Arthur spent the next three days testing the limits of his new abilities—mainly wandless magic and invisibility. The Resurrection Stone, while fascinating, wasn’t particularly useful unless he planned to beco a detective solving murders.
The wandless magic was intoxicating. He could now cast every spell he knew without a wand. Before, his wandless repertoire was limited to spells he had painstakingly mastered. Now, if he wished, he could even cast the Killing Curse with a flick of his fingers.
The invisibility proved even more interesting. The ability to vanish at will was impressive enough, but this was no ordinary magic. This was Death’s invisibility—completely untraceable by any spell Arthur knew.
Even Winky struggled to sense his presence.
"Master will stop sneaking up on Winky!" she declared one afternoon, clutching a saucepan as he materialized silently behind her in the kitchen. "Or Winky will start throwing pots first and asking questions later!"
"Sorry," Arthur said, clearly not sorry. "Just getting used to it."
"Master has been ’getting used to it’ for three days. Winky suggests Master finds a hobby."
She wasn’t wrong. With no imdiate threats and no urgent need for more power, Arthur found himself with sothing he struggled to manage—free ti. He had nothing to do.
Arthur felt confident enough in his strength to handle any future danger. At least until Loki showed up, things could afford to be quiet.
Arthur needed a hobby.
That evening, he found one.
The house telephone rang—a rarity—and on the other end was Daniel.
"Arthur?" Daniel said. "et for lunch? I’ve got sothing important to talk about."
Twenty minutes later, they sat in their usual upscale restaurant while Daniel fidgeted with barely contained excitent.
"So," Arthur said, "what’s this important thing you wanted to talk about?"
"Well," Daniel began, "rember the friendly match we went to a few days ago? Want to go to another one?"
Arthur blinked. "You wanted to talk about football? I thought it was sothing important."
"This IS important. Arthur, I’ve spent my entire life buried in books and numbers. That match was the most alive I’ve felt in years." Daniel’s usual analytical deanor cracked, showing genuine enthusiasm underneath. "The atmosphere, the crowd, the sheer passion—it was incredible."
"You can go by yourself," Arthur pointed out. "You’re a free man."
"But..." Daniel hesitated. "Security concerns aside, I thought you might want to co too. You said you wanted to experience normal life, right? The new season starts mid-August. We could get season tickets."
Arthur studied his friend. Daniel Wang—forr financial slave, current CEO, perpetual workaholic—was practically vibrating with excitent over sports.
"You’ve really thought about this."
"I’ve been reading about tactics. Johnson from HR has been explaining the history." Daniel pulled out crumpled notes. "Did you know Manchester United’s manager, Alex Ferguson, has been there since the eighties? The man’s a tactical genius."
"And you want us to beco... football fans?"
"Why not? Better than having no hobbies."
Arthur considered it. He had promised his parents he’d try living like a normal person. What was more normal than supporting a football team?
"Fine," he agreed. "Season tickets it is."
Daniel’s grin could have powered half of London. "Brilliant! I’ll handle everything. Oh, and Arthur? Maybe buy so stadium friendly clothes before August."
—
With that settled, Daniel quickly arranged the season tickets. But with a few weeks still left before the Premier League began, Arthur turned back to an old project: converting the Ravenclaw diadem into sothing more wearable.
He had the knowledge mastered long back—and now with the Elder Wand’s power absorbed into him, he had the magical control too. The task looked almost simple. He just needed to design the new artifact properly.
anwhile, the wizarding world burned.
The Prophet reported daily atrocities. Muggle newspapers described "gas explosions" and "gang violence" that Arthur recognized as Death Eater raids. The Ministry fought back, but Tom’s forces seed everywhere at once.
At least the Taboo was gone. After Arthur’s afternoon of systematic snatcher slaughter, Voldemort had quietly removed it. Apparently losing over thirty followers in one day sent a clear ssage about the wisdom of restricting vocabulary.
Though Arthur didn’t involve himself in the wizarding world’s problems, Harry and Sirius had beco regular parts of his life.
After the Horcrux and the ritual, their bond had grown stronger. Their visits ranged from intense training sessions to casual get-togethers full of prank wars and terrible jokes.
"You should really hang out with more people," Harry said one day. "Might clear up so of the misconceptions about you."
"Harry’s right," Sirius agreed. "The Prophet makes you out to be so mad killer and pureblood hater. You’re nothing like that."
"Who said I’m not?" Arthur replied, turning Sirius’s hair bright green in revenge for an earlier prank.
"See? Pranks instead of murder. Definite improvent."
Their easy banter had beco a comfortable routine. Harry would complain about being treated as the chosen one by the wizarding world. Sirius would rant about Wizengamot politics. Arthur would mock them both while secretly enjoying every minute.
"Arthur," Harry said carefully, "my birthday party’s coming up. You could co."
"Too many people," Arthur replied imdiately. "Besides, I don’t like everyone in your friend circle."
"Who?"
"Not saying."
"Co on!"
"No."
Harry pouted but didn’t push. He knew Arthur well enough by now to recognize immovable positions.
When August arrived with the football season, Arthur discovered Daniel hadn’t exaggerated his preparation. The man had morized statistics, learned chants, and sohow convinced Aurora to join them.
"Crowd dynamics," she claid at their first proper match. "Important for security work."
"Right," Arthur said. "That’s why you painted your face red."
"Maintaining cover!"
Old Trafford thundered around them as Manchester United took on Leeds. The atmosphere was electric—several thousands of people united in their hatred of the opposition. Even Arthur, with all his power and cynicism, found himself swept along.
United won and the pub afterward was chaos. Grown n sang increasingly creative songs about Leeds’ failings while Arthur, Daniel, and Aurora claid a corner table.
"Never thought I’d see it," Aurora said, watching Arthur actually laugh at a particularly crude chant. "The terrifying Arthur Hayes, acting almost human."
"I’ve always been human," Arthur protested.
"No human can create tornados with finger flicks."
"This human can."
"That’s not helping your argunt."
Their banter had beco natural. No more Arthur playing the aloof mage. Sowhere between the roaring stadiums and post-match pub chatter, Arthur had rediscovered what friendship felt like.
—
And soon, in this new rhythm of life, another visitor would arrive.
It was the last week of August. Late one night, as Arthur sat alone in his study, carefully etching runes into the redesigned diadem, the wards shimred—subtle but undeniable.
Soone had crossed the outer periter.
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