After concluding his conversation with his own portrait, Dumbledore stepped out of the house. He watched as the door vanished into thin air once more, then turned and drew a silvery-gray woven cloak from his bag, draping it over his shoulders. With a faint crack, he Disapparated from Godric's Hollow. The next moment, clad in black robes, Dumbledore reappeared in the grand atrium of the Ministry of Magic.
Having gleaned the current state of affairs from his portrait, Dumbledore was acutely aware that the dark forces in this world had grown far beyond his individual capacity to counter. But before he could return to rally reinforcements, he needed to establish contact with this world's remaining resistance—particularly with this world's Harry Potter, assuming Harry Potter was still alive.
Several days later, at the entrance to an abandoned seaside village on the other side of the country, three carriages rolled to a stop in the thin morning mist. The door of the first carriage swung open, and Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Luna leapt out with practiced agility. Harry and Hermione formed one team, Neville and Luna another, and the four swiftly scouted the entire village. After confirming it was safe, they signaled to Professor McGonagall, who was seated in the middle carriage. Almost instantly, a shimmering barrier woven from Protego Totalum and other protective enchantments enveloped the village. Within seconds, the village—and the three carriages within it—vanished from sight.
As Professor McGonagall disembarked, the other faculty members began emerging from the middle carriage. With waves of their wands, over twenty tents soared out of the carriage's compartment. The tents unfurled in midair, their poles automatically burrowing into the ground and propping them up. Soon, four rows of weathered tents were arranged around the carriages, scattered throughout the village.
The outermost ring consisted of two small tents for the four scouts. Next came the professors' tents, followed by twelve tents designated for classes. Beyond those were the tents for the seventh, sixth, fifth, fourth, third, second, and first years. At the very center stood the headmaster's office, alongside the dining hall and kitchen.
As students began emerging from their magically expanded trunks, the camp buzzed with life. Younger students, guided by their prefects, quickly familiarized themselves with the new encampment, its surroundings, and the updated safety protocols. Meanwhile, the older students, under the professors' supervision, ensured the camp's operations ran smoothly.
The storage room's water tanks were refilled, firewood restocked, and a fresh batch of vegetables ripened in the greenhouse tucked inside one of the trunks. A fishing party returned with over a hundred pounds of seafood, which, through the combined efforts of Mrs. Weasley and the surviving house-elves, was transformed into a spread of delectable dishes on the dining hall tables.
Two hours later, the students and staff of the new Hogwarts began their daily lessons. At the camp's outermost edge, Harry and Hermione, freshly washed, lingered in their small tent—a cozy setup with a living area, bedroom, kitchen, and bathroom—savoring a rare moment of downtime.
On the tent's central sofa, Harry, now changed into fresh clothes, sipped coffee while poring over intelligence reports from other resistance groups. Beside him, Hermione, dressed simply in a blue long-sleeved shirt and jeans, reclined comfortably, her bare feet propped on Harry's lap. She was engrossed in a research paper on advanced charms.
The long days of travel had left Hermione's feet sore and aching, but she was too absorbed in her reading to pause and massage them. Casting a sidelong glance at Harry, she playfully nudged his stomach with her foot.
Harry sighed, setting the reports on Hermione's lap. With a flick of his wand, he cast a warming charm Hermione had devised to make his hands the perfect temperature for her massages. Though it wasn't the first time he'd done this, when his warm palms pressed against the tender, aching spots on her feet, Hermione nearly let out a contented hum.
"Right… there… yes… a bit harder… ahh…"
In the quiet intimacy of their little tent, basking in each other's company, Harry and Hermione felt a fleeting return to the days of their flight four years ago. Back then, they were so young, brimming with energy, their hope unshaken even in the darkest times. When they had infiltrated Hogwarts to find Ravenclaw's diadem, they truly believed they could destroy the Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort once and for all.
But everything changed when Ron volunteered to take Hermione to open the Chamber of Secrets. From that moment, their fortunes plummeted. Snape fell in battle. Professor Flitwick fell. Professor McGonagall was gravely wounded. Professor Sprout lay in a coma. Professor Slughorn, Firenze, and Trelawney all perished. Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks were killed. Colin Creevy and countless other sixth- and seventh-year students died. Lavender Brown was bitten by a werewolf and remained missing. Even Harry Potter, who had once cheated death, had come perilously close to meeting his end several times.
The new Hogwarts no longer harbored hopes of defeating the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord head-on. Their only strategy now was to endure, to delay, to outlast until the day Voldemort grew old and died.
"Four years already…" Hermione murmured, gazing at the sunlight filtering through the tent's ceiling. "Harry, do you think we can really hold out until the Dark Lord dies?"
"…I… don't know…" Harry sighed, his voice heavy. "When Dumbledore was alive, he told me that Vol—Tom Riddle had performed at least three dark magical transformations on himself. The Tom Riddle we face now… he's barely human by any standard definition. He's edging closer to becoming a non-being, with all the undying, unkillable traits that come with it. I don't know if we'll ever see that day… especially since we're not just facing one Tom Riddle anymore…"
"Harry, about the traits of non-beings, I think you might be mistaken," a familiar voice rang out directly in their ears. Startled, both Harry and Hermione tumbled off the sofa, wands drawn, standing back-to-back as they scanned the tent warily.
Then, under their vigilant gazes, a white-bearded man in black robes appeared in the kitchen behind them, holding a plate of bread and fried fish.
"It's been a long time since I've tasted Molly's fried fish," he said cheerfully. "I must say, Mrs. Weasley's cooking is as splendid as ever."
Facing the two battle-ready students, this stranger—who looked and sounded eerily like Dumbledore—praised Mrs. Weasley's culinary skills with a casual air, utterly unconcerned by the fact that he was standing before the two most formidable fighters in the new Hogwarts, second only to Professor McGonagall.
--
Support me & read more advance & fast update chapter on my patreon:
pat reon .com/yuuwand