Chapter 30
A Promise Given
Authors Note - There are some scenes of threat here in this chapter, a little bit of violence in the next. Keep the reviews coming, keeps and author inspired and keeps the harem fics at bay a little longer before the whole fandom falls to them.
I got to 8k words and thought …. I’m not ending this in one chapter ;) so trimmed this down and cutting in half, part two will be out Friday Most likely.
……
Chapter Thirty
“Alright Harry, we are due to go over to the Greengrass Manor for two o’clock this afternoon, they have invited Remus as well, so until then the day is yours” Sirius spoke as they were eating their bacon and scrambled eggs in the dining room, Remus was reading over the latest copy of the daily prophet, stirring a cup of tea. It was new years eve, and with a letter from Daphne in his christmas gift she had invited them to the manor for the new year celebrations which he eagerly accepted. The memory of the Christmas period flooded back to him, bringing a sense of warmth.
Harry could still remember that Christmas as if it were wrapped in gold — the first real one he’d had in a long time.
The morning had started with laughter and loud crashes from the kitchen, courtesy of Tonks dropping nearly everything she touched. She'd shown up in candy-cane-striped socks and a jumper that changed colors depending on her mood—blazing red when she accidentally tripped over Kreacher, who responded by muttering darkly about “mudblooded meddlers.”
Remus had come with a tin of homemade biscuits — a bit burnt around the edges — and a copy of Hogwarts: A History for Harry, with quiet commentary about how Hermione would be furious if she found out he hadn’t read it yet.
Sirius, grinning like he had back in school, gave Harry something small but heavy — a silver pocket watch with the initials “J.P.” engraved inside the lid. “It was your dad’s,” he said, clearing his throat and looking away. “Figured he’d want you to have it.” Harry had stared at it for a long time, unable to speak, the ticking of it loud in his ears like a heartbeat.
In return, Harry gave Sirius a new set of enchanted frames, already filled with photographs — of the old Order, of James and Lily, and a new one of the four of them smiling in front of the fireplace that morning, Tonks mid-blink, with Remus’s jacket catching the fire and panicking.
Lunch was loud and chaotic. Roast turkey, crispy potatoes, parsnips drowned in butter, and gravy that Remus tried to fix with a charm but accidentally turned blue. Tonks tried to dye it gold to be festive — it turned green. Sirius didn’t care; he laughed and poured it over everything anyway. There was firewhisky and pudding soaked in brandy that flamed a little too high.
The Weasleys dropped by in the evening — Molly bringing a second pudding and insisting everyone try “just a little.” Arthur was fascinated by Sirius’s wireless, and Fred and George enchanted the tree to shout “Merry Christmas!” every hour on the hour. Ginny gave Harry a box of Chudley Cannons merch she’d won off Ron in a bet. It was the happiest Harry had seen her in a while.
Boxing Day was quieter. The house had that cozy after-Christmas feel, all wrapping paper scraps and leftover mince pies. Ron and Hermione arrived just before lunch, both red-cheeked from the cold. Hermione came bearing a stack of books and a new quill set for Harry. Ron handed him a sitch mount where he could store the number of golden snitches he had captured.
They spent the day playing Exploding Snap, sneaking extra biscuits, and arguing about whether Tonks could really beat Remus at Wizard’s Chess, she could not, despite her confident claims. Sirius sat back and watched them all, a rare peace in his eyes, his laughter echoing through the halls of a house that had long forgotten joy.
He felt home.
“Hermione’s coming over,” Harry said, finishing the last bite of his eggs. “I need to nip into the alley—just some supplies for potions and runes. Otherwise, I was going to catch up on some reading.”
He set his fork down with a soft clink, the early sunlight pooling across the kitchen table like warm honey.
Sirius looked up from his plate, chewing thoughtfully on a strip of bacon. “That’s fine. Do you want us to come with you?”
Harry shook his head, giving a small, reassuring smile. “Nah, we won’t be long.”
He stood, grabbing his plate. The gentle scrape of ceramic on wood cut through the morning quiet. After rinsing it off at the sink, he turned, pausing behind his godfather and Remus. Wordlessly, he placed a hand on each of their shoulders—a silent thank you, and something else: reassurance..
“I’m just going to grab a shower. Hermione should be here soon,” he added, then disappeared down the hallway.
Sirius stared at the door long after it closed, fork forgotten in his hand. His jaw worked slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
Across from him, Remus slowly folded his newspaper, sensing the shift in the air.
“He’ll be fine,” he said gently. “It’s only a quick trip, and the alley’s well-guarded these days.”
“I know,” Sirius replied, but his voice was tight. “It’s just... hard. Letting him go. I know it sounds stupid, but—”
“It’s not stupid,” Remus said, nodding. “I feel it too. Sometimes.”
Sirius exhaled, his brow furrowing. “It’s more than that today. I’ve got this feeling—deep in my gut. I can’t shake it. It’s been too quiet. No attacks, no disappearances.”
Remus frowned. “There was something in The Independent yesterday. Muggle paper. Said the homeless population in London’s down. Charities haven’t seen an increase in claims.”
Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “That happened before the first war started. People vanished, but no one noticed.”
“They’ll be notifying the Prime Minister soon, if they haven’t already,” Remus murmured, his voice lined with unease.
Upstairs, water pelted Harry’s back, steam curling around him in thick swirls. His muscles ached from yesterday’s training, but it was a good ache—a sign he was getting stronger.
His thoughts drifted, as they often did, to the raw threads of ancient magic that still pulsed like static under his skin. He’d managed to lace it into his spells—Diffindo could probably cleave a troll in half now—but control was another matter. The power didn’t come easy. It burned. It bucked.
And he wasn’t there yet. Not for them—the inner circle Death Eaters. Maybe he could take on a few now, push them back, maybe even kill. But Voldemort? That was another story. He still felt miles away from being ready for him.
He straightened slowly, eyes narrowing at nothing in particular as he washed his face. It’s been quiet.
Too quiet.
No attacks. No disappearances. No whispers of movement from the shadows.
It was the kind of quiet that pressed in around the edges. The kind that made instincts flicker awake.
Even as he towel-dried and dressed, his mind stayed sharp, vigilant. He’d already gone over the plan. Hermione would meet him here and they would be apprated to the alley, they'd keep the list short—two shops max—and stay in the open. He had escape routes mapped out through the side alleys, Disillusionment charm ready, if anything did kick off he had been practicing in private with Sirius apparition but he wasn’t ready to do it solo, yet it was better to be splinched than captured by death eaters..
He wasn’t reckless anymore. Not since the war had come to his doorstep, not since his stupidity at running to the ministry.
Harry stepped out of the shower, steam rising off his skin as he grabbed a towel and scrubbed it through his hair. The mirror was still fogged, his reflection little more than a smudge, but he didn’t need to see it clearly to know how much he’d changed.
He toweled off with practiced efficiency, pausing as he caught sight of himself when the fog started to clear. His chest had filled out—not broad like a Quidditch player’s, but solid. Lean muscle defined his shoulders and arms, the result of months of relentless training and sparring. Not that he was bulky—he never would be—but he looked... capable now. Stronger.
More like someone who could hold his own.
He pulled on a dark blue T-shirt that clung more snugly than he was used to, outlining the taper of his torso and the cut of his arms. It was one of the new ones Sirius had bought him. Then came a pair of grey jeans, comfortable but fitted, and his wand holster—worn smooth in places—slid into place under his sleeve like an old habit.
There were still parts of him that didn’t quite believe it. That the body he saw now—the way it moved, the way it could fight—was really his.
But he didn’t dwell on it, he didn’t have much time of vanity, as whilst he would admit he was starting to look very … good? Looking good wouldn’t stop a curse. There wasn’t time for that anymore.
He ran a hand through his damp hair, grabbed his satchel, and gave the room one last glance. Everything was where it should be. Everything in its place.
And yet, that feeling of unease still crept up his spine. Like he was being watched. Like something was just... waiting. He glanced at himself in the mirror. There was a hardness to his gaze now, something carved into the shape of who he was becoming. Not cold, but ready.
As he headed downstairs, the air felt thicker.
…
“My Lord,” came the smooth, sycophantic voice of Lucius Malfoy.
Voldemort didn’t look up immediately. He sat at the head of the long dining table in Malfoy Manor, fingers steepled beneath his chin, red eyes narrowed in thought. The fire crackled weakly behind him, but it offered no warmth—only flickering shadows that danced along the silver-edged walls.
His mood was foul. The pace of recruitment was glacial. Fear still worked in their favor, yes, but fear alone did not fill ranks or win wars. Too many were hesitant. Too many remembered the last time and had the gall to hope history wouldn’t repeat itself.
Lucius waited, standing stiffly a few steps back, a practiced bow disguising his unease.
“What is it?” Voldemort asked, voice barely above a whisper—yet it slithered across the air like a blade. Lucius flinched all the same.
“Potter,” he said, carefully, “is in Diagon Alley. With the mudblood girl. Alone.”
That drew a reaction.
Voldemort’s gaze snapped up, his pale face twisting into something almost resembling a smile—but there was no mirth in it. Only calculation.
“Alone?” he repeated, rolling the word on his tongue like it was a spell in itself.
Lucius inclined his head. “Our contact at the Apothecary saw them enter. No other escorts were noted.”
A strange silence followed. Then, the Dark Lord rose from his chair, his movements smooth and almost graceful—like a serpent uncoiling.
“Then let us give the Aurors something else to chase,” he murmured. “If Potter is in the alley, they’ll watch him. Hover around him like desperate dogs.”
He walked slowly around the table, fingers trailing along its polished edge, his mind already assembling the pieces of the board.
“There is a bloodline enclave in Lancashire… old families. Unprotected. Soft. If we strike there—publicly—Shacklebolt will shift his forces. All eyes will leave the boy.”
He stopped behind Lucius and laid a long, cold hand on his shoulder. “And while they are distracted…”
“You want us to take him,” Lucius said, swallowing thickly.
“Take him,” Voldemort confirmed, almost sweetly. “And the girl if you can. I want them alive.”
He turned away again, already losing interest in the conversation.
“Take Nott. Avery. Mulciber. Rabastan if he’s clean enough to be seen. I need the rest—if Potter is truly alone, you won’t need them. Two teenagers should be no match for you Lucius”
Lucius bowed, the weight of the command heavy in his chest.
“Yes, my Lord.”
As he turned to leave, Voldemort’s final words followed him like a shadow.
“Don’t fail me again, Lucius. Not when the boy is this close.”
The doors closed with a soft click, and silence settled over the long dining room once more.
Voldemort remained still, his red gaze fixed on nothing, thoughts unfolding with deadly precision.
Lancashire first.
The enclave was old, pureblooded, but neutral. The kind of neutrality that had always irritated him. They hadn’t stood against him—but neither had they bent the knee. A swift, public strike would force the Ministry’s hand. Shacklebolt would throw his Aurors there like panicked cattle. And once they were drawn away, the alley would be exposed. Potter would be exposed.
This time, there would be no more games.
He had wasted too much time years ago. Toyed with prophecy. Let the boy live—let him grow—and suffered the consequences of Dumbledore’s sentiment and his own arrogance.
Not again.
Now, the boy would die.
Publicly.
Viscerally.
And the mudblood would die with him—but not before her screams shattered whatever false courage Potter had grown over the years. Not before she watched him bleed. And he her.
That girl—clever, loyal, infuriatingly resilient—had always been a thorn, always dragged the boy back from the edge. She was his mind, when his heart and rage clouded it. Remove her, and Harry would be less than he was. Easier to kill. Easier to break.
But Voldemort did not want their deaths to be simple.
They would suffer. He would make spectacles of them.
He saw it already—their broken bodies suspended in the square outside the ruins of the Ministry, strung up like the traitors they were, their blood painting the stones beneath the new regime’s seal. Let the wizarding world see their heroes gutted. Let them understand.
No one defied him and lived. No one inspired rebellion and walked away whole.
Voldemort’s thin lips curled into a cold smile.
He turned away from the window at last, dark robes whispering across the floor, and disappeared into the shadows of the hall—already thinking of the spells he would prepare for their final moments.
Soon.
It would all begin very soon.
…
The air in Diagon Alley had a strange stillness to it.
Shops bustled, yes—witches and wizards moved about, bags in hand, chatter drifting lazily—but something beneath it all felt... off. Like a lull before a storm, a silence that didn’t belong. Harry stepped through the Leaky Cauldron’s archway with Hermione at his side, eyes scanning the street automatically. They had decided to venture into muggle London first for a quick bite to eat from a bakery before heading to the Ally and that is when Harry felt the shift.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Hermione, ever perceptive, glanced sideways at him. “You feel it too, don’t you?” she asked softly.
Harry gave a quiet nod. “Too quiet. Too… contained. Like it’s trying to look normal.” he replied, part of him thought they should leave … but that would be given the Death Eaters what they wanted .. fear. Once fear took hold how long long until they struck when they thought the public were at their weakest.
They moved on, past Flourish and Blotts, where a bored clerk rearranged a display on defensive theory. Hermione’s hand brushed against his briefly as they walked, a silent grounding gesture neither of them commented on.
They had grown like that over the years—close in a way that defied simple labels. Their friendship was bone-deep, sharpened by survival and softened by moments of peace, of normalcy. They fought without words, moved in step, trusted in a way that few others could understand. Many made comments that they had to be lovers, that in the shadows they were together, both of them found those rumors rather comical.
Harry found himself glancing at her more often than usual. Not out of worry for her—Hermione could handle herself—but something heavier sat in his chest. A pressure that seemed to grow with each step. He spied the aurors patrolling the alley, their red robes bright in the winter sun.
They continued to walk side by side past a small group of younger children outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, their excited voices rising around the latest broom model in the window. Harry barely heard them. His attention stayed split between Hermione and the edges of the street, instinctively tracking shadows, checking shop windows.
Hermione nudged him gently with her elbow. “You’re doing it again.”
He blinked. “Doing what?”
“The constant threat assessment,” she said, smiling faintly. “You’re turning into Mad-Eye.”
Harry let out a low breath, his lips twitching. “That obvious, huh? You said it yourself something feels off”
Hermione gave a small nod. “I know, but it’s alright. Honestly, it’s kind of reassuring to know you’re watching out for us. Plus the aurors are here”
They walked a few more steps in companionable silence before Harry spoke again about something that had weighed heavily on his mind, voice softer this time. “I’ve been meaning to say—I’m sorry. For how distant I’ve been lately. With the training, our homework, and everything else... I know I haven’t really been around much.”
Hermione stopped walking for a moment, making Harry turn back to face her. Her expression was patient, warm, but serious.
“Harry,” she said, “you don’t owe me an apology. You’re carrying a weight none of us can fully understand. Ron and I get that. We’re not keeping score. We’re here—I’m here—whenever you need us.”
He gave her a grateful look, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. “Still. I should’ve said it sooner.”
Hermione smiled and touched his arm briefly. “Then I forgive you, oh Chosen One.”
Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Merlin, don’t you start.”
They continued walking, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly under her steady presence.
“I still can’t believe Ron opted to stay in bed,” Hermione added with a smirk.
Harry chuckled. “Well, it is New Year’s Eve. We’re back at school soon—let him enjoy the peace while it lasts.”
“Still, we’re up, and he’s missing out on a nice morning.”
“I’m sure he’ll live, Hermione.”
She shrugged, eyes sparkling. “Ron’s probably still in bed with a bacon sandwich and Witch Weekly. He’ll claim he’s ‘recovering his magical core’ or something.”
“Wait—Ron reads Witch Weekly?” Harry replied, mock horror twisting his face.
“Apparently it’s to ‘understand the inner workings of girls’—to help with dating,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Impossible to work out the inner workings of wome—Ow!” he broke off, rubbing his arm where she’d just slapped him.
They both burst into laughter, warm and easy.
But as the sound faded, Harry’s eyes flicked toward the aurors stationed at the edge of the street. Something had shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. One reached into their pocket sharply, then another. A second later, the sound of multiple Apparitions cracked through the air. The crowd stilled, confusion bubbling into unease as the aurors vanished one by one.
“That’s…” Hermione began, but Harry wasn’t listening anymore. His gaze had locked on a building across the way—an upper window of the apothecary. A curtain twitched unnaturally, and a jolt of magic surged through him like lightning licking the base of his spine.
“Hermione, get down!”
A streak of blue light tore across the space where they’d just stood, searing past them and slamming into the shopfront behind. Wood exploded, glass shattered, and several people screamed as the blast knocked them to the cobblestones.
Then came the chaos.
“Death Eaters!” someone shrieked, and the sounds of Apparition, panicked shouts, and rapid spellfire filled the alley like a storm breaking.
Harry didn’t hesitate. This wasn’t the time to fight—not here, not now. He grabbed Hermione, yanking her toward him as she reeled from the shock.
“Run.”
“Harry—”
“I said run!” he barked, and the sharp edge in his voice cut through her hesitation.
He pulled her with him, back toward the Leaky Cauldron, heart pounding, wand drawn.
Lucius Malfoy stood just beyond the mouth of a side alley, his silver mask glinting faintly in the weak morning sun as screams echoed off the cobblestones. Diagon Alley was unraveling into chaos—civilians stumbling over one another in panic, dragging children, clutching bags, scattering like leaves in a storm.
More black-robed figures began Apparating in with sharp cracks of sound, masked and ready, wands already drawn. Death Eaters. His reinforcements. But even still, there was no sign of Potter.
He scanned the crowd with narrowed eyes, jaw clenched. Where are you, boy?
To his left, one of his men raised a wand toward the retreating crowd, but Lucius snapped, “No! Keep them running—don’t engage unless you’re certain!”
He had no intention of wasting their advantage on civilians. Or worse—drawing unnecessary fire from the Aurors.
Three of them had remained behind. Just three.
But Lucius wasn’t foolish enough to underestimate them.
They moved through the crowd like blades through silk—focused, silent, lethal. One, a tall witch with streaks of silver in her hair, dropped a Death Eater with two spells so quick Lucius barely saw her wand move. Another—a broad-shouldered man in dragonhide—disarmed two attackers in a single motion, then caught a curse mid-air with a shield charm so precise it shimmered like glass before exploding outward, knocking two more Death Eaters to the ground.
“They’re splitting us!” one of his men shouted.
Of course they are. Lucius sneered behind his mask. Typical Auror tactics—create chaos, isolate, disable.
He turned swiftly to Nott, who crouched beside him, scanning the alley. “Take Wilkes and Travers. Flank through the back passage—near Scribbulus. They’ll have to break cover soon. We cut them off.”
Nott gave a sharp nod and vanished with a pop, two masked figures following close behind.
Lucius turned to the remaining Death Eaters. “Keep the Aurors occupied. But do not engage alone. Group together, draw them away. Their focus is on the civilians—let it stay that way.”
He had no desire to test himself against a Ministry-trained killer, the politics might have been soft but not the aurors. No not when the real prize was slipping away.
He moved quickly now, flanked by two others, weaving through the narrow side streets that curved behind the main thoroughfare. The sounds of spellfire and shattering glass echoed off stone walls. He caught brief glimpses through the alley gaps—one Auror casting nonverbal spells in a flurry, one Death Eater writhing, another stunned mid-motion and crashing hard into a fruit cart.
Lucius felt a twist of irritation. Fools. The Dark Lord had demanded Potter alive—and the girl. If they failed, the punishment would be worse than death.
“Keep your eyes sharp,” he hissed, ducking beneath a low-hanging sign. “They’ll be heading for the Leaky. We’ll cut them off before they reach the Floo.”
Harry practically dragged Hermione alongside him, weaving through the fleeing crowd now bottlenecking at the Leaky Cauldron’s entrance. Panic pulsed like a living thing in the air, the press of bodies growing tighter, more desperate.
Then came the sharp cracks of Apparition—and Death Eaters emerged directly outside the pub.
Screams split the air.
People stumbled, some falling, others trying to climb over each other in a blind rush for safety. A few brave witches and wizards turned to fight—but it was too late. Wands already raised, the Death Eaters struck first, cutting them down with vicious precision.
Harry's stomach twisted as he watched one man fall, crumpled and still. Then—
A Death Eater stepped forward, bloodlust in his stance, his wand carving the air with practiced cruelty. He aimed directly at a witch clutching a baby to her chest, frozen in terror, unable to move.
No.
Harry’s wand snapped up without conscious thought, a silent curse already on his lips.
Depulso!
The blast of magic tore through the press of people like a javelin, slamming into the Death Eater and launching him backwards. He crashed through the window of the pub in a spray of shattered glass and splintered wood.
The crowd faltered.
Several Death Eaters, momentarily startled, turned sharply—eyes locking on the spell’s origin.
On him.
Shit.
…
Sirius and Remus stepped through the Floo and into the Greengrass family drawing room, their shoes clicking softly against the polished wood floors. The room was warm, the flicker of the fire casting a soft golden glow across the rich, traditional furnishings. Dark mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, their contents a mix of family portraits, heavy tomes, and decorative vases. A large fireplace dominated the far wall, where flames crackled and hissed, sending faint shadows dancing across the room.
The Greengrass family was known for their understated elegance, and the drawing room was no exception. Velvet curtains in deep emerald green hung from the tall windows, their weight enough to keep the night air at bay. The centerpiece of the room was a long oak table set with crystal goblets and delicate china, reflecting the soft light of the candles that burned around the edges of the room. Several comfy armchairs were scattered around the space, and a low-sitting couch was placed just to the side of the fireplace, inviting conversation or quiet reflection.
It was the perfect setting for a New Year's Eve celebration—intimate, relaxed, with only a handful of close family members and them expected.
Sirius glanced around, his eyes briefly lingering on a large painting above the fireplace—Thomas Greengrass as a young man, his family standing proudly beside him. Sirius couldn’t help but admire the deep-rooted legacy of the Greengrass family, but his thoughts quickly turned to a more pressing concern: If the Death Eaters even suspect there’s a link to Harry...
He shook his head, pushing the thought aside. He trusted Thomas—he had to. Thomas had assured him the family was safe here, and he couldn’t second-guess that. The last thing he wanted was to put them in danger.
"Ah, Sirius, Mr. Lupin, what a pleasure to see you both again." Elizabeth Greengrass’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned toward her, smiling.
She stood near the fire, her dark blue dress sweeping just below her knees, its elegant cut highlighting her poised demeanor. Her hair, a cascade of light brown curls, framed her face beautifully, and Sirius had to admit, she hadn’t changed a bit since their school days. In fact, it was hard not to remember why he’d had a small crush on her back then, a memory that now made him chuckle inwardly. Thomas is one lucky bastard.
“The pleasure is ours,” Remus said, his smile warm and genuine. “Forgive Harry—he’ll be along shortly. He just had to nip to the alley for some school supplies.”
“Diligent boy, that one,” Elizabeth Greengrass said with a fond smile. “My Daphne tells me he’s been excelling in Ancient Runes. She’s particularly impressed with his work on weaving runes into clothing for protection. It’s an ambitious project, but I couldn’t be more proud of her. I imagine you’re just as proud of Harry?”
Sirius’s smile deepened, a warmth flashing in his eyes. “Of course. He’s surpassed every expectation I had of him.”
“Bet he has,” Elizabeth chuckled. “Please, do come through. I know a few of my sisters are eager to meet you both.”
“Wait, she has sisters?” Remus muttered under his breath.
“Merlin, this might be a very happy New Year indeed,” Sirius replied, an amused glint in his eyes as he glanced at his watch. Quarter past two. For a moment, he was distracted—something was off. His smile faltered, but only for a split second.
Sensing his discomfort, Remus placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice low but soothing. “I’ll send a Patronus, Sirius. He’ll be fine.”
Without waiting for a response, Remus muttered the charm under his breath, his wand flicking to send the silvery-white wolf racing off toward wherever Harry was.
Sirius watched the Patronus vanish into the air, a flicker of unease still gnawing at him. “I hope so, Moony... I really hope so.”
…
Lucius Malfoy stood in the shadows of a side alley, his pale face twisted in a frown as he watched the chaos unfold in the street. The battle had quickly descended into violence, the streets filling with the screams of civilians and the crackle of spells. He cursed under his breath as one of his own—driven by bloodlust—struck down a group of innocent bystanders, their bodies crumpling to the ground.
Foolish.
It wasn't that Lucius cared for the lives of the public, he had inflicted far worse himself. But each death drew the attention of more Aurors, and their presence was the last thing he wanted here, when his master’s plans for Lancashire were in motion. The attack there should keep the Ministry's forces occupied, at least for a time. If everything went according to plan, the Aurors would be distracted, busy trying to control the damage. But that didn’t mean Lucius would waste this opportunity.
He observed as the three Aurors on the south side of the street fought valiantly, using their training to keep his Death Eaters at bay, covering each other as they fought. It was clear from the way they moved, their precise and efficient spells, that they were not amateurs. Hit wizards perhaps But they were still outnumbered. Still, they held their ground..
Lucius scowled. This was far too risky. The Death Eaters were still trying to force the Aurors back, but the three were managing to hold them off. Time was running out.
Then, he saw it.
The moment the young Potter struck. A flash of magic—silent, precise—had sent one of the Death Eaters crashing into the window of the Leaky Cauldron. The crowd stilled for a split second before panic resumed, but it was enough. The Aurors were now aware of Potter’s presence, and they were moving toward him.
No matter. Lucius’s lips curled into a cruel smile as he assessed the situation. Now that the Aurors were occupied, it was the perfect moment for a pincer move.
"Dolohov," he muttered to his lieutenant. "You and Yaxley, keep the Aurors distracted. Make sure they’re too busy with you to notice what’s coming from behind."
His orders were swift and efficient. Antonin Dolohov and Alecto Yaxley, two of his most trusted Death Eaters, stepped into the fray, casting spells to drive the Aurors back. Their job wasn’t to defeat them—just to hold them off and keep them busy, ensuring that the Aurors wouldn’t notice the real threat until it was too late.
Lucius motioned to Matthais Nott and Avery, his eyes narrowing as he turned his attention back to Potter and the Mudblood girl. His fingers itched for a wand, the thrill of the hunt awakening something cold and dark inside him. He knew this was his moment—Potter and his companion were vulnerable, and they were already on the defensive.
They were separated from the crowd, trapped in the main street as people fled down the side streets. The street behind them was clear for a brief moment—perfect.
"We move now," Lucius whispered, his voice barely audible above the noise of the battle. He nodded toward Nott and Avery. They would approach from the rear while he led the charge from the front. The four remaining death eaters from the Leaky Caldron stood still, cutting off their retreat.
As they approached, Lucius’s eyes locked onto Harry’s form, still standing tall and defiant, despite the chaos surrounding him. He was better than expected, but Lucius had something far more insidious planned for him. He had learned long ago not to underestimate Potter, but the boy’s defiance would be his undoing.
The mudblood was at his side, her eyes wide, her grip on her wand tight. Lucius could see the fear in her stance, but it was Harry who would be the focus of his wrath.
The crowd around them had begun to thin out, people scrambling for cover in any building or alley they could find, leaving the street increasingly empty. Harry’s heart pounded, his breath quickening as he tried to assess their situation.
They were trapped.
The Leaky Cauldron was only a few paces behind them, but the street ahead was filled with Death Eaters, forcing any remaining civilians into retreat. To the south, more Death Eaters were closing in, cutting off any escape routes. Harry’s fingers tightened around his wand as he pulled Hermione behind him, his eyes scanning the scene frantically.
I could Apparate us away, but…
The thought lingered, but Harry quickly dismissed it. Apparating in the heat of battle was risky, and Hermione wasn’t trained in it. He could barely guarantee his own safety under the pressure—how could he keep her safe too? The streets were alive with the crack of spellfire, and every moment felt like they were being squeezed tighter.
He wanted to move, to act, but the odds were stacked against them. The Death Eaters had them surrounded.
Then, through the chaos, a voice broke the tension.
“Potter, Granger—there’s nowhere left to run.”
Harry whipped around, his wand raised as a figure stepped forward from the shadows, his face twisted with a cruel smirk. Lucius Malfoy.
The taunt came as cold and deliberate as a snake striking. “I do hope you’re not thinking of fleeing. It’s rather… unbecoming of someone so legendary as yourself.”
“Last I saw you, was running with your tail between your legs at the ministry” Harry countered, earning a smirk from the blonde.
“You think the words of a halfblood mongrel will cut me?” he replied, his wand ready.
“Amusing considering the man you bow down like a dog too is a halfblood like me”
“You lie” Avery seethed.
“Come a step closer and i’ll put you down like the dog you are” Harry growled his wand moving towards Avery.
“Oh he has fight I like that, it makes the victory all the sweeter” Malfoy laughed.
“Harry, what do we do?” Hermione whispered, she was scared. And she had every right to be right now.
Matthias Nott and Avery took up positions, their faces gleaming with malicious intent. The cruel smirk on Nott’s face deepened as he took a step forward. “Don’t worry, Potter. Once we’re through with you, we’ll have plenty of fun with her,” he added, his voice dripping with malice as he cast a pointed glance at Hermione.
Hermione stiffened beside him, her eyes wide with shock, but Harry could see the flicker of fear in them as the threat hung in the air.
That was enough.
His blood ran cold, his temper flaring with an instinctive fury that burned through him like wildfire. Before he could even think, he shouted, “Expelliarmus!”
The force of his spell tore through the air and hit Nott square in the chest before he could even react, sending him flying backward into a stack of crates. For a moment, it seemed like the Death Eaters were caught off guard. But Harry didn’t give them time to recover. He barely registered the glint of steel from Nott’s fallen wand before he was already in motion, thrusting himself in front of Hermione as the first curse came at them.
“Protego!” Harry cast the Shield Charm just in time, the spell deflecting a streak of green light meant for him. The force of the blast sent a shockwave through the air, but it only fueled his urgency.
Nott scrambled to his feet, fury flashing in his eyes as Avery and Lucius advanced. “You’ll regret that, Potter,” Lucius sneered, his pale face twisted into a cruel grin as he raised his wand.
Harry had no time to think. He was already on the defensive, barely managing to dodge a well-aimed curse from Avery that would’ve hit him square in the chest. The air was thick with magic, the crackling sound of curses and counterspells ringing through the narrow street. Hermione moved beside him, her eyes sharp and focused, pulling up a shield of her own.
“Protego!” she shouted, blocking a spell aimed at Harry. Her presence beside him was a lifeline, even though she was still clearly struggling to keep up with the pace of the attack.
They were slowly being pushed back, inch by inch. The Death Eaters were relentless, casting one spell after another, keeping them in a constant state of defense. Harry’s heart raced, sweat beading on his forehead as he tried to think of an escape. Lucius was by far the most dangerous, Nott was the elder brother of Theodore but his spells were erratic and stray, Avery was cunning, one or two curses nearly clipping him.
But the more they fought, the more Harry realised how little time they had left. They were being forced toward the edge of the street, with nowhere else to go but further into the battle. Every step felt like they were closing in on a trap.
"You're a dead man, Potter, when the dark lord has you" Avery spat, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "Just like your parents."
Harry’s blood ran cold, but before he could react, another blast of magic flew toward them. He barely managed to deflect it with a quick Protego before the force of it knocked him off balance.
They were losing ground.
Hermione's breathing was heavy beside him, her arms shaking from the strain of holding off the constant barrage. But there was a fire in her eyes, a fierce determination. She wasn't going to let them take Harry without a fight, even if it meant her life.
"I’m alright, im alright!" she urged, her voice strained but firm. "We need to get out of here!"
Harry didn’t have an answer. His mind raced with plans and counterplans, but none of them seemed feasible. He couldn’t find space to attack with the constant barrage.
…
Back at the Greengrass estate, laughter chimed through the drawing room, mingling with the soft clinks of glasses and the gentle hum of string music drifting from a corner. It was a warm, tastefully decorated space—timeless but touched with festive charm. Gold and silver garlands framed the arched windows, candles floated lazily overhead, and a crystal charmed to snow tiny flurries hung above the fireplace, shimmering softly.
Sirius glanced down at his watch for what must have been the fifth time in ten minutes. Half-Past-Two. He hid the twitch of his brow behind a sip of firewhisky, letting the drink’s warmth dull the edge of worry gnawing at him.
“You seem tense, Black,” came a smooth voice to his side.
Sirius turned, plastering on a polite smile as Tobias Greengrass stepped up with a glass of wine in hand. Slightly younger than Thomas, Tobias had the same sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes, but less of the warmth. “Shame what happened to you, really,” Tobias said, casually swirling his wine. “Azkaban. Whole family name dragged through the mud—tragic business. Still, here you are. Rehabilitated, I suppose?”
Sirius’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, you know me. I bounce back.”
“Hmm,” Tobias murmured, clearly unconvinced but amused nonetheless.
Sirius didn’t rise to it. He had more pressing concerns.
He shifted subtly, his eyes flicking across the room in search of Remus. His old friend was standing near the arched window, deep in conversation with Daphne and Astoria. Astoria had a book half-tucked under her arm, and was gesturing animatedly about something—likely school related—while Daphne, arms crossed, kept glancing toward the entrance hall, then back to Remus, politely nodding.
Sirius caught Remus’s eye and gave the smallest of nods—anything?
Remus raised an eyebrow in return, subtle, but Sirius read it easily: No. Not yet.
Sirius shifted again, staring down at his watch.
thirty minutes late. Too long.
The gentle buzz of polite conversation was broken in an instant by a sudden, brilliant flash of silver-blue light. Gasps rippled through the Greengrass drawing room as a rough, almost wolfish Patronus—clearly a large dog, maybe a Scottish Deerhound—raced into the room with purpose, its hooves skimming the floor in a blur.
It charged directly toward Sirius and stopped dead in front of him.
The voice that came from it was unmistakable: gravelly, no-nonsense, and laced with urgency.
“He has moved, large scale attack in Lancashire, all aurors called, the Alley is under attack as well from a smaller force”
The Patronus dissolved in an instant.
For a second, the room was frozen.
Sirius looked up at Remus his throat tight and his heart stopping. He noticed the look of dread on Remus’s face and also the fear on the eldest greengrass sister, whose mother rushed over to her.
“Harry”
…
Sorry the chapter was getting to long, but i love writing it! I hope the aurors came across as they should, they hunt dark wizards yet every fic or scene in the books they get cut down easily, your average death eater isn’t going up against them, inner circle or Voldemort? Different story.
Before anyone gives me grief about Harry fighting, trust me, wait for it. Just be mindful Malfoy is much older and more cruel, as is Avery.