Prologue
The story was not over.
Wizards across the countryside raised their goblets of wine and mead, and loudly toasted the name of the Boy Who Lived, in honor of the unbelievable event that had occurred.
He had done it.
The unthinkable.
Harry Potter had defeated Lord Voldemort once and for all.
As word spread like fire throughout the hearts of wizards everywhere, realization hit like a stampede of mountain trolls. They were free at last from the tyranny of the legendary Dark Wizard.
To all, it seemed that Harry Potter and his friends had finally beaten the darkness into a mere shadow of its former power.
But the shadows are hungry.
They never rest. They are relentless.
For they know the truth – that with every dawn, with every sunrise – there must come a dusk, and soon afterwards, a night. A cold, dark night where light dwindles to mere specks.
The shadows are patient. Coiling, tensing, and plotting at the farthest reaches of the light.
Waiting.
For when that cold night does descend – and it will, despite all that Harry Potter has done and will do – the maw of darkness will sweep across the land, all of its awful power directed at extinguishing that everlasting flame, hope.
But until then . . . it can only watch. Observe.
Voldemort was only one tool to implement its schemes. One tool amongst many.
Harry Potter – and his friends – are in grave danger.
The balance of light and dark is about to tip once more in the never-ending war of good and evil.
The story is not over.