Harry Potter appeared in front of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the hidden headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. His body still hummed with the lingering magic from his battle, but now, back on familiar ground, he allowed himself to relax. The creaky door swung open as he approached, revealing the dimly lit hallway inside.
The members of the Order were waiting for him. Sirius Black stood near the staircase, his face filled with concern, while Remus Lupin leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. Albus Dumbledore sat at the head of the long dining table, his half-moon spectacles catching the light of the flickering candles. Molly Weasley bustled around in the kitchen, but paused to glance at Harry, her motherly worry etched across her face.
"Harry!" Sirius said, stepping forward to greet his godson with a strong hug. "Are you alright? We've been worried."
Harry smiled, patting Sirius on the back. "I'm fine. It went better than expected."
He made his way toward the center of the room, where all eyes were on him. The Order had become his extended family, and though he appreciated their concern, tonight, he felt stronger than ever. He glanced at Dumbledore, who gave him a slight nod.
"Report, if you will," Dumbledore said, his voice calm yet commanding.
Harry cleared his throat, his voice steady and confident. "The outpost was exactly where our intel suggested. There were about seventy-five Death Eaters in total, but none of them will be a threat anymore. I took them all down." His eyes flicked briefly to Sirius, whose proud grin couldn't be hidden.
"All of them?" Lupin asked, sounding incredulous.
"Yeah. I... well, let's just say I've figured out a few new things." Harry didn't elaborate. There was no need to discuss the Hallows yet, not here. That was a journey he'd take alone. "They were planning attacks in several locations—mostly smaller wizarding communities. I found a list of targets." Harry handed Dumbledore the parchment he had taken from the outpost. "We'll need to warn the Ministry and mobilize defenses. They were getting ready to move within the next two weeks."
Dumbledore's eyes scanned the list, his expression tightening ever so slightly. "You've done well, Harry. This will save countless lives. I will take this to the Minister myself tomorrow."
There was a moment of silence as the weight of Harry's words settled over the room. Then, Molly Weasley's voice broke through the tension.
"Well, that's enough talk of death and dark wizards for one night. Come on, everyone. Dinner's ready!"
The room shifted, and the atmosphere lightened as they made their way to the long dining table. Sirius clapped Harry on the back again as they sat down, muttering, "You're something else, you know that?"
Harry just smiled and took his seat, joining the others as the kitchen filled with the smell of roast chicken, potatoes, and Molly's famous treacle tart. For a while, it felt like a regular evening—laughter echoed off the walls, and the conversation turned to lighter topics: Quidditch, new spells, and Fred and George's latest prank.
But Harry's mind drifted back to the battle. He had tapped into something deep within him, something primordial. The Hallows were no longer objects he possessed—they were part of him. And he knew that the path he was on was growing ever darker, but there was no turning back now.
The next morning, Harry awoke to the gentle hum of chatter and movement around Grimmauld Place as the Order members prepared for another day of planning. But for Harry, it was time to return to Hogwarts. His fifth year was about to begin, and though his mind was occupied by larger ambitions, there was a strange comfort in the familiar rhythm of school life.
After a quick breakfast, Harry, along with his close friends and fellow Slytherins, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and Hermione Granger, made their way to King's Cross Station. The hustle and bustle of the platform greeted them, and the familiar sight of the scarlet Hogwarts Express puffing clouds of steam filled Harry with a sense of nostalgia.
"Ready for another year?" Tracey asked, nudging him with a playful grin.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Harry replied, though his thoughts were far from the ordinary school year ahead.
They boarded the train, making their way to a compartment near the back. The chatter of excited students filled the air, everyone eager to catch up after the summer break. As they settled into their seats, Harry glanced out the window, watching the scenery blur past as the train chugged its way toward Hogwarts.
"You know," Daphne said after a moment, "this is supposed to be the year of O.W.L.s, but with everything else going on, I feel like that's the least of our worries."
Hermione, ever the studious one, shot her a look. "Just because there's a war going on doesn't mean we can slack off. Our exams are still important."
Daphne rolled her eyes, but Harry chuckled. It was nice to hear Hermione so focused on academics—it was grounding in a way, reminding him that no matter how chaotic things got, some things never changed.
The rest of the train ride passed in a blur of conversation, snacks from the trolley, and the occasional visit from other students. Eventually, the looming silhouette of Hogwarts came into view, and Harry felt a familiar pang of anticipation. This year, however, things felt different. He wasn't just a student anymore—he was someone the world was watching closely. The Boy Who Lived had become something more.
The Sorting Ceremony passed quickly, and soon the Great Hall was filled with the buzz of excited students eager to begin the new term. As Harry sat at the Slytherin table with his friends, he couldn't help but notice the eyes on him—some filled with admiration, others with jealousy or curiosity.
After the feast, Dumbledore stood to address the students, his calm voice echoing through the hall. "This year will be a challenging one for many of you, but I encourage you to focus on your studies and look out for one another. Dark times may be ahead, but together, we will persevere."
Harry's mind, however, was already on the Order's next move. The mission to destroy the Death Eaters was ongoing, and he knew he would be called upon again soon. But for now, Hogwarts was home, and the safety of his friends was paramount.
Later that evening, Harry and his girls sat in the common room, enjoying the peace of the fire crackling in the hearth.
"Fifth year, huh?" Tracey mused, leaning back on the couch. "Feels like it's going to be a long one."
"Yeah," Harry said, though his mind was elsewhere, already planning his next move. He wouldn't let the darkness take over. He was Harry Potter—Master of Death, perhaps—but above all, he was still a protector. Of his friends. Of his world.
And nothing would stand in his way.
The fifth year had begun.