The evening was thick with the fading warmth of June as golden light streamed through the windows of the cozy sitting room. Harry, Hermione, and Ron sat in tense silence at the wooden table, their expressions grim.

On the table before them, a letter lay open, creased where Harry had gripped it too tightly. The ink shimmered faintly in the dim light:

"We extend this invitation not out of convenience but necessity. The time for fractured alliances is over. Meet us tonight if you wish to discuss a way forward—together."

The signatures at the bottom were names Harry had never imagined seeing side by side: Mattheo, Lorenzo, Regulus, Blaise, Theo, Draco...

And you.

“They’ve got to be joking,” Ron muttered. “We can’t trust them. Not Draco, and definitely not the rest of them.”

“Ron.” Hermione’s voice was steady. “We don’t have the luxury of picking allies anymore.”

Harry tapped the parchment, his gaze distant yet resolute. "We’re going," he said firmly.

The crisp night air hit their faces as they disapparated, landing just outside the ruins of an ancient manor.

Mattheo stood at the forefront while Lorenzo leaned casually against the fountain. Regulus lingered in the shadows, watchful and composed. Blaise and Theo spoke in low tones, while Draco’s face was colder than the night air.

And there you were, standing just behind them, eyes locked with Harry’s. A quiet resolve glimmered in your gaze.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Mattheo said.

Harry’s jaw tightened. “We’re all after the same thing.”

“Are we?” Draco asked coolly.

“We are.” Hermione stepped forward. “This war isn’t about who you were or what side you stood on before. It’s about what’s left when it’s over. None of us want him to win.”

The group exchanged looks, a flicker of understanding sparking between them like embers catching flame.

As the night stretched on, words turned to plans, and caution softened into a fragile alliance.

By the time the moon sank low on the horizon, an agreement had been reached.

They would fight together.