The next morning, sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Potter Manor as James and Hermione made their way to the hidden library while Sirius and Remus still slept. The weight of the Cloak, carefully folded in James's arms, felt heavier than usual, though it was likely just the anticipation of what they might discover.

The hidden library was a marvel in itself, tucked behind an enchanted panel that opened only when the Potter family head or heir uttered a specific incantation. As the panel slid aside, revealing rows upon rows of ancient tomes, Hermione couldn't help but still marvel at the collection, even though she had been here before during the previous two summers. Many of the books had heavy locks or glowing runes, signalling the protections woven into them.

"Alright," James said, placing the Cloak on a nearby table. "Let's start with these." He gestured to a small, distinct section of the library—the Potter family grimoires, more specifically the ones inherited from the Peverell side of the family. Their spines shimmered faintly, their titles written in an elegant but unfamiliar script. "These are the ones that can only be opened if someone is wearing the Cloak."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "You're absolutely sure about this?"

"Positive," James said, grinning as he slipped the Cloak over his shoulders. "Watch."

He picked up the nearest grimoire, its cover a deep, worn black with silver inlay. With the Cloak draped over him, the lock clicked open effortlessly. Without the Cloak, it had been impenetrable. He handed the book to Hermione, who immediately began flipping through its pages.

The parchment was filled with handwritten notes, diagrams, and what appeared to be a genealogical map of the Peverell family. Hermione's eyes widened as she skimmed through the entries.

"James, look at this," she said, pointing to a passage on the second page. "'The Peverell Legacy: Artefacts forged from the Veil's essence.'"

James leaned over her shoulder, his hazel eyes scanning the words. "The Veil?"

Hermione nodded, her brow furrowing. "According to this, the Peverells didn't just receive the Hallows. They crafted them from something called the Veil—some sort of magical boundary or gateway. Listen to this: 'The Resurrection Stone was carved from a rock of the Veil's archway. The Cloak of Invisibility was woven from its fabric, imbued with the power to conceal from mortal sight. The Elder Wand, its core made from thestral hair, the creatures said to originate from beyond the Veil.'"

James frowned. "The Veil... Could it be connected to the Ministry of Magic? It mentions the Department of Mysteries here." He pointed to a later passage. "'The Veil's location became the foundation upon which the Department of Mysteries—and later the Ministry itself—was built.'"

Hermione's frown deepened as she reread the passage. "That would make sense. If this Veil was so significant that it influenced the creation of the Ministry, it must be extraordinarily powerful. But what is it? A gateway to somewhere? If thestrals are from beyond it."

"No clue," James said, sitting back with a thoughtful expression. "If it's in the Department of Mysteries, it's probably something they keep hidden from the public. My parents never mentioned anything about it."

Hermione flipped through more pages, her scepticism apparent. "Even if the Veil was the source of these items, I still don't think they're what the legend claims. 'Master of Death'—it's such a fantastical notion. These artefacts might be powerful, but I doubt they're capable of defying the natural order."

James leaned his elbows on the table, watching her closely. "You don't think there's any truth to the legend?"

Hermione hesitated, her fingers brushing the edge of the parchment. "I think people love to exaggerate. The Hallows were probably meant to be tools, not some key to immortality. People die, James. Not even magic can change that. At least, it cannot reverse it. Might stave it off, even indefinitely. But not reverse it."

James looked down, the weight of her words settling heavily between them. After a moment, he said softly, "But Lily... Whatever she did—whatever protection she left on Harry—was something extraordinary. Didn't you say you wanted to figure out what it was that she did in that other timeline?"

Hermione sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I did. I do. But I don't think it has anything to do with these artefacts. You didn't even have your Cloak at the time of your death—you'd lent it to Dumbledore, remember?"

James blinked, a sudden realisation dawning on him. "That's it."

"What's it?" Hermione asked, startled by his tone.

"Dumbledore," James said, sitting up straight. "He was interested in the Cloak because it's one of the Hallows. That's why he borrowed it. Then only gave back to Harry once he was at Hogwarts."

Hermione stared at him, her mind racing. "You think he knew about the Hallows? About their true nature?"

"I do," James said firmly. "And if Dumbledore thought it was worth studying, maybe there's more to them than we realise. Maybe they can help us survive Voldemort. Maybe it was just rotten luck I didn't have the Cloak when Voldemort came knocking."

Hermione bit her lip, her scepticism still apparent. "It's worth looking into, but I don't think the Hallows are the key to defeating him. There's a reason Voldemort fears death, James—not artefacts. I mean in French his pseudonym literally means 'flight from death.'"

James's hazel eyes softened as he reached for her hand. "Then we'll figure out both. The Hallows and whatever Lily discovered. Maybe they're connected, maybe they're not—but we owe it to ourselves to find out."

Hermione nodded, her resolve hardening. "I'll keep searching the other grimoires. There has to be something in here that will hint at what Lily did in the other timeline."

James squeezed her hand, a small smile tugging at his lips. "And in the meantime, let's see what else these books have to say about the Hallows. If they're even half as powerful as the legends claim, we'll need to understand them completely."

They turned back to the grimoire together, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows over the pages. Each discovery brought more questions than answers, but for now, they were ready to face them—together.

The morning of the New Year's Ball began peacefully enough at Potter Manor. Snow dusted the grounds outside, and the crackle of the fireplace in James's room added a cosy warmth to the crisp winter air. However, that peace shattered when Hermione, standing before the mirror in her mauve dress robes, let out an exasperated groan.

She fumbled with the clasps at the back, her arms awkwardly twisted, her cheeks flushed with effort and irritation. "This can't be happening," she muttered, glaring at her reflection. "They fastened fine last year!"

James, lounging on the bed with a book he wasn't actually reading, glanced up at her commotion. "What's going on?"

Hermione turned to him, arms crossed over her chest—though that only emphasised her predicament. "What's going on," she said, her tone clipped, "is that I can't get these blasted clasps to close."

James set the book aside and swung his legs off the bed. "What do you mean they won't close? Did the house-elves shrink them?"

"No," Hermione huffed, shooting him a glare. "They didn't shrink. I just... apparently, I've grown."

James tilted his head, taking in the situation. "Doesn't look like you've grown to me."

"Not in height, James," Hermione said, her tone sharp as her hands gestured vaguely to her chest. "My... my chest." She grabbed the lavender robes hanging over a chair. "And these don't have fastenings, but they won't pull down properly anymore. They just... get stuck." She tossed them onto the bed in frustration.

James blinked, processing this, before his lips twitched into a poorly disguised grin. "Ah. I see."

"Don't you dare laugh," Hermione warned, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"I'm not laughing!" he insisted, though the sparkle in his hazel eyes betrayed him. He stepped behind her, his hands brushing hers gently as he attempted the clasps on the mauve robes. "Let me try."

"It's not going to work," Hermione grumbled, but she allowed him to give it a go.

James tugged carefully, but the clasps wouldn't meet. He didn't force them. Instead, he straightened and said lightly, "Well, it's a good thing we're not stuck in the middle of nowhere. Why don't we go into the village or Diagon Alley and get you something new? Something that actually fits."

Hermione spun around, her expression horrified. "You want to go shopping? Today?"

"Why not?" James shrugged, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. "You deserve to feel amazing tonight, and if that means buying new dress robes, then let's go. We've got all morning."

Hermione's glare deepened, though it lacked any real venom. "You just want an excuse to spoil me."

James grinned unapologetically. "Guilty as charged. Come on, you know it'll be fun."

She groaned but didn't protest further, knowing full well that James would insist until she gave in. "Fine. But we're getting something practical."

"Practical?" James scoffed. "Love, we're going to a ball, not a Ministry meeting. You're getting something stunning."

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't fight the small smile tugging at her lips. "Just don't let me regret this."

"You won't," James promised, grabbing his coat. "Now, let's go. There's a perfect dress out there waiting for you, and I'm not stopping until we find it."

Despite her initial reluctance, Hermione found herself laughing softly as they headed out, James's enthusiasm proving infectious. He might have been insufferable, but he always knew how to make her feel like the most important person in the world.

Diagon Alley was a stark contrast to the festive atmosphere Hermione and James had left behind at Potter Manor. The cobbled streets were quieter than usual, the usual bustling energy replaced with a sense of urgency. Shoppers moved quickly, heads down, their eyes darting around warily as if expecting danger to spring from the shadows. The signs of war were unmistakable, a heavy presence that seemed to hang in the air.

As they made their way down the alley, James instinctively moved closer to Hermione, his hand resting lightly on her back in a protective gesture. She glanced up at him, offering a small smile, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed her unease.

"Madam Malkin's is closed," James noted as they passed the familiar shopfront, the windows dark and the sign flipped to "Closed for the Holidays."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose that's to be expected. It's not exactly a time for leisurely shopping."

"Good thing Twilfitt and Tattings is open," James said, nodding toward the more upscale wizarding wear shop just ahead. Its elegant, wrought-iron sign gleamed, and the faint light spilling from the windows was inviting compared to the dreariness outside.

Inside, the atmosphere was a welcome reprieve from the grimness of the alley. The shop was warm, filled with the soft hum of activity as well-dressed witches and wizards browsed the racks, clearly preparing for the same kind of high-society events James and Hermione were attending.

"Feels strange, doesn't it?" Hermione murmured as they began to look through the selection. "All of this... normalcy, while everything outside feels anything but."

James nodded, his expression sobering. "Yeah. But it's good to have moments like this. Keeps things... balanced."

They turned their attention to the racks, Hermione running her fingers over the luxurious fabrics. After a few minutes, she let out a small laugh, glancing at James. "You know, this is becoming a bit of a tradition."

"What is?" he asked, grinning.

"You buying me dress robes," Hermione said with a smirk. "We did the same thing last year, remember?"

James chuckled. "Well, I do have excellent taste."

"Debatable," Hermione teased, though her tone was light.

After a bit of browsing, Hermione stopped in front of a stunning periwinkle robe. The structured bodice hugged the mannequin elegantly, and the sheer, flowing long sleeves added a touch of softness. She held it up against herself, tilting her head as she assessed it in the mirror.

"What do you think?" she asked, glancing at James.

"I think… it's worth trying on," he said with a small smile. His tone was warm but measured, as if he were trying not to be too obvious in his enthusiasm.

Hermione rolled her eyes but carried the robes to the dressing room. "Wait here. And try not to find something to embarrass me with."

"No promises," James called after her, leaning casually against a nearby rack.

When Hermione stepped out of the dressing room a few moments later, smoothing down the robes nervously, James's casual stance shifted immediately. His hazel eyes lit up as he took her in, his mouth curving into a slow grin.

"What do you think?" she asked.

James didn't answer right away, his hazel eyes fixed on her with an expression that was somewhere between admiration and mischief. "I think... we're getting it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "That was quick. Why this one?"

"You look…" he began, pausing for effect. "Incredible."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the dramatic delivery but couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. "Flatterer."

"No, really," James said, stepping closer, his gaze dropping briefly to the fitted bodice before flicking back up to her face. His grin turned roguish as he leaned closer, lowering his voice. "It's perfect. Really brings out your—" he gestured vaguely toward her chest, "—assets."

Hermione's face turned red, and she smacked his arm lightly. "James Potter! You're impossible."

He laughed, catching her hand before she could swat him again. "I'm just being honest. You look amazing."

Hermione shook her head, muttering under her breath as she turned back toward the dressing room. "You're lucky I like you."

James called after her, still grinning. "And you're lucky I've got excellent taste!"

Despite herself, Hermione laughed softly as she disappeared back into the dressing room. By the time they made their way to the counter to pay, the warm atmosphere between them felt like a reprieve from the heavy shadows of the world outside. For a moment, they were just two young people, caught in the happiness of being together.

As they stepped out of Twilfitt and Tattings onto Diagon Alley, the brief moment of joy they'd shared inside was shattered. The already tense street erupted in chaos as figures in dark cloaks appeared, their masks gleaming ominously in the dim winter light. Wands were raised, and the first curses shot through the air, sending terrified witches and wizards scattering.

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat, but she was grateful for one thing—her dress robes had been sent ahead by owl to Potter Manor. Her hands were free as she and James drew their wands in unison, snapping into battle-ready stances.

"Stay close!" James barked, his voice steady despite the rising panic in the air. Hermione nodded sharply, their backs instinctively aligning as they moved.

They exchanged curses with the Death Eaters, their movements instinctively in sync. James sent a Stunning Spell hurtling toward a masked figure attempting to flank them, while Hermione deflected a curse aimed directly at his side, her shield charm shimmering brightly in the dim light.

Just as they began to push their attackers back, a chill seemed to sweep through the street. The air grew heavier, oppressive. Hermione's stomach dropped as a figure materialised amidst the chaos—tall, pale, and radiating an aura of malice that seemed to freeze everything in its wake.

"Voldemort," she whispered, her grip tightening on her wand.

James cursed under his breath, instinctively stepping closer to her. "Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant."

The fight intensified. Voldemort himself did not immediately engage them, instead directing the Death Eaters with a flick of his wand, his high, cold laughter cutting through the din. Still, Hermione and James held their ground, covering each other seamlessly.

"On your left!" Hermione called, sending a hex past James to disarm an approaching Death Eater.

"Got it!" he yelled back, stunning another masked figure attempting to circle behind her.

The odds seemed insurmountable, but they refused to falter. Just when it felt like they might be overwhelmed, a sharp crack signalled the arrival of Aurors. Reinforcements surged onto the scene, their wands blazing with light and purpose. The Death Eaters faltered, and Voldemort's red eyes swept the alley, taking in the new arrivals.

With a snarl, he raised his wand, casting a spell that erupted with a deafening roar. The explosion tore through a large section of the street, sending stone, wood, and shards of glass flying in every direction.

"Down!" James shouted, grabbing Hermione's arm and pulling her toward the nearest corner. They ducked into a side alley just in time, the debris raining down where they had stood moments before. Dust choked the air, and the ground shuddered beneath them.

Hermione coughed, wiping at her face with a trembling hand. "Are you okay?" she managed.

"Fine," James rasped, his eyes scanning her for injuries before nodding toward the chaos. "Let's move before they regroup."

By the time the dust cleared, Voldemort and his Death Eaters were gone. The Aurors, efficient and methodical, took control of the situation, tending to the injured and securing the area. James and Hermione gave their statements quickly, describing the attack in clipped, precise tones. They kept their accounts deliberately vague about how well they had fought; they didn't need additional scrutiny or unnecessary praise.

Once released, they made their way toward the closest Apparition point, deciding the Leaky Cauldron was too far under the circumstances. The air between them was tense, the adrenaline of the battle still coursing through their veins.

As they walked, James finally broke the silence. "What the hell was Voldemort doing here? He doesn't usually show up for things like this. He's more... behind the scenes."

Hermione's expression darkened, her mind racing. "It must have been... a birthday indulgence."

James stopped in his tracks, staring at her. "A birthday indulgence? What are you on about?"

"Tom Riddle," Hermione said, her voice clipped. "Born December 31, 1926."

James's eyes widened, the memory of the orphanage records they'd studied flashing through his mind. "New Year's Eve," he muttered. "Merlin, that's twisted."

Hermione gave him a grim nod as they continued walking, the weight of the revelation settling heavily between them. The idea that Voldemort would celebrate his birthday with destruction and terror was disturbingly fitting.

"Let's just get back to the Manor," Hermione said, her voice weary. "I've had enough chaos for one day."

James reached out, gently squeezing her hand as they prepared to Apparate. "We made it out. That's what matters."

With a shared glance, they vanished into the cold winter air, leaving the wreckage of Diagon Alley behind.

As James and Hermione Apparated into the foyer of Potter Manor, Effie was already there, her face pale with worry. She rushed forward the moment she saw them, her sharp eyes taking in their dust-covered appearances and the various cuts marring their skin.

"Oh, thank Merlin!" she exclaimed, her hands fluttering in a mix of relief and anxiety. "The owl with Hermione's dress arrived ages ago, and when you didn't come back—what in Merlin's name happened to you both?"

Before either of them could answer, Sirius and Remus appeared, drawn by the commotion. Monty followed soon after, his brow furrowed in concern as he surveyed their disheveled state.

"What in the blazes happened?" Monty asked, his calm demeanour slipping slightly as he stepped closer to examine them.

James rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as a faint trace of blood smeared onto his palm. "We ran into some... trouble at Diagon Alley."

"Trouble?" Sirius repeated, his sharp grey eyes narrowing. "Define 'trouble.'"

Hermione sighed, brushing some debris off her shoulder. "Death Eaters. And Voldemort himself."

The room went still. Sirius let out a low whistle, breaking the silence. "Well, that's one thing to add to a list no one wants to be on—having directly defied Voldemort and lived to tell the tale."

Effie's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "Voldemort? Merlin's beard, are you both alright? Sit down, both of you! I'll get calming draughts."

"Mum, we're fine," James tried to assure her, but his words fell on deaf ears as she bustled off toward the side cabinet where the Potters kept their emergency potions.

"You're covered in cuts and Merlin knows what else, Prongs," Sirius said, leaning against the doorway with a faint smirk, though the concern in his voice betrayed him. "You don't get to play it cool."

"Sit," Monty echoed gently, ushering them toward the chairs. "Let Effie do what she does best."

Reluctantly, Hermione and James sank into the plush armchairs. Effie returned, carrying two small vials of calming draught and a tin of salve. "Drink," she ordered, handing them the vials. "And don't even think of arguing with me."

Both of them complied, the tension in their shoulders visibly easing as the potion worked its magic. Effie began carefully dabbing at the cuts on Hermione's face, her lips pressed into a thin line as she worked.

"So," Remus said from where he was leaning against the wall, his voice soft but steady, "what exactly happened?"

Hermione recounted the attack, her voice measured but tired. She described the sudden appearance of the Death Eaters, the chaos of the fight, and the moment Voldemort himself had joined in. James added the details of the explosion that had nearly caught them, their narrow escape into a side alley, and the Aurors' intervention.

When they finished, Sirius let out a low whistle again, shaking his head. "Bloody hell. And here I thought my day was eventful."

Effie, who had been quietly tending to James's cuts, straightened, her expression resolute. "We're cancelling the New Year's Ball. No arguments."

James and Hermione both started to protest at the same time. "Effie, you don't have to—" James began, but Hermione's voice overlapped with his. "Really, it's not necessary—"

Effie raised a hand, silencing them. "You've both just survived something horrific. You need rest, not a party."

"But that's exactly why we need the ball," Hermione countered, her voice firm despite the fatigue etched into her features. "The distraction... it's welcome. I don't want to sit in silence, replaying everything in my head."

James nodded in agreement. "She's right. A quiet night would just give us more time to brood. Besides, it's not like we'll be hosting hundreds. It's just the usual crowd, most of them family or friends."

Effie hesitated, her eyes flicking between the two of them. Monty placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "They'll be alright, dear. They're tougher than they look."

Sirius grinned, his arms crossed as he leaned casually against the wall. "And hey, if Voldemort couldn't ruin their day, I doubt some stuffy purebloods in fancy robes will manage it."

Effie sighed, clearly unconvinced but outnumbered. "Fine. But you're both resting properly tonight. No sneaking off to do Merlin knows what."

"Promise," James said, his voice light but sincere.

Hermione offered Effie a grateful smile. "Thank you. For everything."

Effie muttered something about stubborn children and returned to her work, though her touch was gentler now. The tension in the room eased, replaced by a shared sense of relief.

The door to James's room clicked shut behind them, the weight of the day pressing down on them both. Hermione leaned against the wall for a moment, letting out a long breath. Her muscles ached, her skin still stung from the cuts Effie had tended to even though they had completely healed over with some Essence of Dittany, and the adrenaline that had carried her through the chaos of Diagon Alley was finally ebbing, leaving her drained.

James glanced at her, his hazel eyes filled with concern. "You should shower first," he said, his voice soft but firm. "You've got dust and blood in your hair."

Hermione shook her head, pushing herself upright. "No. Let's just... go together. I don't want to be alone right now."

James hesitated, studying her for a moment before nodding. "Alright."

They moved toward the bathroom in silence, the comfort of their unspoken understanding a balm for the lingering fear that neither of them dared to name. Once inside, James turned on the water, the sound of the cascading stream filling the space. Steam began to curl around them as he adjusted the temperature.

Hermione's hands trembled slightly as she undid her shirt, her mind flickering between the vivid memories of the battle and the relief that they'd both survived. Her fingers faltered on the last button, and before she could fumble further, James gently reached out to help, his touch steady and unhurried.

She looked up at him, finding reassurance in his calm demeanour. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

James smiled faintly, stepping back to shrug off his own shirt. As they undressed, Hermione realised with a start that this was the first time he'd see her fully naked. Under different circumstances, she would have been mortified, but right now, there was no room for embarrassment—only relief that they were here, together, alive.

James caught her hesitation and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "It's just me, Hermione," he said softly, his gaze steady. "No need to worry."

She managed a small smile, her cheeks warm but not from the steam. "I know."

They stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over them and washing away the grime and tension of the day. For a while, neither of them spoke, the sound of the water and the soothing rhythm of their breaths filling the quiet space. James carefully worked the dust and dried blood out of her hair, his fingers gentle as they combed through the tangled strands.

Hermione closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "I keep thinking about how close that explosion was," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "We could've—"

"We didn't," James interrupted gently, his hands pausing. "We're here. That's what matters."

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. Turning toward him, she reached up to brush a strand of wet hair from his forehead. "Thank you," she said again, her voice steadier this time.

"For what?"

"For being with me. For watching my back. For just... being you."

James grinned, though his expression was soft. "Always."

As the water continued to pour over them, washing away the physical remnants of the day, Hermione felt a sense of safety settle over her. They didn't need words to fill the silence—they just needed each other. When they finally stepped out of the shower, the air between them felt lighter, a reminder that together, they could face whatever came next.

They got dressed in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn't require words but spoke volumes in shared glances and the occasional brush of hands. Hermione slipped into her new periwinkle dress robes after applying some light makeup, while James adjusted the lapels of his smartly cut black dress robes. His gaze flicked to her every so often, and when she caught him staring, he just grinned.

Hermione's hair was still damp, and as she tried to tame it with her fingers, James stepped forward, wand in hand. "Let me," he offered, his tone soft. With a quiet spell, he dried her hair, his movements slow and deliberate, as though the act itself was as meaningful as the words he couldn't bring himself to say.

When he was done, his hand lingered near her cheek before tilting her face up toward him. His hazel eyes held hers for a moment, and then he kissed her deeply, the tenderness of it nearly bringing tears to her eyes. It wasn't just gratitude; it was love and relief, the weight of the day washing away in the warmth of that single moment.

When they broke apart, James smirked, his usual cheekiness resurfacing. "Did Moony teach you too to duel like that?" he teased, his voice light but filled with genuine admiration. "You were bloody brilliant."

Hermione's lips twitched into a small smile. "Yes. We've been practicing on and off since fourth year, after that Defence Against the Dark Arts assessment meeting."

James laughed softly, shaking his head. "Remind me to buy him something really nice to thank him."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I'm starting to think gifts are your love language, Mr Potter."

James shrugged, unrepentant. "Why not? Everyone loves a good gift."

"But you do realise Remus already feels beholden to you because of the whole Animagus thing, right?"

"Why can't it be both?" James shot back, grinning. "Besides, it's not about obligation—it's about showing him I appreciate him. He's the reason I didn't make a complete arse of myself out there today."

Hermione rolled her eyes fondly. "You didn't make an arse of yourself, James. If anything, you were brilliant too."

He grinned, clearly pleased, but there was a softness in his expression that lingered as he took her hand. "Come on, let's head down. If we're late to our own ball, Mum will never let us live it down."

With her hand in his, they made their way downstairs, the tension of the day giving way to the anticipation of the night ahead.

As they descended the staircase, Monty greeted them in the foyer with his usual twinkling eyes and jovial energy. "Sleekeazy for the lady?" he offered, holding up a small vial of the potion with a flourish.

Hermione shook her head, smiling. "Thank you, but I'm embracing the wild curls tonight."

Monty grinned but tucked the vial back into his pocket. "Good choice. Curls suit you, my dear."

James tilted his head, giving her an approving once-over. "I think they look brilliant. My drying charms didn't ruin them, did they?"

Hermione laughed softly, reaching up to fluff her hair slightly. "No, you did well. They're not as riotous as usual, and honestly, I'm not in the mood for braids or up-dos tonight. And without those, the Sleekeazy would just make it too flat."

"Good call," Monty said with a wink. "Now, let's not keep the guests waiting."

Hermione glanced at the clock and realised he was right—there was no time to fuss with her hair even if she'd wanted to. The first arrivals would be stepping through the Floo any minute.

But then, to their surprise, a knock sounded at the door instead of the usual rush of green flames. James raised an eyebrow at Hermione as Monty crossed the foyer to open it.

On the other side stood Lily Evans, looking elegant in dark emerald robes that perfectly complemented her fiery red hair.

"Lily!" Hermione exclaimed, a mix of surprise and delight in her voice.

Lily gave a sheepish smile, shrugging slightly. "Sirius invited me," she admitted. "After... well, after the dinner with Petunia and Vernon. He said it would be fun."

Sirius appeared from somewhere behind them, leaning casually against the banister with his usual roguish grin. "What can I say? I thought Lilyflower deserved a proper evening of fun."

Remus stepped out from the ballroom, his face lighting up when he saw Lily. "Lily, it's good to see you!"

She gave him a warm smile, stepping inside. "You too, Remus."

Before anyone could say more, Sirius clapped his hands together. "Alright, troops. Let's get moving. There are plans to be made."

"What plans?" Hermione asked suspiciously, eyeing the trio as Sirius, Lily, and Remus disappeared down the hall, whispering conspiratorially.

"You'll find out soon enough!" Sirius called over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn around.

Hermione shook her head, sharing a glance with James. "Do we want to know?"

"Probably not," James replied with a grin. "But we'll have to find out eventually."

The guests began to arrive shortly after, their presence filling the Manor with an air of festivity and anticipation. When the ballroom doors opened, Hermione and James joined their friends, stepping into the sparkling room where fairy lights floated above the gathered crowd.

Lily spotted them immediately, and before Hermione could say a word, she was enveloped in a fierce hug. "I heard what happened," Lily said, her voice tight with concern. "Sirius and Remus told me everything. Are you alright?"

Hermione nodded, her smile softening. "I'm fine, really. It was... intense, but we're okay."

Lily pulled back, her green eyes scanning Hermione's face before nodding. Then, after a brief hesitation, she turned to James and offered him a more restrained hug. "I'm glad you're alright too, Potter."

James smirked, though his tone was genuine. "Thanks, Evans. It's nice to know you care."

"Oh, don't get used to it," Lily replied, rolling her eyes but smiling.

Sirius appeared beside them, a glass of something fizzy in his hand. "Alright, enough with the sappy reunion. Let's dance, drink, and make sure this is a ball to remember!"

Hermione laughed, exchanging a look with James.

It didn't take long for Hermione and James to discover what Sirius, Lily, and Remus had been conspiring about. As the ballroom filled with music and chatter, Sirius climbed onto a small stage at the far end of the room, drawing everyone's attention with an exaggerated wave of his wand.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he announced dramatically, his voice carrying across the room. "Tonight, we celebrate bravery, survival, and sheer audacity!"

With another flick of his wand, a string of lettered balloons materialised above the dance floor, floating in bright, glittering colours.

"CONGRATULATIONS TO JAMES AND HERMIONE, THE DEFIERS OF MOLDYSHORTS!"

Hermione froze, her jaw dropping as the letters bobbed gently in the air, glittering for all to see. Around the room, guests paused mid-conversation, their faces a mix of amusement, bewilderment, and secondhand embarrassment. The reactions ranged from chuckles to wide-eyed disbelief.

James, however, broke into a loud laugh, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. "Moldyshorts?" he gasped between fits of laughter. "Oh, Sirius, you absolute genius."

Hermione wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. She covered her face with her hands, peeking through her fingers at the garish balloons. "Sirius," she said, her voice strained with both horror and reluctant humour, "what have you done?"

Sirius hopped off the stage, utterly unrepentant as he sauntered over to them. "What?" he asked innocently, grinning from ear to ear. "You did defy him. I'm just immortalising your bravery in true Marauder fashion."

Hermione groaned, shaking her head. "You could have been subtle."

Sirius shrugged. "Subtlety's overrated."

Before Hermione could respond, the ballroom doors swung open, and a delivery owl swooped in with copies of a special edition of the Evening Prophet. A murmur rippled through the crowd as several guests took their papers, scanning the headlines.

James stiffened as he caught sight of the front page from a guest nearby:

"TERROR IN DIAGON ALLEY: YOU-KNOW-WHO LEADS RAID ON WIZARDING SHOPS"

Hermione's stomach twisted as the hum of conversation grew louder, the news quickly spreading amongst those who hadn't heard about the events of the early afternoon. The details in the article were vague but harrowing enough: Death Eaters wreaking havoc, Aurors scrambling to respond, and Voldemort himself making a rare public appearance.

Whispers filled the room, and Hermione glanced at James, who was now standing rigid, his earlier laughter replaced by a grim expression.

"Well," Sirius said, his tone quieter but still with a faint smirk. "Guess I didn't need the balloons. The Prophet's doing my job for me."

Remus nudged him, his expression pointed. "Not the time, Pads."

Sirius raised his hands in mock surrender, though his grin softened as he looked between James and Hermione. "Alright, alright. But hey, for what it's worth, you both were brilliant today."

Hermione exhaled slowly, trying to suppress the wave of anxiety threatening to rise. She felt James's hand slip into hers, his grip firm and steady.

"Thanks, Sirius," James said quietly, before glancing at Hermione. "Should we say something?"

Hermione hesitated, scanning the room. Guests were already talking amongst themselves, the headlines clearly dominating the night's conversation. "Let them speculate," she said finally, squeezing his hand. "They'll know soon enough, and... I don't think I have the energy to relive it right now."

James nodded, his gaze still on her. "Fair enough."

Sirius, seeing the tension in both their faces, pulled out his wand and waved it dramatically. The balloons disappeared in a flash, leaving only a faint sparkle in the air. "Alright," he said, his tone lighter. "Let's move this party along. Who's up for a drink?"

The mood in the room slowly began to shift again, Sirius's antics managing to bring a measure of levity despite the grim news. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding and leaned into James's side.

"Well," she said softly, her voice dry, "I suppose we've officially made an impression."

James chuckled faintly, kissing her temple. "That's one way to put it."

This party was quieter, heavier than usual, yet determinedly convivial. No one dared approach the dance floor, but glasses clinked more often, and bottles circulated faster, as if liquid courage might banish the news of Voldemort's attack, even if just for a few hours.

Hermione, still leaning against James, glanced around the room with a sense of unease she couldn't quite shake. Whispers ebbed and flowed like the tide, clusters of guests discussing the events of the day in hushed tones.

Effie appeared at their side, her warm face softened by concern. "James, Hermione," she said gently, her voice just loud enough to carry over the hum of the crowd, "are you sure you're alright? If you need to retire early, no one will blame you."

Hermione hesitated, unsure of how to answer. Before she could say anything, James offered his mother a reassuring smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "We're fine, Mum. Really. A little shaken, maybe, but—"

"You don't need to put on a brave face for me, James," Effie interjected, giving him a knowing look. "You've already done enough for one day."

"We're okay," Hermione added softly, reaching for Effie's hand. "I promise."

Effie gave her a fond squeeze, but before she could press the matter further, Sirius appeared with a triumphant flourish, a bottle of Firewhiskey gripped tightly in his hand and two glasses dangling precariously between his fingers. "Oh, come on, Effie," he said with a mischievous grin. "We're Potters, if not by blood then by spirit. We don't hide away when things get tough—we raise a bloody toast."

James groaned, though there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his expression. "Pads…"

"Don't 'Pads' me," Sirius interrupted, uncorking the bottle with his wand and sloshing a generous amount of Firewhiskey into two glasses. "You two just defied You-Know-Who in the middle of Diagon Alley and lived to tell the tale. If that's not worth a drink, I don't know what is."

Effie sighed, but even she couldn't help the faint twitch of a smile. "Sirius, don't encourage them."

"Oh, please," Sirius drawled, thrusting a glass into James's hand and another into Hermione's. "If anyone's earned a drink tonight, it's these two."

Hermione stared at the glass for a moment, the amber liquid swirling faintly as if inviting her to let the tension slip away. She glanced at James, who raised his eyebrows as if to say why not?

With a sigh that was more amused than exasperated, Hermione took the glass. "Just one," she said firmly. "And don't think this gets you off the hook for those balloons."

Sirius placed a dramatic hand over his heart. "Ah, Kitten, you wound me. My creativity goes so unappreciated."

James snorted into his glass. "Your creativity nearly gave half the guests heart attacks, mate."

Sirius ignored him, raising his own bottle high. "To the Defiers of Moldyshorts!" he declared, his voice carrying over the room.

The ridiculous toast earned a smattering of laughter from those nearby, and a faint ripple of chuckles spread through the crowd. Hermione hid her face behind her glass, shaking her head as James clinked his glass against Sirius's with a wry grin.

"To surviving another day," James murmured quietly as he looked at Hermione, his voice just for her.

Hermione met his gaze, her smile small but real. "To surviving another day," she echoed.

And, for a moment, with the warmth of the Firewhiskey spreading through her chest and James's steady presence beside her, the chaos of the world outside faded—if only just a little.

A few hours later, the countdown echoed faintly through the manor as guests cheered and glasses clinked in celebration of the new year. Hermione and James slipped away quietly right after their kiss at exactly midnight, leaving behind the subdued revelry as they made their way up the stairs to their room. Neither spoke as they climbed, the events of the day still lingering in the spaces between them.

The surreal weight of it all pressed heavily on Hermione's chest. Less than twelve hours ago, they had stood in Diagon Alley, wands drawn, their lives on the line as Voldemort himself had cast spells at them. Now, they were back at Potter Manor, surrounded by warmth, family, and laughter. It felt like whiplash—the kind of contrast that left her unsteady.

James opened the door to his room, letting Hermione step inside first. The fire had been lit, casting a soft glow across the walls and warming the chill from the air. Hermione pulled off her shoes absently, not bothering to undo the laces properly, before sinking onto the edge of the bed. Her periwinkle dress draped elegantly around her, a stark contrast to how utterly exhausted she felt.

James, already loosening his black dress robes, stepped toward her, his expression softening. "You okay?" he asked quietly, crouching in front of her and brushing his fingers against her knees.

Hermione let out a shaky breath, meeting his hazel eyes. "It's just... surreal," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not even twelve hours ago, we were fighting him. Voldemort." She paused, the name falling heavily between them. "And now everyone's dancing and celebrating like nothing happened."

James nodded, his gaze full of understanding. He rose to his feet, gently taking her hand and pulling her up with him. "Come here," he murmured.

He guided her out of the dress and handed her one of his soft, oversized t-shirts to wear, a silent invitation for comfort. Once they were settled under the blankets, James wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close so that her head rested against his chest. Hermione curled into him, pressing her face against his shoulder and letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat anchor her.

"I just want to sleep," she said quietly, her voice small. "Without nightmares. Just for one night. I know I won't be able to dodge them forever."

James pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his arms tightening around her protectively. "I'll hold you all night, Hermione. I promise."

They lay there in the quiet stillness of the room, the distant hum of the party below slowly fading as the house grew quiet. James's warmth surrounded her, his steady breathing a soft lullaby against the storm in her mind. For the first time all day, Hermione let herself relax, her body finally giving in to the exhaustion.

As sleep tugged at her, she whispered softly, "Thank you, James."

He kissed her temple once more, his voice a low murmur against her hair. "Always."

And as the clock carried them deeper into the new year, Hermione let herself believe—for just a moment—that they were safe, that they had each other, and that was enough to survive what may come.