[ EU ] Harry Potter is sitting at home sixty years after the battle of Hogwarts , an old man now , when suddenly his scar hurts .

Harry sat up straight in the olive velvet armchair in the front formal living room of Number 4 Privet Dr. The sun had been almost blinding earlier in the day, but now grey clouds had seemed to have rolled in overhead, Harry noticed as he reached beneath his cloak and pulled out his wand. 
 
 His wand. It had been ages since he had even thought about it beyond where he had left it last. But now suddenly the wand was in his hand, and Harry's gaze fixated outside. He leaned forward, wand hand on the arm rest, his other clutching the faintest trace of that infamous scar still visible beneath a greying hairline. 
 
 Harry grimaced as a lifetime of agony split through his forehead like no other feeling could produce. `` This ca n't be possible!'' He shouted, as he staggered forward onto his hands and knees. Thunder roared and cackled, but it did n't rain Harry noticed. 
 
 He froze. His scar seared a white hot that would have made him cringe an age ago, but not now. Not today. He stood up and turned slowly as he stepped toward the fire place. A smirk crept across his cracked lips. `` Its about bloody time!'' He shouted, as he raised his wand to the flames. The fire burning in front of his eyes seemed almost a relief compared with the one behind them. 
 
 He cocked his head to the right to see out the Northern window. `` I've been waiting for you!!'' He screamed, gazing out the dirty glass pane. His wand had shaken in his hand for the past few years, but now Harry Potter stood stoic. A moment passed. And then another. 
 
 And Harry stood, wand at the ready, for near a half hour before his age got the better of him. His feet ached, his arm had grown weary of it's task, and he eased himself back into the arm chair. `` You fool... it's just another headache.'' Harry scoffed at himself. It had indeed been ages since he had felt anything from the scar. Harry, admittedly, had slowed down as of late, a life of action had left him a broken thing. 
 
 Thunder crashed again outside as Harry Potter shook his head and chuckled. Where was Madame Pomfrey when he finally had need of her? 
 
 And as he stood in the window, the battle raging outside and the war raging within, Harry Potter gazed into two dark scarlet eyes with cat-like slits for pupils. 
 
 Outside, a hooded figure cackled. 

