In the blink of an eye, two months had passed since the Demon Kings' invasion. The Magic World had recovered quickly during that time, though only its economy and buildings had bounced back. The grief remained.
To ensure the people remembered the catastrophe and strove to better themselves, and to commemorate their Savior, the Director of S.W.O.R.D., the authorities erected an enormous stone statue of Andrew in the flattened ruins of Manhattan.
This was not because the authorities truly revered Andrew so much. They were trying to curry favor with him, lest someone so powerful get any unpleasant ideas. Besides, another catastrophe might strike in the future, and they would need him to save them again.
Andrew paid it no mind. Plenty of people worshipped him; he had no interest in acknowledging every last one.
At that moment, Andrew, The Ancient One, Hoggoth, and Dumbledore were on a peak in the Himalayas. A magical Barrier surrounded them, keeping the howling winds and blizzard outside.
Besides them, the protagonist trio—Harry, Hermione, and Ron—were also present. Harry stared at his two friends, utterly baffled.
Two months ago, Hermione had been a little girl. Now, however, she had become a graceful eighteen-year-old young woman. She wore well-fitted wizarding robes and carried herself elegantly. Though her figure was not particularly voluptuous, she possessed the captivating charm of youth.
How did she suddenly grow up? What happened to us being childhood sweethearts?
Harry grumbled inwardly. Ron had not grown older, but he had changed enormously too. In this freezing place, he wore nothing but shorts and sleeveless leather armor. His arms bulged with muscle, his face looked rugged and resolute, and a shield hung on his back. He could have starred in 300 Spartans without any makeup.
Harry felt a headache coming on. *Aren't we