HP [1]

“No means no.”

“Pleeease, Harry?” The blonde witch’s silver eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her gaze locked onto his emerald ones. “We haven’t had pancakes in ages.”

Harry blinked at Luna in disbelief. “We had them yesterday.”

“But that was breakfast, and it’s dinner now,” she countered, lips forming a perfect pout. Her tone carried the certainty of someone convinced their argument was unassailable. “You never make pancakes for dinner.”

He sighed, arms crossing. “I already give in to your pancake obsession every morning. You’re not getting them for dinner. If you want them that badly, you or Hermione can make them.”

Luna shot him an incredulous glare, as if he’d just suggested something outrageous. “Harry, darling, Hermione may be brilliant at brewing potions, but her cooking? Even starving babies would turn their noses up. Did you forget her last attempt?”

“Nope.” He smirked at her startled expression and tapped his temple. “As much as I despise Lockhart, I’ll admit he was right about Obliviate. Handy spell.”

“What’s a handy spell?” came a familiar voice as Hermione entered the room, her brows furrowing slightly. “And what’s for dinner?”

“Luna convinced Harry to make pancakes!” Luna exclaimed triumphantly before Harry could respond.

“Wait, what? I didn’t agree to that!” Harry protested.

Hermione shook her head in mock disapproval. “Really, Harry? Pancakes? You’ll have to learn to say no to her one day. But since you’ve already decided, I won’t stop you this time.”

Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he trudged to the kitchen. Behind him, his two girlfriends exchanged gleeful smiles.

“And don’t forget the blueberries!” Luna called after him. “You know how rare they are these days!”

Harry muttered under his breath as he mixed berries into the batter. Despite their antics, a small smile tugged at his lips.

Even though they’re pains in my arse, I wouldn’t give them up for anything.

Life with Luna and Hermione had been the happiest he’d ever known. Their little sanctuary in the countryside was a haven of warmth and love—an oasis of peace in a world overshadowed by war. If only the chaos outside their manor walls didn’t constantly loom over them, it might have felt perfect.

….

It was hard to imagine that Voldemort could have returned yet again, but the Dark Lord’s resilience had exceeded even their worst fears.

In the final days of the Second Wizarding War, desperate and cornered, Voldemort had created one last Horcrux—a simple, unassuming stone that he had hidden at the bottom of the Black Lake.

Four years after his defeat, with the reluctant aid of Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort had reclaimed his body and risen once more. The wizarding world had barely begun to heal when his shadow darkened their skies again.

His first act was to overthrow the Ministry of Magic, an all-too-familiar maneuver. Declaring himself the savior of wizardkind, Voldemort waged a campaign against Muggles, whom he labeled the “enemies of magic.” His initial strike sent shockwaves through the world—a simultaneous assassination attempt on the Queen and the Prime Minister.

Now, as Harry prepared dinner for the people he cherished most, his thoughts were never far from the ever-present threat.

War had returned to their lives, and while he had managed to carve out a semblance of normalcy within their home, it came with the bitter knowledge that peace could never last.

But for now, he let himself focus on the simple act of making pancakes, treasuring the rare moments of happiness in a world teetering on the edge of darkness.

It failed miserably.

No one in the Ministry knew anything about how Muggles waged war. In retrospect, that should have been obvious; after all, their 'expert' was unable to recognize children's bath toys or even pronounce Muggle words correctly.

When grenades and bullets rained down on Diagon Alley, there had been no warning and no quarter.

Two years later, the magical population of Britain had fallen from its previous 14,000 to only 4,500, and those survivors all nearly worshiped Voldemort as the one man to recognize the threat Muggles presented.

Strange how quickly they forgot who it had been who first stirred up that hornet's nest.

The trio of lovers had been more than willing to remain out of this new war and integrate into whatever society was left, and they would have been safe all this time if not for that red-haired, arse-kissing, back-stabbing coward…

Harry took a deep breath as he relaxed his grip on the mixing bowl. The bloody Weasleys were a swift death to the iron control he had to maintain on his anger.

After the Horcrux in his scar was destroyed, it became clear that the all-consuming rage he had felt during his fifth year and what should have been his seventh was less the influence of his and Voldemort's mental connection and more his natural temper.

According to the portraits of his grandparents he had found while he was restoring Potter Manor following the end of the Second Voldemort War, he may look like his father, but no one could deny he was his mother's son.

The batter was ready and the griddle finally hot, so Harry was about to pour the damn pancakes when he heard Hermione scream. He was out of the kitchen before the bowl had enough time to hit the floor.

….

The entrance hall looked like a bomb had gone off inside, and for a moment, he feared the worst.

A second glance showed him that the room was not damaged in any way, simply covered in soot and ash.

He found Hermione and Luna standing against the front door with their wands pointed at the fireplace, so he too aimed in that direction and at the oddest-looking man Harry had ever seen.

Considering that he had met Luna's father, that was saying something.

The intruder was short; four-and-a-half feet would be a generous estimate. He wore red fur pants and jacket, both of which were strangely clean despite the filth covering everything else in sight.

His clothing's white trim matched his hair and beard, which fell almost to his knees.

Black boots covered his feet, and Harry knew that he would not be inconspicuous even in the occasionally colorblind Wizarding World.

Only after he reached behind him and picked up a bulging sack did they realize exactly who this man was meant to resemble.

With a battle cry of "Gimme!", Luna was the first to react, pouncing upon him and wrapping her limbs around his bag with as much force as her svelte body could produce. She bit his hand until he released it, and then scurried over to Harry with her prize.

Her lovers were used to her occasional childishness, and were about to apologize to the man when he let loose several belly-shaking laughs. "You never change, do you, my dear?"

"You two know each other?" Hermione asked, alternating between watching the stranger and glaring at Luna.