Deep beneath the Muggleful streets of London, hid the sprawling labyrinth of the Ministry of Magic. To the uninitiated, the entrance was nothing more than an unremarkable telephone box. But to those in the know, it was the pulsating heart of magical Britain—a place where daily decisions shaped the wizarding world.

On this day, the grand meeting room was filled to capacity, a veritable sea of pointed hats. The chamber itself was a marvel — towering marble columns soared to a domed ceiling enchanted to resemble a star-studded galaxy of constellations. Golden chandeliers floated overhead, casting an ethereal glow on the assembled witches and wizards whose voices melded into a low, constant hum of anticipation.

Harry Potter stood near the back of the room, feeling somewhat adrift amidst the throng. He adjusted his glasses, his emerald eyes scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Near the front, close to a garishly designed stage draped in crimson and gold, he spotted Ron and Hermione. Ron was fidgeting with his sleeve, while Hermione was engaged in earnest conversation with a witch from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Harry!" a voice called softly.

He turned to see Delphi weaving her way through the crowd toward him. Her silken brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, eyes sparkling in the light of the hovering chandelier above Harry. She was dressed in elegant robes of deep indigo that contrasted beautifully with her pale complexion. Over the past year, she had transformed from a sweet, eager young witch into a confident woman who carried herself with effortless grace.

"What did I miss?" she asked, a playful smile on her lips.

Harry's eyes brightened at the sight of her before he rolled them good-naturedly. "Heh, nothing," he replied. "And I doubt that will change."

Delphi nodded flirtatiously. "Well, if there's no reason to be here..." She made a show of turning to leave, then hesitated, casting a sly glance back at him.

"You'd better not leave me to face these people alone," Harry protested, a hint of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Get used to it, Harry," she teased. "I'm no longer your subordinate. This fine young woman is going places. Distant places."

Harry feigned a look of dread before suddenly pulling out his wand. "That settles it, then. If I'm to be a lone wolf, I'll need to start disguising myself." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What method should I employ? Polyjuice Potion? Transfiguration? Animagus? I could become an actual wolf."

"Why aim so low?" Delphi retorted, arching an eyebrow. "The great Harry Potter? He could turn himself into Dumbledore if he concentrated hard enough."

He chuckled, rolling his wand between his fingers. "I could manage the wrinkles, that's for sure. And the beard—long, silvery." He shook his head. "But I don't need to tell you, a complete transfiguration into another person is an impossibility. It's been attempted by other wizards and gone awry, dreadfully so."

Just then, George Weasley swooped between them, appearing as if from thin air. He wore a mischievous grin and was clearly pleased with himself.

"Is that right? Fascinating," George interjected, his eyes twinkling. "My brother, whom I had once affectionately called Fred..." He turned to Delphi, adopting a somber expression. "He perished... in a hot air balloon collision... heard of this bloke who transformed himself into a giant snake one sunny Sunday afternoon."

Harry and Delphi couldn't suppress their grins. George's charm was infectious, and his antics were always a welcome distraction.

"And after the switcheroo was switched and roo'd—nose never grew back. Imagine that? The man was so embarrassed, he changed his name to... Volde-something."

Delphi looked half-serious, her brow furrowing slightly. "That's—not really what happened, is it?"

"Who nose?" George tapped the side of his nose.

They all burst into laughter, the sound a bright note in the murmur of the crowd.

"Nevertheless, that does give me a splendid idea," George declared, his eyes alight with mischief.

"What's that, George?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"An impromptu display of exquisite buffoonery," George announced with a flourish. "Harry, be a friend and tell me how long until Percival Clear-Weasel, Amateur of Magic, graces us with his presence. One must strike while the mind is hot."

Harry shrugged. "You know your brother. He delights in inviting other people to events, only to arrive late himself."

"Deliberately, yes." George scratched his upper lip thoughtfully. "Well, I'm off. Thank you, my good man." He nodded to them both before slipping expertly into the crowd, undoubtedly in search of Ron and Hermione.

As George disappeared, Delphi turned back to Harry with a wry smile. "So, transfiguration is off the table. You don't want to lose a nose."

Harry raised his wand contemplatively, his gaze distant. "No—but I could get rid of this scar, once and for all."

"Not with that wand, you won't," she said pointedly.

He let out a heavy sigh, lowering his wand. "I thought holly would do the trick — my old wand wood." He paused, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "Nine straight weeks. We had a good run... until the kelpie incident..."

"Who knew they bred in bogs?" Delphi remarked, a playful glint in her eye.

"Thanks for saving my skin," Harry said earnestly.

Delphi took out her own wand, twirling it deftly between her fingers. "I was trained by the best."

He leaned in slightly and winked, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Shh... Auror's privilege."

"Auror's privilege," she echoed, matching his conspiratorial tone.

"Congratulations, by the way," Harry added with sincerity. "It's official—Delphini Drake is an Auror." He flung up his hands. "I've resigned myself to the fact that you'll have my job by Halloween."

"Never." She smiled softly. "I don't want to live in a world where Harry Potter isn't in charge."

"If I was in charge, we wouldn't be having ridiculous meetings like this." 

They turned their attention to the restless crowd. Wizards and witches were shifting impatiently, casting expectant glances toward the empty stage.

"And where is Percy?" Harry mused aloud. "They keep looking at me as if I have even the slightest idea what this is about."

"They idolize you, Harry," said Delphi with pleasure. "I swear... a few of them are considering carefully whether or not to jinx me because I'm close enough to touch your robes."

"You could be right about that." He chuckled softly. "Maybe you should kneel—we don't want them getting jealous."

Delphi faced him, her expression full of meaning, though a smirk played at the corners of her mouth. There was an awkward pause between them.

"Nice try," she said slowly. "I'm not one of your worshipers, Harry."

Before he could respond, a soothing harp began to weave its way through the air, the newly familiar melody silencing the murmurs of the crowd. The gentle notes cascaded over the assembly, but instead of calming their restless impatience, it seemed to amplify their displeasure and soon discontented whispers spread like Fiendfyre.

"That said," Delphi added, her gaze lingering on the mark etched upon Harry's forehead. "Don't you dare remove that scar."