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

Harry stares out toward the formerly forbidden forest, lounging in a chair outside of late Hagrid's former cottage. The cottage has been transformed and remodeled with Ginny's charm, just as Harry has. Now taking the esteemed job of grounds keeper under the supervision of his good friend Drako Malfoy, Harry has retired from his Aurorer occupation with the highest honors from his order, the Phoenix. With his younger experiences to compare, The forest seems much less foreboding, with Centaurs communicating with the rest of the wizarding world as a unionized people. Trade has picked up between a previously unknown giant culture that specializes in cultivating weeping willow specimens, revamping their chances of survival all around the world. Unicorns have started recovering their ranks, and although still extremely rare, many have approached the aging Harry Potter. Life has become slow, and Harry scowls at what he let his life become, and relaxes, realizing he has everything he could ever hope for. 
 
 The wind starts to pick up as Harry is thoughtfully rocking his body into a doze. The cold air whips his ever shaggy hair around the sides of his head, revealing a now very faint lightning-shaped scar. As he reaches down to pick up his pipe and mandrake leaves, the wind, gray and relentless, blows seemingly into the forest. Harry instinctively grabs his wand. He felt this wind once before, a very long time ago in his first years of wizarding school. He slowly stands, staring intently into the forest, stepping off of the old porch in his ever-defensive position. His scar has started burning. Burning in a cauterizing, writhing pain, Harry reaches up only to be burned by his scarred brow. 
 
 `` Voldemort,'' Harry utters. 
 The trees whip and crack from the stress of the wind. A mighty explosion echoed from the middle of the now excited forest, casting a huge plume of green light and smoke to an all too familiar symbol of a skull and slithering snake. The forest bends out with an equal energy of wind consumed beforehand, casting limbs thirty meters. 
 `` He has returned,'' Harry mumbles as he sprints toward the forest, `` He had another horcrux!?'' 
 
 Harry stumbles, and slows. He discovers his futility. He will never win against a now newly risen Voldemort. He now realizes what the final horcrux could have been. 
 
 `` Success, equality, and tolerance,'' he stutters with bated breath, `` can not exist without....chaos....'' 
 Harry falls to his knees. The darkness overshadows the wizarding world again, now with no prodigy to control it.
