After the war, the Ministry of Magic's copper badge burned hot on Harry's chest. As new Aurors, what he and Ron had to face every day was no longer Voldemort, but new cancers growing in the shadows of Knockturn Alley - magical hallucinogens disguised as joke products, purple potions that made teenagers' magic go wild, and the incomplete Dark Mark that always appeared on evidence... Countless cases involved the trio in new whirlpools.
"We don't need the name of savior this time," Ron's patron saint silver dog broke through the darkness, "we are regular Aurors."
There are no fairy tale endings in the postwar world, but someone always needs to hold the shield at daybreak.
Concept: There is no fairy tale ending in the post-war world, but people need to hold up their shields at dawn