.
The man whispered, "Please shop quickly. Please. I close early today… I can't stay after dark…"
Harry watched him with cool eyes. "If ten cowards can terrify the entire magical shopping district… then Britain deserves every fear it gets."
Hermione hissed quietly, "Harry! That's cruel!"
Harry shrugged. "True things usually are."
Neville sighed. "You think Voldemort's coming back."
Harry looked at him — a long, steady stare.
"I think he's weak. I think he's hiding. And I think he will crawl back eventually."
Hermione whispered, "You really believe that?"
Harry's voice turned cold, certain, sharp.
"I know fear when I see it. Voldemort's people are testing the waters. And this?" — he gestured to the empty alley — "This tells them everything they need."
Neville whispered, "That Britain is frightened."
Harry's eyes darkened. "That Britain is ripe."
The three walked toward the Leaky Cauldron, bags in hand, silence heavy around them. The silence of the street was broken only by the echo of their footsteps.
But just as they turned the final corner—
Two figures stepped into their path.
Draco Malfoy and his father.
Draco held a shiny new trunk, polished so aggressively it practically glowed. He must have been shopping too.
Draco's pale face twisted into a smirk the moment he saw them.
"Granger," Draco drawled loudly, his cold grey eyes lingering on Hermione with disgusting delight. "You really ought to stay home now. The wizarding world isn't safe for your kind. There are people out there who'd love to get their hands on a Mudblood."
Hermione stiffened. The word struck like a slap, but before she could reply—
Crack.
Lucius Malfoy slapped Draco lightly on the back of the head.
"That's enough," Lucius said in a tone that carried a warning. "Don't terrorize children, Draco."
Draco grumbled but fell silent.
Harry stepped forward then — quiet, slow, and deadly calm.
Lucius instinctively placed a hand on his cane, as if the serpent-headed handle could protect him.
Harry locked eyes with him, voice flat as steel.
"I know quite well who escaped Azkaban last time," Harry said softly. "All the cowards who claimed Imperius. All the ones who lied their way out of justice."
Lucius' jaw tightened.
Harry continued, coming one step closer.
"But listen to me very carefully, Mr. Malfoy."
Hermione and Neville held their breath.
"If any Death Eaters come after Hermione…
Or Neville…
Or anyone I care about…"
He leaned in, voice dropping into a tone colder than ice.
"I won't show mercy."
Lucius swallowed.
His eyes darkened to something inhuman.
"I will simply kill them."
The air turned thick — oppressive.
"And then," Harry added with a quiet, razor-sharp smile,
"I'll deal with whatever the Ministry thinks afterwards."
Hermione's hand trembled.
Neville stared wide-eyed.
But Lucius Malfoy?
He went pale.
Harry took another step, his presence pressing against them like a tidal wave.
"And one more thing, Mr. Malfoy…"
Lucius froze.
"Make sure you never come at me wearing a mask and a cloak."
His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut deeper than any shout.
"Because if you stand in front of me as a Death Eater…"
Harry leaned close enough for Lucius to feel his breath.
"You will not see the next sunrise."
Draco stared at Harry like he was looking at a monster that had just woken up.
Lucius grabbed Draco's arm—hard—and yanked him backward.
"We're leaving," Lucius said sharply, voice shaking despite his attempts at composure.
The Malfoys turned and hurried away, nearly tripping over themselves in their rush to escape.
Hermione finally breathed out.
Neville whispered, voice shaky, "Harry… you sounded like… like someone out of a nightmare."
Harry didn't look at them. His eyes remained focused on the direction the Malfoys had fled.
"I meant every word," he said quietly.
And the three of them stepped into the Leaky Cauldron —
while somewhere behind them, Draco Malfoy kept glancing over his shoulder,
as if terrified Harry might still be watching.
The attack happened on a quiet, windless night.
Hermione Granger was standing at the kitchen counter, helping her mother chop vegetables for dinner. Her father sat at the small round table, glasses perched on his nose, flipping through a newspaper. It was peaceful. Too peaceful.
Then the temperature plummeted.
Hermione's breath fogged in the air.
The kitchen window frosted over in seconds, ice crawling across the glass like living fingers.
Her mother gasped.
Her father pushed back his chair, startled.
Hermione's eyes widened with dread.
"No… not here…"
Two dark shapes glided past the window — tall, hooded, skeletal.
Dementors. In their garden.
Her mother screamed.
Her father froze, knuckles white around the edge of the table.
Hermione didn't hesitate.
Her wand was out in an instant, arm trembling but steady.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
A blinding silver otter erupted from her wand, bursting through the kitchen window in a flash of light. It streaked across the garden, smashing into the Dementors with a furious cry. The creatures recoiled, twisting away before slipping back into the night.
For a heartbeat, silence filled the room.
Then the protection alarms triggered.
Mrs. Granger clutched her chest.
Her father stood, shaking.
Hermione held her wand like a lifeline.
And then she remembered.
The law.
"Oh no… they'll think it was underage magic—"
She snatched the enchanted mirror from her pocket with shaking hands.
"Harry—Harry, answer—please answer—"
His face appeared instantly.
"Hermione? What happened?"
"Dementors," she whispered. "They attacked my house. I used a Patronus. The Ministry knows—they'll send Aurors—"
Harry's expression darkened into something sharp, lethal.
"I'm coming."
The glass went dead.
The crack of Apparition echoed outside only minutes later.
Hermione flung open the front door.
Harry strode toward the house, his cloak whipping behind him like a shadow. His eyes glowed with fury — the kind of fury that made the air itself seem to recoil.
"Inside," he said.
Hermione didn't argue. Her parents followed, terrified.
But the second crack sounded before they could shut the door.
Three Aurors appeared at the end of the street.
They marched toward the house with wands drawn.
"Hermione Granger is ordered to surrender herself for unauthorized—"
Harry stepped onto the porch.
"No."
The Aurors faltered.
"This is Ministry business," the lead Auror barked. "Stand aside—"
Harry raised his hand.
Not his wand — his hand.
The air rippled, vibrating with an invisible force.
"Try," he said quietly, "to take her."
A streetlamp bent sideways as if struck by a giant, unseen hammer.
The Aurors paled.
One whispered, "Is he… doing wandless magic—?"
Another muttered, "That wasn't wandless. That looked like—like—"
Harry took a single step forward.
"You will leave," he said, voice like winter steel, "and you will not return."
The force in the air pulsed — a silent threat promising absolute destruction.
The Aurors exchanged glances—fear winning over their orders.
With three sharp cracks, they vanished.
Harry shut the door and turned to Hermione's stunned parents.
"Pack only essentials. Quickly. All of you."
"They—they tried to arrest our daughter," Mrs. Granger whispered, trembling.
Mr. Granger clutched Hermione's shoulder. "Are we criminals now?"
"No," Harry said. "You're targets."
He raised a shimmering silver coin between two fingers.
"Touch it."
The Grangers obeyed.
Hermione grabbed his arm.
And with a swirl of blue light, the four of them vanished—
—to land inside the hallway of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Winky came rushing.
"Master Harry! Dobby prepared the bedrooms!"
Hermione barely noticed. She turned and threw her arms around Harry in a tight, shaking hug.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Harry didn't hug back — he never did — but he let her stay there for a moment.
When she pulled away, he finally spoke.
"They weren't after you," he said quietly. "They were after me."
Hermione frowned. "What?"
"The Ministry can't touch me," Harry said. "Not now. Not as a Swedish citizen."
His eyes hardened.
"So they went after the next easiest target. My friends."
Hermione's face went pale.
"But don't worry," he said, voice low, cold, and resolute.
"They've made their move."
His eyes glowed faintly — the same shade as when he used the Force.
"Now it's my turn."
The day after the attack was unsettlingly quiet.
Hermione tried reading.
Mr. Granger tried listening the wizarding wireless.
Mrs. Granger tried cleaning the already spotless guest room Sirius had once used.
But every hour, every minute, they all kept glancing at the dark windows of Grimmauld Place — as if something terrible might appear at any moment.
Harry sat in the living room in meditative silence, his arms folded across his chest, his presence radiating a cold tension that made even Dobby move quietly.
Then—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
An owl slammed into the window with such force that Hermione jumped. A heavy scroll sealed with the golden crest of the Ministry of Magic dangled from its leg.
Harry's eyes narrowed.
"Give it here," he said.
Hermione untied the scroll with trembling hands. When she opened it, her eyes widened in horror.
"H-Harry…"
He took the parchment from her fingers.
As he read, his expression did not change, but the air around him did — thickening, darkening, as if the shadows themselves tightened.
S U M M O N S
Hermione Jean Granger,
You are hereby called to appear before the …
Wizengamot Court of Magical Law
… to answer for charges of
UNAUTHORIZED UNDERAGE MAGIC
and MUGGLE EXPOSURE OF A HIGH LEVEL SPELL
Date: In one week
Failure to appear will result in immediate forfeiture of wand and magical rights.
Hermione's breath hitched.
"They—they're actually doing it," she whispered. "They're actually putting me on trial?"
Mr. Granger stepped forward, furious. "This is absurd! She just defended herself!"
Mrs. Granger's voice shook. "Is this how your government treats children?"
Harry rolled the scroll shut, his jaw clenched so tight it trembled.
"Of course it is," he said quietly. "You're a Muggleborn. That's all they see."
Hermione swallowed hard. "But… I didn't do anything wrong. There were Dementors!"
Harry looked at her slowly.
"You expect the Wizengamot to care?"
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Neville stood in the doorway, face pale. "My gran says no Muggleborn has ever beaten the Wizengamot in a case like this. Not one."
Hermione turned away, trying to hide the tears that burned in her eyes.
Harry stepped toward her.
"Hermione," he said sharply.
She forced herself to look at him.
"You will go to that trial. Because if you don't, they'll brand you a criminal for life."
His voice softened just slightly.
"But you will not go alone."
Hermione shook her head. "Harry… you can't. You're a Swedish citizen now. You have no standing in the Ministry. You could make it worse."
Harry's mouth curved into a cold, humorless smile.
"I don't need standing," he said. "I need presence."
Hermione's parents exchanged nervous looks.
Harry turned toward them.
"You're staying here," he said. "Grimmauld Place is protected by some of the strongest wards in Europe. You will be safe."
Mrs. Granger hesitated. "What about Sirius? Shouldn't he know—?"
"No."
Harry's tone left no room for argument.
"I won't drag Sirius into this. The Ministry already hates him. If he steps foot in that courtroom, they'll twist it against Hermione."
He handed the parchment back to her.
"You are not alone," he said again. "I will handle this."
The shadows seemed to lean toward him, recognizing the promise of something dark.
Hermione nodded, wiping her tears.
"Thank you, Harry."
He didn't respond.
He simply turned away, hands clasped behind his back, steps echoing down the corridor like the footsteps of someone walking into battle.
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