Under the Cursed Moon - CH - 53

Harry received the letter from Andromeda early one morning, as sunlight streamed through the windows of the Black Mansion. The letter was written in Andromeda’s familiar neat script, but the contents were anything but familiar. Hermione, sipping her morning coffee, noticed the grim look on Harry’s face as he read.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, setting her mug down.

Harry placed the letter on the table and pushed it toward her. “It’s Andromeda. She says there’s a new Dark Lord in Britain.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she picked up the letter and began reading aloud:

"Dear Harry,
Britain is in turmoil again. A new Dark Lord has risen, but this one is unlike the others. He’s recruiting Muggle-borns and Half-bloods, rallying them against the purebloods. His cause might seem just at first glance, but his methods are anything but. Innocent pureblood families are being targeted indiscriminately. Even those who fought against Voldemort during the war are being attacked. The Wizarding world is falling into chaos again, and the Ministry is helpless to stop him."

Hermione paused, her brow furrowing deeply. “Muggle-borns and Half-bloods? That’s… unexpected.”

Harry nodded, his jaw clenched. “Andromeda says it’s not just about revenge. Many of them have suffered for years—decades—under the pureblood-dominated Wizengamot. They’ve endured the aftermath of Voldemort’s war, and now they’re lashing out.”

Hermione read on, her voice quieter now.

"Since you left, things have only gotten worse. Prejudices against Muggle-borns didn’t vanish with Voldemort’s defeat. Many pureblood families have doubled down, passing laws that subtly exclude Muggle-borns from positions of power. They’re not Death Eaters, Harry, but they’ve made life unbearable for many. That’s why this Dark Lord’s movement is gaining momentum. But innocent lives are being lost—on both sides. Harry, Britain needs you again."

Hermione set the letter down, her hands trembling slightly. “This… this is awful.”

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve seen this before, Hermione. Power breeds oppression, and oppression breeds rebellion. But this isn’t the way. Innocent people are being attacked, and Andromeda’s right—many of them are bystanders.”

Hermione reached out, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “What do you want to do?”

Harry stared out the window, the peaceful view of Forks at odds with the chaos described in Andromeda’s letter. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I can’t just sit here while Britain tears itself apart.”

That evening, Harry called a family meeting. Hermione, Leah, and even Teddy sat around the table. Teddy looked up at his father, sensing the seriousness of the moment.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” he asked.

Harry smiled faintly. “Nothing’s wrong, Teddy. But there’s something important we need to discuss.”

He turned to Hermione and Leah. “You’ve both read Andromeda’s letter. I need to know what you think.”

Hermione was the first to speak. “It’s complicated, Harry. This new Dark Lord… he’s tapping into real anger and frustration. Muggle-borns and Half-bloods have faced systemic discrimination for years. But attacking innocent pureblood families? That’s not the answer.”

Leah nodded in agreement. “If you go back, you’ll be walking into another war. And we just got our lives settled here. But… if anyone can stop this, it’s you.”

Teddy piped up, his voice small but firm. “Are you going to fight bad guys again, Dad?”

Harry ruffled his son’s hair. “I don’t want to, Teddy. But sometimes we have to do what’s right, even when it’s hard.”

Hermione squeezed his hand. “We’ll support you, whatever you decide.”

Harry sat at the large oak desk in his study, rereading Andromeda’s letter. The words weighed heavily on him, not just because of what they implied about the state of Britain, but because they dredged up memories he’d long tried to bury. Memories of betrayal, isolation, and prejudice.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts swirled. The Wizengamot... purebloods clinging to their traditions... they haven’t learned a damn thing. He clenched his fist, his knuckles whitening as the memories came rushing back.

He remembered walking into the Ministry of Magic the day after the leak. Colleagues who once greeted him warmly now avoided eye contact. Aurors he’d fought alongside during the war whispered behind his back. Even some of his closest friends had grown distant.

The worst came when he was summoned to the Wizengamot to "clarify his condition." Harry had stood before the council, a group of mostly pureblood wizards and witches, many of whom still viewed him as the Chosen One—a title they used when it suited them but discarded when it didn’t.

One particularly vocal member, a pureblood from an old family, sneered at him. “Lycanthropy is a dangerous affliction, Potter. Surely you understand why this council must consider the risks you pose to society.”

Harry’s anger had boiled over. “I fought to save this society,” he snapped. “I bled for it. And now you’re treating me like some kind of threat?”

The deliberations went on for hours, and while they ultimately allowed him to retain honor, the experience left a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d seen firsthand how deeply ingrained the prejudice was, even against someone like him—someone who had risked everything for the Wizarding world.

Now, as he sat in his study, those memories fueled his thoughts about the current situation. The new Dark Lord wasn’t like Voldemort. This one wasn’t targeting Muggle-borns or Half-bloods. Instead, they were rallying those same groups—people who had suffered under Voldemort and the Wizengamot’s systemic bias—against the purebloods.

Harry understood the anger driving the new movement. He couldn’t forget how many times he’d seen Muggle-borns passed over for promotions, or how Goblins were treated as second-class beings despite their contributions to wizarding society. He knew that if the situation escalated, other marginalized groups—like werewolves and Goblins—might join the rebellion.

But Harry also understood the cost of war. He’d seen it in the faces of those who had fought and died against Voldemort. He’d seen the price paid by innocents caught in the crossfire. And he wasn’t about to throw himself into another conflict just to prop up the pureblood-dominated Wizengamot.

Hermione entered the study, holding a cup of tea. She placed it in front of Harry and sat across from him, her expression concerned.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked softly.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been thinking about the new Dark Lord. About what Andromeda wrote. I understand why they’re doing this, Hermione. The Wizengamot… the purebloods… they’ve clung to their traditions for so long, refusing to change, refusing to listen. But I can’t fight a war just so they can keep ruling with their prejudices.”

Hermione nodded, her brow furrowed. “So, what do we do?”

“I think the real solution isn’t to fight for either side,” Harry said. “It’s to fight for reform. The Wizengamot needs to change. The Ministry needs to change. This isn’t just about stopping a Dark Lord—it’s about tearing down the systems that create them.”

Hermione reached out, taking his hand. “That’s a tall order, Harry. But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

Harry gave her a small smile. “I’m not doing it alone. If I go back to Britain, I’ll need help. Neville, Luna, Andromeda… people who understand that the Wizarding world needs to evolve.”

“And the Goblins and Werewolves?” Hermione asked.

“I won’t let them be drawn into another war,” Harry said firmly. “If this Dark Lord is truly recruiting them, it’s because they’ve been mistreated for so long. If we can show them a better way—a way where they’re respected and treated as equals—they won’t need to fight.”

That evening, Harry wrote another letter to Andromeda. This time, he outlined his plan. He wouldn’t fight to uphold the Wizengamot’s traditions, but he also wouldn’t stand by and let a new Dark Lord tear Britain apart. Instead, he would fight for reform—for a future where Muggle-borns, Half-bloods, Goblins, and Werewolves all had a voice.

When he finished, he handed the letter to Hedwig, who hooted softly before flying off into the night.

As Hermione watched Hedwig disappear, she turned to Harry. “Do you think they’ll listen?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s worth trying. If we can avoid another war, it’s worth everything.”

And with that, Harry began preparing for his return to Britain—not as a soldier, but as a reformer, determined to create a better future for all.

The Black Mansion buzzed with activity as the family prepared for their sudden departure. Word had spread quickly among their close friends in Forks, and a farewell gathering was arranged on short notice. The grand dining hall of the mansion was filled with laughter, conversations, and a bittersweet undertone as everyone tried to make the most of the evening.

Teddy, as usual, was the center of attention, dashing around the room and sharing animated stories about his time in Forks. His favorite people, from the Cullens to the Quileute tribe, were all present.

Harry stood near the fireplace, talking to Carlisle Cullen. “It’s an emergency in Britain,” Harry said, his tone grave. “A new Dark Lord rising, and from what I’ve learned, it’s more complicated than before. They’re targeting purebloods this time.”

Carlisle nodded solemnly. “You’ve done a lot here, Harry. Forks is better because of you. But Britain… I suppose they need you now.”

Hermione joined the conversation, handing Harry a glass of mead. “I’ll be sending the Blood Replenishing Potion as promised,” she said to Carlisle. “It’s been wonderful working with all of you. But now it’s time for us to focus on a different battle.”

Carlisle smiled gently. “We understand. You’ve given us so much already. Safe travels, Hermione.”

Meanwhile, Leah Clearwater stood in a corner with her mother, Sue, and her brother, Seth. Sue looked nervous about the responsibility Harry was entrusting her with.

“Are you sure about this, Harry?” Sue asked when he approached her. “The mansion, the beach, all of it… it’s too much.”

Harry shook his head, smiling warmly. “It’s not just a house, Sue. It’s a part of the community now, and no one else is more deserving of looking after it. You’ve been like family to us.”

Seth, beaming with excitement, added, “Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll keep everything in top shape. And I’ll make sure no one messes with the place.”

“I know you will,” Harry replied, clapping him on the shoulder.

Before the evening ended, Hermione pulled Alice and Jasper Cullen aside. “I’ll send the potions as often as I can,” she reassured them. “But remember, the supply might be sporadic. Britain is going to demand a lot of our attention.”

Alice nodded, her eyes soft with gratitude. “You’ve already done more than we could ever ask for. Stay safe, Hermione.”

Teddy hugged Esme tightly. “I’ll miss you!” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “But Daddy promised we’ll come back.”

“And we’ll be here waiting for you,” Esme said, her voice full of warmth.

As the night wore on, farewells were exchanged, tears shed, and promises made. The Cullens, the Quileute tribe, and the many friends the Blacks had made during their time in Forks all wished them well.

Early the next morning, the family packed their belongings and prepared to leave. Harry stood in the grand hall, looking around at the mansion that had been their home. “It’s not goodbye,” he said quietly to himself. “Just a temporary farewell.”

With one last look at the mansion, the family activated the Portkey that would take them to Britain. In a swirl of magic, they disappeared, leaving behind a community that would miss them dearly—and a legacy that would endure.