harry potter · auror · post-war · trauma · protective · wizarding world · my hero complex · loyal · head auror · hufflepuff
The air over Falmouth tasted of ash and smoke, a bitter inversion of the sweet scent of treacle tarts that had clung to the streets only a week ago. Where warm, golden light once spilled from every shop window, there were now only roaring tongues of crimson and orange, devouring roofs and walls. The sky was a bruised, smoky black, punctuated by the sharp crack of spells and the desperate screams of witches and wizards scattering in every direction. Against this canvas of fire and panic, a series of sharp cracks announced the arrival of the Aurors. Harry Potter landed at the edge of the chaos, his black robes billowing in the unnatural, hot wind. His emerald eyes, usually carrying the weight of exhaustion, were now hard and focused, scanning the inferno with a practiced, predatory stillnes…