A cold nighttime rain mercilessly pounded the dark London streets. The only light came from the flickering windows of the skyscrapers, the cars winding their way through the maze of buildings, and the rhythmic glowing of the huge Ferris wheel overlooking the Thames. Even the stars were gone, blotted out by a combination of rain clouds and smog.

No one, it seemed, was outside at this hour, in this weather—no one, that is, except a dark-haired man in glasses with a jagged, lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. He sat under an umbrella at a table at a deserted café, poring over an abandoned newspaper, silently scanning it for something important. Squinting to read the paper in the dim light of the street lamps, he finally reached into his pocket and pulled out a wand. When he was absolutely sure no one was watching, he whispered, "Lumos." This man's name was Harry Potter, and he was a wizard.

Harry did not normally read muggle—non-magical people, in other words—newspapers, but his latest assignment as an employee of the British Ministry of Magic required this. Now having sufficient light to read the article by, he began to scan it for anything that might be useful for his current assignment for the Ministry, starting with the title:

Mysterious "Springheel Jack" Killer Still at Large
Citizens of London are advised to remain on high alert due to the activities of an unnamed serial killer who has already claimed seven victims. Photographs have been taken showing the man running and jumping on rooftops, and witnesses describe him blasting victims with jets of green light. Autopsies of these victims have revealed no identifiable cause of death consistent with a stabbing, gunshot wound, or other weapon such a murderer might be expected to have. Furthermore, all known victims have been young adults between the ages of 18 and 35.
"I'm utterly confounded. This is like nothing I've ever seen in my life," says Don Midas, a private detective who investigated several of these killings.
"I don't think there's anything in history that resembles this." London police chief Richard David Horowitz agrees, but cautions citizens to "stay optimistic. We've been through worse. Our grandparents and great-grandparents lived through the Blitz, after all, and that should show this man that we Londoners aren't so easily intimidated."
Citizens of London, meanwhile, have taken to calling the killer "Springheel Jack", after the popular Victorian folklore character. One particular photograph of him, taken by a 16-year-old girl named Jessica Marsh, has been widely circulated and even gone viral on social media. Needless to say, the families and loved ones of victims are most certainly not amused by attempts to capitalize on this tragedy and insist that the hunt for Springheel Jack should remain a matter of deadly seriousness.

Harry folded up the newspaper and stashed it in his pocket. He'd been an Auror—a dark wizard hunter—for the past ten years, and had had his hand in the arrests of more than a dozen of the most notorious magical criminals in Britain (not to mention his legendary defeat of Lord Voldemort at the age of 17). Compared to that, this particular assignment felt rather anticlimactic. He'd been assigned to track down a mysterious wizard or witch who had taken to stalking the rooftops of London by night, occasionally making their presence known by killing teenagers and young adults seemingly for sport.

The Muggle newspaper he'd read confirmed his worst fear: they had already become aware of their assailant. If he or she was ever arrested, they would likely be charged not only with murder but with violation of the Statute of Secrecy. Either one, of course, would be enough to land the suspect in Azkaban for life. And after that, they would be just another tally mark on his wand.

Soon, the rain began to stop and the oppressively thick clouds started to clear away. Once he was sure it wasn't raining anymore, Harry got up from his seat at the café table. As he did, he absently glanced up at the top of a nearby building.

Someone was standing on it, and somehow, instinctively, Harry knew it was the person he was looking for. He'd never actually seen this person before, but the sight of the lone figure crouched atop the roof was all the proof he needed. There were only so many people who would be doing that. "Stop right where you are," Harry called up to him. "If you do anything sudden. . ."

With a loud "pop", Harry apparated to the roof of the building, just a meter or so away from the man. ". . . you're going to regret it."

"Was that supposed to be some kind of threat?" the man said, turning around so Harry could see his face in full for the first time. He was in his late twenties, and had a thin, patchy beard and a worried-looking expression. "I know who you are. You're Harry Potter. You don't kill people. What am I supposed to be worried about, that you'll Expelliarmus me to death?"

Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it at the man, who began backing precariously towards the edge of the roof. "Very funny," Harry growled. "No, I won't kill you. But if you fall off that ledge. . . that's your fault. So if you know what's good for you, you'll tell me everything you know."

The man paused for a moment, then glared at Harry. "What's to tell? Why do you care so much anyway?" Harry pointed his wand into the man's face, and glared at him.

"Fine! I'll talk. It started at one of those big anti-statutist meetings, see. You know, the ones where-"

"The ones where people plan to expose the existence of the wizarding world by performing magic in full view of muggles?" Harry snapped. "Yeah, that checks out. If you were trying to shift the blame, make me go easy on you, it's not going to work." Harry took another step forward, and the man glanced downard and realized with a shock that he was only inches away from the ledge. "You've killed seven people, and by all means, I should kill you. But just remember, I don't kill. What I'll do is way worse than that."

The young man grinned in a way that caught Harry off-guard. "You say that, but how sure are you that you're really not just trying to make yourself feel better about punching down? Killer or not, you're part of the problem."

Harry wasn't moved. "Do you know what I think? You're a coward. If you really are who I think you are, you talk a big game about wanting to change society and reveal the wizarding world and all that, but you can't be bothered to go up against an opponent who might actually fight back."

At this, the man became incensed. "A coward? Stupe-" Before he could finish his spell, Harry had pulled out his wand and uttered one of his own.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry shouted. The young man froze as stiff as a board, and collapsed onto the roof. Harry stared at him for a moment, and turned to walk away. "Self-defense," he grumbled to himself.

The next day, back at the Ministry of Magic, Harry was reviewing the incident's case file in his office when he was struck in the face by a purple paper airplane. The Ministry used these as message carriers instead of owls, so as to keep the corridors free of droppings and pellets. Unfolding it, he read what was written inside, and let out a sigh of exasperation.

Harry—
I'm still working with the Department of Misinformation to formulate a plausible cover story for the deaths of the seven muggles Springheel Jack killed. And of course, being Muggle-born myself, I feel terrible for all of their friends and relatives. See me in my office, because I have something very important to discuss with you.
Just write a time on here that works for you.
-Minister of Magic Hermione Granger

"Typical Hermione," Harry mumbled to himself. "Always acting like she's got to look out for everybody, even after 21 years."

Harry retreated to his office, with was cluttered with stacks of paper and parchment detailing the whereabouts of various dark wizards and witches throughout Britain. When he had first expressed his desire to become an Auror, during his fifth year at Hogwarts, Harry had imagined it as an exciting, glamorous job. And perhaps it had been, back when the Death Eaters were still running loose. But nowadays, it felt as though he spent more time in his office processing reports of dark magic activity than he did actually seeking it out.

One of the scrolls lying half-open on his desk contained a list of such reports. In 2009, a glowing spiral had appeared in the sky over Norway and was seen by thousands of Muggles. It threatened to be one of the biggest secrecy breaches in the history of the Wizarding community, but fortunately the Norwegian Ministry of Magic was able to "explain" it as a failed Russian missile test. In 2014, a Malaysian passenger plane had disappeared without a trace over the Indian Ocean, along with over 200 people on board. And now, in 2021, the killer known as Springheel Jack had terrorized London.

To be sure, the Statute of Secrecy that kept the activities of the magical world separate from the non-magical world (with a handful of specific exceptions, such as heads of government and family members of muggle-born wizards) was still in place, but violations were becoming more and more frequent. Muggles now carried tiny handheld cameras with them wherever they went. Anything unusual, no matter how brief or how small, could be caught on camera.

Harry thought back to the time he had accidentally caused the glass on a boa constrictor enclosure at the London Zoo to disappear. He and the Dursleys were the among the few people present. If that had happened more recently, it would have been captured by dozens of Muggles' phones and cameras, and watched on the Internet millions of times. It would have been a nightmare for the Ministry to cover up.

As he sat down to begin his work, another purple paper airplane landed on his desk. He anticipated another interdepartmental letter in it, but when he opened it, he saw something he didn't expect.

Mr. Potter—
We would like to request that you give a special presentation on Horcruxes at tomorrow's Defense Against the Dark Arts class for Professor Lumina. The students are looking forward to seeing you.
Yours truly,
Minerva McGonnogall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The letter was signed with the Hogwarts seal, and as usual Professor McGonnogall's writing was terse and brief. Harry had known in the back of his mind that this day had been coming sooner or later. Horcruxes were a very new subject at Hogwarts, and it hadn't been without controversy that they were added to the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum. But the fact that Voldemort had used them—one of which had been Harry himself—had convinced McGonnogall that students needed to learn how to recognize and destroy Horcruxes.
It struck Harry as somewhat silly. After all, with Voldemort gone for good, there seemed no need to be on the lookout for Horcruxes. Then again, he thought, one could never be too careful.