The thick white steam of the Hogwarts Express covered Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, enveloping excited families and eager students preparing for departure. Amidst the lively crowd, Harry, Ginny, Albus, and Lily emerged from the barrier, the familiar cacophony of endless chatter and owl hoots filling the air. James had darted ahead, already mingling with friends.

Witches and wizards hurried by, robes swirling at their feet, some clutching cameras with quills that scribbled notes of their own accord. A few cast curious glances at the Potters, whispers trailing in their wake. Suddenly, a gust of wind swept through, tailoring Harry's unruly hairstyle into a perfect coif. A young woman with a sweet face and long brown hair appeared, wand discreetly pocketed.

"Delphini, I don't know what I would do without you," Harry said, smoothing the wilder strands with a grateful smile.

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Potter. And I've told you to address me as Delphi," she replied warmly.

"As soon as you start calling me Harry," he chuckled, turning to Albus. "She looks after me—Delphini."

"Well, I try," she said modestly.

Behind them, posters wrapped the station walls, bearing the moving image of a snarling bald man with a dark, bushy beard and a lightning bolt scar etched into his forehead. The name "Pariah Prince" was emblazoned beneath the haunting visage.

A cluster of reporters spotted Harry and converged, quills poised. "Mr. Potter! A prisoner has escaped from Azkaban. Is a witch-hunt underway?" one called out.

Another chimed in, "We hear The Tempest are to blame. Does that mean Rodolphus Lestrange is involved? He escaped from Azkaban, himself, after the Battle of Hogwarts."

A third reporter pushed their way forward. "Should the public be concerned, since Lestrange has eluded capture for years?"

Harry raised a hand, his expression patient yet firm. "Ah, really, what does my opinion matter anymore?" he deflected lightly, casting a glance at a nearby poster. 

Rather taken with Harry, many of the reporters laughed. One reporter pressed, "The prisoner carved a lightning bolt into his forehead. Care to comment?" 

"The chatter from Azkaban is that Pariah Prince was obsessed with you, Mr. Potter," added another. "Is there any truth behind these rumors?"

Harry sighed softly. "The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing and should, therefore, be treated with great caution," he said, recalling the familiar phrase. "Albus Dumbledore said that to me once."

Delphi stepped forward apologetically. "I apologize, Mr. Potter... er... Harry. I told them not to bother you."

"It's all right," he assured her.

Noticing a stubborn lock of black hair, Delphi instinctively reached out to smooth it. "No matter what I do..."

Ginny's eyes narrowed slightly and Delphi withdrew her hand, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. Shrugging, Harry flattened it himself.

"I like the way your hair lays," Ginny murmured with a hint of apprehension.

Delphi smiled sheepishly. "I'm ruining a family moment, aren't I?"

"Not at all. Don't be silly," Harry replied, exchanging a knowing glance with Ginny. She sighed and fought to smile. He kissed her on the forehead and then turned back to Delphi. "First time here without getting on the train, eh?"

"Yes, sir. It certainly is strange. Thank you for the opportunity," she said earnestly.

"Well, a spot opened in the department, and you came highly recommended," Harry asserted. "Professor McGonagall said you were top of your class the first three years. Head Girl, Quidditch Captain. You come from good stock—I can tell."

"Must be like looking in the mirror," Ginny quipped.

"I'm hardly comparable to the famous Harry Potter," Delphi protested.

"On that, we can agree," Harry said with a grin. "Delphini got perfect marks on her O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, with an emphasis on Defense Against the Dark Arts. She's an Auror in the making."

"I'm sure Professor Shacklebolt was sad to see you go," Ginny added.

"But I'm happy to see you here," Harry said.

"That's all I could've asked for," Delphi replied softly.

The reporters, growing impatient, edged closer. 

"This is a serious development, Potter. Your public will be wanting an update," one insisted. "You are the Head of Magical Law Enforcement."

Harry turned to face them, maintaining his composure. "I have a rather busy morning, lads. My second-born is going to Hogwarts today—that's why we're here. I haven't had time to review the situation."

Another reporter interjected, "Is it true that your son's middle name is Severus? As in Severus Snape? The man who betrayed and murdered Albus Dumbledore? Relative of Pariah Prince? Is there a connection between you and the recent escapee, Mr. Potter?"

"That's absurd, and you know it," Harry responded sharply. "I had better not see that on the front page."

Questions bombarded him from all sides. "Is it possible that Pariah Prince is the leader of The Tempest? A name has been circulating for months now—I'm sure you've heard."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "And what name is that?"

"Lord Blitzfanger," the reporter revealed.

Harry let out a tight laugh. "Why, it was only last week you said that the leader of The Tempest was... What did you call them?"

"The Augurey"

"That's a bird, right?" Harry smirked.

"They're sinister-looking black birds that cry when rain's coming," the reporter replied. "Wizards used to believe the Augurey's cry foretold death."

"Foretold death? You don't say!" Harry mocked. "Now that's the start of a good headline, if I've ever read one. Where do you come up with this nonsense?"

"These are serious concerns, Potter," the reporter pressed. "There are mountain trolls riding Graphorns through Hungary, there are giants walking through the Greek Seas, and the werewolves have gone entirely underground."

"Your point?" Harry inquired.

"It's the tattoos—winged tattoos on their backs. Like a new Dark Mark. The wings of an Augurey," the reporter explained intensely. "These are people and beasts that fought alongside Voldemort in the great wizarding wars. Allies of darkness. They are joining together once more, alongside the last straggling Death Eaters and a few sycophant Squibs. What can you tell us?"

Harry began to step away. "I can tell you that everyone is redeemable. Including werewolves."

"Even Fenrir Greyback?" 

The question hung heavily in the air.

Harry paused. "Yes."

The reporters clamored for more. "Come now, Mr. Potter. You've got to give us something. This isn't normal behavior."

"Any Voldemort sightings? There are whispers."

Harry stopped to face them, his gaze steady and his smile growing. "Hah. Don't print a word of that. We've had rumors of Voldemort coming back from the Daily Prophet once a year, every year. Time to find a new conspiracy, yeah?"

"What about the recent bridge collapses?" another asked urgently. "Three wizards blowing up bridges to see how many Muggles they can kill with one blast — is that The Tempest? Can we expect worse? If Voldemort—"

"I've noticed how much you enjoy saying his name," Harry interrupted firmly. "But let me set the record straight. Again. Voldemort is dead. Voldemort is gone."

"Yes, Voldemort is dead, but these things all lead us to think that there is a possibility that Voldemort — or some trace of Voldemort — might be back," the reporter argued.

"No, that's impossible," Harry stated unequivocally.

"How can you be so sure?" came the challenge.

"I saw to it myself. The manner in which he was defeated guarantees that he is gone for good," Harry replied, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

"So, then it was more than the duel between you both in the Great Hall?" the reporter probed. "Are you finally going to tell us how it was done?"

"Not today, I'm afraid," Harry said, glancing down at Albus, who looked overwhelmed by the attention his father was getting. "Now, as I was saying, I'm here to bring my boy—"

"What about the heir?" another voice cut in. "There are concrete details that Voldemort did sire an heir."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What details?"