The last week of Hogwarts carried a strange kind of weight—heavy with nostalgia, yet brittle with unspoken expectation. Spring bloomed stubbornly over the castle grounds, casting golden light across stone courtyards and the swelling lake. Students moved through the halls with laughter on their lips, but there was something else underneath it all, an unease that had nothing to do with exams.
In the quietest corner of the Gryffindor common room, three seventh-years sat by the tall windows, their final days at school slipping quietly through their fingers.
Alastor Moody leaned forward in his armchair, elbows on his knees, a restless energy in his posture. He had never been one for stillness. His dark auburn hair was windswept from a late-night broom ride, and his wand spun idly between callused fingers. He didn't talk much when he was deep in thought—which lately, was most of the time.
Beside him, Kingsley Shacklebolt sat straighter, calm and focused, a contrast to Moody's twitchy stillness. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth and deliberate.
Alastor was the first to break the silence. He stared out at the dusk, watching the sun settle low behind the trees. "I thought I'd be more excited," he muttered. "But it feels like something's coming. Like we're standing still and the world's already running."
Kingsley didn't look up from the Ministry envelope in his lap. "That's because it is."
He handed over the parchment—thick, official, and still slightly crumpled from the owl that had dropped it into his breakfast. Rufus Scrimgeour took it, scanned it, and whistled low under his breath.
"Accepted," he said. "All three of us?"
Kingsley nodded once.
Moody's eyes gleamed as he finally turned from the window. "Auror training. Just like we said."
They sat in silence for a moment, letting it sink in. The Auror Office was no easy path. The testing was brutal, the training worse. There were only a few slots each year, and those accepted were expected to risk everything to serve the wizarding world. It wasn't just about talent—it was about grit, endurance, conviction.
"It won't be Hogwarts," Rufus said, leaning back and crossing his arms. "No house points, no second chances."
Kingsley gave a quiet smile. "No curfews either."
Moody chuckled. "Finally."
He stood up and began pacing in his usual restless way, long legs carrying him to the fireplace and back again. "You think they'll actually let us on the field first year?"
"Doubt it," Kingsley said. "Not unless we earn it."
"Then we earn it."
Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow. "Still eager for glory, Alastor?"
"Not glory. Purpose."
That silenced them for a moment. Outside the window, the sky had deepened to violet, and the first stars were beginning to appear.
"There's something wrong in the world," Kingsley said quietly. "You feel it. I feel it. Even the Ministry's been jumpy."
"Could just be the usual politics," Rufus offered, but his tone lacked conviction.
"Or something worse," Moody said.
They didn't say it aloud. Not yet. The rumors were there—whispers of strange happenings, cursed objects gone missing, disappearances that didn't add up. But no one had names. No one had facts. Just a sense that the world was shifting, and they were heading straight into the middle of it.
And yet none of them backed away.
⸻
The Leaving Feast that night was as bright and dazzling as ever. The enchanted ceiling mirrored a clear, star-strewn sky, and golden plates gleamed under floating candles. Laughter echoed across the tables. Teachers raised their glasses to the departing class of 1968.
Alastor barely touched his food. His eyes were always scanning—faces, exits, movement. Kingsley noticed, but didn't say anything. He understood. Rufus did too, though he tried harder to stay in the moment.
After the feast, the three of them slipped away from the crowd and wandered down to the edge of the Black Lake. The water was still. The castle lights glowed faintly behind them.
"You think we'll change?" Rufus asked suddenly. "After this?"
"Of course we will," Kingsley replied.
Moody crouched by the water, watching the reflection of the stars ripple with the breeze. "Change is the point."
Rufus nodded slowly. "Just hope we like who we become."
The three of them stood in silence, the wind tugging gently at their robes.
"We meet at the Ministry gates, first of July," Moody said finally. "No excuses. No backing out."
Kingsley and Rufus exchanged a glance, and both nodded.
"Together," Kingsley said.
"For good," Rufus added.
And behind them, Hogwarts stood proud and quiet, holding its breath for the next chapter to begin.