The sun was low in the sky. Long shadows were cast across the dusty street of the small town, Hogsmeade. Hidden beneath its serene façade was a brewing tension.
In the heart of Hogsmeade stood the Three Broomsticks Saloon. The swinging front doors creaked with each arrival and departure. The locals murmured about the notorious outlaw, Tom 'Voldemort' Riddle, who had been terrorizing nearby towns. The fear in Hogsmeade was palpable as the whispers of his imminent arrival circulated.
One day a lone figure, clad in white, atop a fiery stallion. The stranger, known only as Potter, was a silhouette against the setting sun, his broad-brimmed white hat shielded his face. His arrival was met with caution as he hitched his horse outside the saloon.
Inside, the piano player stopped his jaunty tune as soon as Potter sauntered up to the bar, his spurs jingled with every step. His gaze swept across the room and boldly met the wary glances that were being shot his way by the locals.
Remus Lupin was the bartender. He was an exhausted man with multiple scars visible on his face and neck and light brown hair that was flecked with gray, leaned in as Potter ordered a firewhiskey.
"You best steer clear of trouble, stranger. Voldemort ain't somebody that you wanna tangle with," he warned.
Potter's eyes held determination as he responded, "Trouble seems to find me no matter where I go. But don't worry, I ain't here for a showdown."
"Well, if it happens to find you here in Hogsmeade you'd be doing me a great service if you didn't bring it here to Three Broomsticks," Lupin said.
Potter nodded, "I just want to enjoy my drink before I bunk down for the night."
As night fell the townsfolk had gathered in hushed groups, fearing the imminent chaos that Voldemort's arrival might bring. They had received word that he had been spotted in Achintee which was not far from their little village. Just when they thought they had escaped the inevitable, at least for the night, gunfire erupted at the outskirts of town.
Voldemort and his gang, the Death Eaters, thundered into Ridgeview, their horses kicked up clouds of dust. The townspeople scattered to seek shelter off the once peaceful streets.
In the heart of the turmoil, Potter stood, his silhouette a stark contrast against the chaos that unfolded around him.
"I thought you weren't going to go looking for trouble?" Lupin said when he reached out and grabbed hold of Potter's arm.
"I also said that trouble seemed to always find me," Potter said gruffly as he shook off Lupin's hold and walked down the steps, his revolver glinted in the moonlight.
The Death Eater's gunfire echoed through the night, but Potter moved like a ghost, his shots rang out with incredible accuracy. His aim was true and his movements were calculated as he skillfully disarmed Voldemort's gang one by one.
After the dust settled and the town had fallen silent, Voldemort now lay defeated on the ground at Potter's feet and the Death Eaters were either dead or subdued. The townspeople emerged from their hiding places with wide eyes and filled with disbelief and gratitude.
Potter tipped his hat towards Lupin and gave a silent nod toward the town before he untied his horse and disappeared into the night, his silhouette fading into the darkness.
Though his presence was fleeting, his heroic deeds echoed in the tales whispered around Hogsmeade and neighbouring towns. A legend was born from the bravery of a lone stranger who saved them from the clutches of evil.