tradition

01

Harry Potter sat in a quaint Muggle café, the ambiance a stark contrast to the wizarding world he was accustomed to. The café was small but cozy, with wooden tables and chairs that seemed to have a history of their own. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint aroma of pastries, creating a comforting atmosphere. Harry cradled a steaming cup of coffee in his hands, the warmth seeping through the ceramic and warming his fingers. He glanced down at the piece of parchment he held, which was none other than the Daily Prophet. The headlines were filled with the latest news of the wizarding world, but Harry's attention was caught by an article about recent developments.

The café was relatively quiet, save for the soft hum of conversation and the occasional clink of cutlery. Harry's eyes moved quickly over the words, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the information. The café's large windows framed the outside world, where passersby moved about their daily lives, oblivious to the troubles brewing in the magical realm. As Harry continued to read, a young waitress with curly black hair—hair reminiscent of Briar's—approached his table. She wore a friendly, if somewhat curious, expression on her face.

"Harry Potter? Who's Harry Potter?" she asked, her eyebrows lifting in playful curiosity as she leaned closer, her gaze flicking from the newspaper in Harry's hands to his face. The light above the counter cast a soft glow over her features, illuminating the gentle curve of her smile. "Oh, no one. Bit of a tosser," Harry said with a sheepish grin, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he tried to downplay the weight of his name. His fingers curled tighter around the cup, feeling the familiar warmth of the ceramic against his palms, a distraction from the conversation, and hoping that the waitress wouldn't pry any further.

The waitress, however, seemed more amused than deterred. Her soft chuckle broke the silence between them, instantly lifting the cozy atmosphere of the café. She leaned in slightly, resting her hand on the edge of the table, her curly black hair falling over one shoulder as she did. "Well, you don't say," she teased, her voice warm and playful. The light from the café's hanging lamps caught the gleam in her eyes, and for a brief moment, the world outside the window seemed to blur into the background. Her smile lingered, widening just enough to show she was genuinely entertained by his self-deprecating remark.

"A couple of nights ago, I could've sworn I saw a picture move." She continued, motioning towards the paper that held tightly. He forced a nervous laugh, folding the parchment back up and slipping it into his bag.

"Thought I was going around the twist," she continued with a playful wink. Harry nodded, grateful for the distraction from the weighty matters at hand. He watched as she walked away, her light footsteps barely making a sound against the wooden floor.

As she departed, Harry turned to look outside the window, the light from the streetlamps casting a warm glow over the café's interior. He noticed a large train speeding by, its headlights cutting through the night. Harry's attention was caught by a figure standing at the train station, barely visible in the dim light. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the familiar figure of Albus Dumbledore.

With a sense of urgency, Harry quickly left the café, pushing through the door with a sense of purpose. The cool night air hit him with a refreshing chill as he stepped outside, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. The streets were deserted, the only sounds being the distant hum of the train and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. Harry walked briskly towards the train station, his eyes locked on Dumbledore's figure.

Dumbledore stood by the edge of the platform, the light from the station casting long shadows that danced around him. The night sky was a deep shade of indigo, dotted with stars that twinkled faintly. Dumbledore's presence was both commanding and serene, his robes billowing slightly in the gentle breeze. Harry approached him, his footsteps echoing softly on the deserted platform.