Summary: Five years after Voldemort's defeat, our heroes have rebuilt the wizarding world. Hermione assumes her role as the newly appointed Deputy Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department. Ron begins to grow disillusioned with his work. Harry is under pressure to reform the Auror Department while also preparing for fatherhood. With Ron and Hermione's upcoming wedding and the birth of Harry's first child nearing, it seems as if the saviors of the wizarding world have finally gotten their happily ever after. But when old enemies return, the line between right and wrong blurs, and our heroes have to make a choice: can they move past their own trauma to protect the fragile peace they have built? Meanwhile, a dark force grows, threatening to destroy everything our heroes cherish. R/HR, H/G. Light angst with a happy ending. Not compliant with The Cursed Child.
PROLOGUE
On a particularly blustery Welsh evening, Theodore Harding ducked into a local pub on his way home from work to escape the rain. It was Friday, and he had spent all week at the Aberaeron branch of First Bank of Wales, where he worked as the only male teller among a group of gossiping women. In such a small town, they rarely saw more than three customers in a day, giving his coworkers plenty of time to trade theories about everyone in the whole of Great Britain, both with whom they were acquainted and who they'd never set eyes on. Their latest favorite was whether or not Prince William was seeing Kate Middleton, his on-and-off again girlfriend. Theodore despised how much he knew about their relationship, and vowed every Friday to find a different job. Preferably one where he had his own office and could work in blissful silence. Typically by Monday morning, the sheer amount of alcohol he ingested paired with the cricket he watched over the weekend had cleansed his mind of this notion, and he went to work every week with an unusual amount of optimism. He had continued in this cycle for the past six years and it showed no sign of stopping now.
Because it was Friday evening and therefore he was at his most disgruntled, he didn't notice that he'd ducked into a bar he'd never frequented before. Situated between a laundromat and a chippy, the nondescript building bore a sign called The Witch's Brew. Inside, there were people dressed in all sort of bizarre manner: a man wearing knee socks over his trousers, a woman sporting an open parasol paired with a swimming costume, and several people had sticks jammed in their back pockets. Theodore, too depressed with the state of his life, paid no attention and sat at the bar.
"What have you got on tap?" he asked the young man behind the bar, who he noticed wore a shirt that had a picture of a flying pig on it. Now well into his forties, Theodore couldn't keep up with the latest pop bands, but he wondered if this was the mascot of one of them.
"You know, beer?" The barkeep nodded.
"Oh, right." Instead of producing a list of beers, he disappeared. Theodore sighed.
Two men beside Theodore spoke in low whispers, disguised by the loud din of voices.
"She knows of things the Dark Lord has only dreamed of," the heavyset one closest to Theodore said. His companion shook his head.
"You've led me astray before, Flint."
"She continues his legacy, everything we've fought for, but she is even more powerful," the man called Flint said.
"No one is as powerful as the Dark Lord," he disagreed.
"Then how do you explain Harry Potter?" His companion was silent.
"I'm telling you," Flint continued. "You won't believe the things she can do. You'll see for yourself tonight."
The barkeep returned with a pint of beer even though Theodore hadn't ordered. Unwilling to muster the energy to be properly annoyed, he simply took a drink. It had a dense flavor, with the pleasant aftertaste of ginger. He took another long gulp.
"-don't know how a fairy queen plans to lead all of wizardkind especially after we've been turned out to hide in the shadows," the companion griped. "The ministry is stronger than ever. And worse, Potter is more powerful than ever."
"All will be revealed tonight," Flint said mysteriously. "Potter is nothing compared to the Enchantress. She knows his power."
"The Dark Lord knew his power too," his companion argued.
"He knew of his power. He didn't understand it. He didn't respect it. She does. Harry Potter's power was made from the magic she possesses, the weapon she wields. She can defeat him." Flint sounded so sure of himself that the other man didn't respond for several long moments.
"Alright," he finally said. "I'll come." After a pause, he continued.
"Did we really have to meet here, of all places?" His voice was filled with distaste. Flint sighed.
"Hiding in plain sight is the safest option. Everywhere's crawling with Aurors these days."
"But muggle night? As if it's some kind of fantasy and not a disgrace to wizardkind. These filth don't deserve wands." Flint made a noise of agreement, but said nothing.
The two men abandoned their half full pint glasses, pulling on long black capes. Satiated by the ginger beer, Theodore did a double-take at their attire. Suddenly, he realized he was surrounded by people in strange costumes. Was this some kind of themed pub? Like a biker bar or a gay club? Or worse–one of those sex dungeons he had heard about on the telly?
Suddenly desperate for the safety of his flat and his girlfriend's bland cooking, he scrambled off the barstool and left a crumpled fiver by his abandoned glass. He was already out the door when the barkeep glanced at the foreign note and cried, "Oi! That's seven sickles!"
After a weekend filled with boxed wine and cricket, Theodore had completely forgotten the mad pub he'd wandered into until the following Friday. As dejected as he had felt the week before, he suddenly remembered the bar with the excellent ginger beer. Though he was slightly intimidated by the bizarre characters he'd seen, his curiosity and desire for a drink won out. Yet this time, Theodore could find no pub. Not on the block he was sure it had been on and in fact, not on his walk home at all. He repeated his commute three times, determined now to prove his sanity, with no luck. With a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, he stopped in front of the laundromat three blocks from his building. It was a nondescript, slightly dinghy building, with a chip shop he frequented on one side and a maternity boutique on the other. Sure he was going insane, he shook his head and went home, vowing to stop drinking first thing Monday morning. Or at least quit his job.
