Harry Potter and the Deep Freeze

Unseen Efforts

Over the following days, whispers of the crown's creation spread quietly through the sanctuary. Blacksmiths and artisans worked late into the night, their forges blazing as the crown slowly came to life. Townsfolk volunteered their time and skills, from jewelers polishing the golden crystal centerpiece to weavers crafting a velvet-lined case for its eventual presentation.

Every stroke of the hammer and every polish of the metal was done with care, reflecting the love and respect the sanctuary's people had for Harry.

The Blacksmith's Workshop

Inside the main blacksmith's workshop, the crown sat on a pedestal, nearly complete. Thomas Bramwell stood over it, his brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully etched runes into the band's underside. Each rune was chosen for its protective properties, ensuring the crown was as magical as it was symbolic.

"Perfect," he muttered, stepping back to examine his work.

Eliott, the apprentice, peered over his shoulder. "It's beautiful, Thomas. Do you think Harry will accept it?"

Thomas sighed, wiping his hands on a cloth. "That's the real question, isn't it? Harry's not the type to want recognition or titles. But this isn't about what he wants—it's about what he is to us."

Eliott nodded solemnly. "Our protector. Our king."

Harry's Routine

Unaware of the town's efforts, Harry spent his days as he always did—working tirelessly to keep the sanctuary running.

One afternoon, he stood at the edge of the farms with Neville, surveying the newly expanded wheat fields.

"We'll have a strong harvest this season," Neville said, a note of pride in his voice. "Enough to feed everyone here and share with the other sanctuaries."

Harry nodded, his gaze distant. "Good. We'll need those alliances stronger than ever if the dungeons keep growing in number."

Neville frowned. "You've been pushing yourself hard lately, Harry. Maybe take a day off?"

Harry gave him a small smile. "There's too much to do. I'll rest when things are stable."

Neville shook his head but didn't press the issue.

Hushed Conversations

Meanwhile, the townsfolk kept their plans hidden, ensuring Harry remained none the wiser. In the market square, Marianne Deering whispered to a group of merchants, coordinating the timing of the crown's presentation.

"We'll wait until it's finished," she said. "Then we'll gather in the Great Hall. Everyone should be there to witness it."

"What if he refuses?" one of the merchants asked.

Marianne smiled softly. "He won't. Not when he sees what it means to us."

Final Preparations

By the end of the week, the crown was complete. Its golden band shimmered in the light, the green and silver accents reflecting unity and strength. The centerpiece crystal glowed faintly, imbued with protective magic.

Thomas placed the crown into its velvet-lined case, his hands steady despite the weight of the moment. "It's done," he said quietly.

The room fell silent as the others gathered around to admire the craftsmanship.

"Now all that's left is to present it," Eliott said, his voice filled with awe.

Thomas nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "It's more than a crown. It's a promise—to Harry, and to ourselves. This sanctuary will stand, and we'll stand with it."

The Stage is Set

That evening, the townsfolk gathered in secret one last time to finalize their plans. The Great Hall would be the perfect place for the presentation—symbolic of Hogwarts' legacy and the sanctuary's unity.

As they whispered their plans, Harry remained completely unaware of what awaited him.

The sanctuary was alive with purpose, its people united by a single goal: to honor the one who had made it all possible.

And soon, Harry would learn just how deeply they believed in him.