The Hut on the rock. Years ago, Harry Potter and the Dursley's had hidden there to get away from the Hogwart's letters beckoning Harry to come to the finest School of witchcraft and wizardry. but now, 60 years later, as Harry stood at the bottom of the path, it looked different. The hut was leaning slightly, and part of the roof was gone. Harry carefully stepped onto the rickety path, if you could call it a path. Harry wondered why some of the most powerful wizards couldn't live in mansions on solid ground, instead of leaky huts that swayed. He put his wand into his pocket, knowing that the hut was enchanted, so that he could do anything so big as changing it into a mansion on solid ground. He stumbled along the path, promising himself that he would never leave because of this path. When he reached the hut, he sat down on a chair, for though he was a very good wizard, he was still very old. He was just falling asleep when, PLOP! A big drop of water landed on his nose. A big snowy owl landed on his shoulder. It was Hedwig, and since she was white, you couldn't tell, but she was old, too. He greeted her, though grumbling, and got up. He walked over to the fireplace, muttered a few spells, and soon had a cheery fire going. He hung up his wizards hat up on the rack, and from there you could see, through his wispy white hair, the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. It was a token from the dark times, when you-know-who reigned. But those times were over, since Harry's last year at Hogwarts, when he had trapped Voldemort in a portrait on the third floor corridor. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. He jerked it open and a red haired person toppled in on top of him. It was Ron Weasley, who had been Harry's best friend at Hogwarts. Harry didn't know what to say. So he didn't say anything. They just stood there and looked at each other. Ron hadn't changed one jot. Harry helped him up. He had him sit down in a chair, studying him thoughtfully. "Why are you here?" He asked at length. Ron shrugged, but suspiciously looked around the room, wondering how Harry could get along with so little magic. for he remembered having a detention long ago, having to shine Tom Riddle trophy by hand. "So....is it, nice living here?" Ron asked. "Not really, I can't use much magic." But he was fingering something in his pocket, which Ron guessed was his wand, and he glanced at the fire, which was tinged with blue. Ron produced a newspaper from the folds of his cloak, and gave it to Harry. Hermione was on the front page. She had won the Nobel Wizard's prize for being the most talented witch of the century. Harry chuckled. "It's what she's always wanted." Ron agreed. "She would have come to see you herself, but she.....got tied up with some fans, and she's signing autographs." They laughed.