June 2nd, 1998
A month had passed since the end of the Second Wizarding War and the defeat of Voldemort. After months of living under terror, the wizarding world could finally celebrate the downfall of the Dark Lord. Despite the victorious atmosphere, witches and wizards still mourned their losses. The casualties from Voldemort's regime had left wounds that would take time to heal.
The time for grand speeches and political games was over. The newly appointed Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had taken office with the difficult mission of rebuilding both the wizarding world and the Ministry's reputation after the catastrophic events of recent months.
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had defeated one of the greatest Dark wizards of all time at just seventeen. Articles in the Daily Prophet celebrated the young wizard's triumph and speculated about the next steps for the hero of the wizarding world. Though he was already famous, many witches and wizards now sought to meet him in person. Journalists from various magical publications vied for an exclusive interview with Harry, now referred to as "the savior of the wizarding world."
But despite his rising fame, Harry was not willing to give interviews or appear in public. Too much had happened in too little time. He had seen friends and loved ones die for him during the war, and accepting praise felt like disrespecting the sacrifice of so many.
After leaving his aunt and uncle's house, Harry moved into 12 Grimmauld Place. The old Black family residence now belonged to him. At seventeen, he no longer had to live with the Dursleys and was finally free to decide his own future.
Harry wasn't alone at Grimmauld Place. The Weasley family had been staying with him since the end of the Battle of Hogwarts. The Burrow, their home, had been destroyed by Death Eaters, and while waiting for it to be rebuilt, Harry invited them to stay. He couldn't imagine living alone in that huge house, with only the old Black family house-elf, Kreacher, for company.
The Weasleys were still grieving Fred's death, and George, the surviving twin, seemed to feel the loss more deeply than anyone. He accepted Harry's invitation to stay because he didn't want to return to the flat he had shared with his brother. Over time, the pain and sadness gradually softened. Being together again as a family brought some comfort, even if the memories were still fresh.
It had been a month since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the wizarding world would never be the same. Important positions at the Ministry had been offered to every of-age Weasley. Molly had been stunned when Kingsley Shacklebolt himself showed up at her door offering her a post as secretary to the Minister's office.
Harry felt happy seeing the Weasleys, who had always welcomed him with such love, finally getting the recognition they deserved. Since he was eleven, they had been more than friends. They were the family he had never had. Even Ron had received an offer: an internship with the Auror Department, something he and Harry had dreamed about in the corridors of Hogwarts. Now, with the war over, those conversations felt less like fantasy and more like real possibilities.
Harry and Ron were in Harry's room playing a game of Wizard's Chess. Harry's current room had once belonged to Sirius, now empty of the hippogriff Buckbeak. After the war, Harry decided to renovate the space, bringing with him the few belongings he still had from the Dursleys' house. Since he didn't have much, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley helped him buy a few new pieces of furniture.
He kept most of Sirius's old furnishings, preserving what was still in good condition and discarding only what was too worn or broken beyond repair. Despite everything, Harry liked being there. The room was quiet and carried the memory of someone he respected deeply. It was, at once, a place of mourning and a place of new beginnings.
"Boys, come downstairs now! Dinner's ready, and I don't want you eating in your rooms again!" Mrs. Weasley's firm voice echoed through the house.
Ron laughed and nudged the board aside.
"Lucky for you, Harry. Mum's dinner always saves you when I'm about to win."
Harry grinned, standing up from the bed.
"Maybe I was just letting you win… again."
"Oh, sure. Keep telling yourself that," Ron replied, grabbing his wand and returning the chess pieces to their box.
The two of them left the room and headed down the stairs of Grimmauld Place, the cozy aroma from the kitchen guiding their way. The scent of stew and freshly baked bread filled the air, a comforting contrast to the house's usual chill. Along with the smell came a familiar face: Hermione Granger.
Hermione wore a brown overcoat, and a grey scarf was elegantly wrapped around her neck. Already seated at the table, she was chatting animatedly with Mr. Weasley about the latest changes at the Ministry while Ginny helped Mrs. Weasley set the plates and cutlery.
As soon as she saw them walk in, Hermione stood up with a wide smile and rushed toward them.
"Harry! Ron!" she exclaimed, hugging them both tightly. "It's been a month since I last saw you!"
"It's true," Ron said, returning the hug with a grin.
"It's good to see you, Hermione," Harry said, watching her with a shy smile. "How are your parents? Is everything alright?"
"They're doing great! Thanks for asking, Harry," Hermione replied with a smile. She sat back down and gestured to the two seats across from her. "Sit here, both of you."
Harry and Ron sat while she adjusted her scarf.
"I've got so much to tell you! There's been a lot happening out there in the world, you know?" she went on enthusiastically. "And according to your mum, you two barely leave the room. Just play Wizard's Chess all day, Ron."
Ron pulled a face and replied in mock indignation, "It's not my fault if Harry can't accept that I'm better at the game."
Harry chuckled and gave Ron a light shove on the shoulder.
"You only win because I let you."
Hermione rolled her eyes but smiled.
"You two never change." As she finished speaking, she placed her bag on the table and carefully took out two white envelopes. They were elegant, made of thick paper, and sealed with the red wax crest of Hogwarts.
"These are for you two," she said, handing each of them an envelope. "Aside from my casual visit, Headmistress McGonagall asked me to deliver these in person… but you're only allowed to open them after dinner."
Ron raised an eyebrow, curious.
"Why all the secrecy? Is it something dangerous?"
"No," Hermione replied with a hint of mystery in her smile. "It's just important. Professor McGonagall thought it'd be better for you to read it calmly, without distractions. And knowing you two, if you opened it now, you'd forget to eat."
Harry turned the envelope over in his hands, examining the seal and feeling a small knot tighten in his chest. Seeing the Hogwarts crest again was strange. Though it was home, so many memories — good and bad — surfaced at once.
"Whatever it is… it feels serious," he said thoughtfully.
Hermione nodded.
"It is. But it could also be a chance for a fresh start."
Ron looked between Harry and Hermione, suspicious.
"You two are up to something, aren't you?"
"I'm just helping an old friend," she replied with a wink.
At that moment, Mrs. Weasley appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on her apron.
"The stew is ready, and the cake's cooling. Everyone to the table!"
They exchanged glances, tucking the envelopes beside their plates.
"After dinner," Harry murmured, still staring at the Hogwarts seal.
It had been a long time since Harry had such a cheerful dinner. Hermione's presence brought back an energy he hadn't realized he missed. With her at the table, conversation flowed more easily. She talked about the reforms being implemented at the Ministry, how the political landscape between Muggles and wizards was beginning to shift, and even admitted she'd given an interview to the Daily Prophet.
"They stayed outside my parents' house for a week, insisting!" Hermione said with an exasperated sigh. "So I figured it was better to just talk to them and get it over with."
"Bet they asked you ridiculous questions," Ron commented, rolling his eyes. "Like: 'What shampoo did Harry Potter use during the war?'"
Everyone laughed, including Mrs. Weasley, who was now pouring more pumpkin juice.
"Not quite that bad," Hermione said, laughing. "But they did ask if Harry and I were dating during the mission. Can you believe it?"
Harry choked on his juice, coughing lightly.
"What?"
"Yeah. Ridiculous," Hermione replied, shaking her head. "As if that's more important than, I don't know, saving the wizarding world."
Ginny, seated beside her mother, shot Harry a playful glance and raised an eyebrow.
"And what did you say?" she asked.
"That I was too busy keeping these two alive," Hermione said, pointing a thumb at Ron and Harry. "And if they wanted to know more, they could wait for the book I might write someday."
"You're going to write a book?" Mr. Weasley asked, intrigued.
"Maybe," she replied, a sparkle in her eye. "But only when things have calmed down. And with changed names, of course."
After dinner, Ginny, along with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, began clearing the table. Arthur was already wearing his heavy coat, adjusting his scarf.
"Alright, dear, did you prepare George's meal?" he asked, picking up the keys from the sideboard.
"Yes, Ginny's got it," Mrs. Weasley replied as she used a soft spell to put away the last of the cutlery.
"You're going out this late?" Ron asked, frowning.
"We're taking Mum's dinner to George," Ginny explained, picking up a neatly wrapped bundle enchanted with a warming charm. "He's been spending more time at the shop than ever. Maybe business is doing well."
"Or maybe he's avoiding coming home," Ron muttered quietly, low enough that his mum didn't hear.
"We won't be long, of course," Arthur said, kissing his wife's forehead. He turned to Hermione with a kind smile. "Hermione, we'd be glad if you stayed the night. Can we count on you to keep an eye on these two?"
Hermione smiled, amused.
"Of course, Mr. Weasley. I think I can keep them out of trouble for at least one night."
With a wave of goodbye, Molly, Arthur, and Ginny left the house, leaving the three friends in the warm, quiet silence of Grimmauld Place.
"It feels a bit nostalgic, doesn't it?" Harry said, looking around with a soft smile. "Of course, everything's better now… no Death Eaters, no chaos in the wizarding world, no one chasing us… and the beds are warm."
He chuckled, and Hermione rolled her eyes with a smile.
"Well, I don't miss being hunted or freezing at night, but I admit… some parts of our mission had a certain charm," she said, settling comfortably into the armchair.
"Now that Mum and Dad are gone," Ron said, eyes gleaming with mischief, "we can play Exploding Snap! Mum always complains about the noise. Want to play with us, Hermione?"
"I would," she said, "but… did you forget these?" She pointed at the letters sealed with Hogwarts' crest. "Twenty minutes ago, you two could barely wait to see what was inside."
"What could be in a letter that's more fun than Exploding Snap?" Ron grumbled, crossing his arms.
Harry, however, didn't answer. He held the envelope tightly, staring at the red seal with the Hogwarts crest. His heart felt heavier in his chest. It was the first letter he'd received from the school since the war ended. For a moment, he forgot Ron and Hermione were there — everything around him seemed to fall silent.
Hogwarts had always been his home, his refuge… but now, after everything that had happened, Harry didn't know what to expect.
Was it a letter of congratulations? An invitation to return?
Or perhaps… something more?
"Come on, Harry, you can open it," Hermione said softly, noticing her friend's hesitation. "I promise it's not cursed or anything. Professor Minerva... I mean, Headmistress Minerva wrote these letters by hand."
Harry didn't answer. Carefully, he broke the red seal. The texture of the paper was familiar, almost comforting. He slid the letter out of the envelope, the scent of fresh ink filling the air. The last time he had felt such anxiety while opening a letter had been when he was exchanging messages with Sirius. And now, with his heart lodged in his throat, he began to read.
Whatever was written inside, Harry only hoped it was good news.
