John grunted in acknowledgment before continuing.
“Themis, Goddess of Prophecy—among many other responsibilities—delivered a prophecy through Sybill Patricia Trelawney. That prophecy was intended to be spoken in front of one Albus Wulfric Dumbledore.”
He flipped a page within the folder.
“Once your parents died, Albus was supposed to place you in the care of your godfather, Sirius Orion Black. From there, Sirius, Remus John Lupin, and eventually several others were meant to prepare you for your future. They were supposed to ensure you received the education, support, and knowledge necessary to thrive at Hogwarts and, ultimately, to wound Tom Marvolo Riddle during his resurrection in Little Hangleton.”
A faint smile touched John’s lips.
“That moment was supposed to be the first crack in Riddle’s confidence. The first time he would truly fear you.”
The smile vanished.
“Instead, Albus delivered you to the very last people you should ever have been raised by.”
Harry already knew where this was going.
“The Dursleys.”
John’s voice carried obvious disapproval.
“Years of neglect, poor nutrition, emotional abuse, and social isolation damaged your magical development. Not enough to cripple your potential, but enough to matter.”
Harry lowered his gaze.
“He didn’t intend to damage your magic,” John admitted.
“I’ll give him that much. However, he absolutely knew that placing you there would ensure you entered the magical world desperate for guidance, affection, and approval.”
His eyes narrowed.
“He wanted you to see him as a grandfather figure rather than what he should have been.”
“A teacher.”
Harry remained silent.
“The next issue stems from Albus’s obsession with forgiveness.”
John leaned back in his chair.
“That philosophy originates from his belief that he was responsible for his sister’s death.”
Harry blinked.
“But… wasn’t he?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“He wasn’t.”
John rubbed his temple.
“Unfortunately, he spent decades believing otherwise. His constant insistence that everyone must forgive, overlook, and offer second chances wasn’t entirely altruistic.”
A bitter smile crossed his face.
“It was a plea.”
Harry frowned.
“A plea?”
“To be forgiven.”
John tapped the folder.
“By others. By himself. By the memory of his sister.”
The office grew quiet for a moment.
“The Fates never anticipated that guilt would affect him so profoundly. Helping you fulfill your destiny was supposed to ease that burden and allow him to believe he had finally redeemed himself.”
John sighed heavily.
“So that mistake is partially ours.”
Then his expression hardened.
“But that philosophy…”
His finger slammed down onto the papers.
“…that philosophy caused far more damage than anyone realized.”
Harry flinched.
“It allowed countless students to avoid consequences for their actions. It deepened the divide between Slytherin and the other Houses, particularly Gryffindor.”
His voice grew sharper.
“And because those children were never properly disciplined, many of them grew into adults who believed rules simply didn’t apply to them.”
John’s gaze darkened.
“Which, in turn, helped fill the ranks of Voldemort’s army.”
Harry absorbed the words in silence.
“If those students had been held accountable while at Hogwarts,” John continued, “many would have learned that actions have consequences. Some would never have joined Riddle in the first place.”
After a moment, John leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Fortunately, that’s not your problem to fix.”
Harry looked up.
“What is my problem, then?”
“When the time comes, you must allow Albus Dumbledore to die.”
Harry stared.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“But he’s—”
“No.”
John cut him off immediately.
“You are not to interfere.”
Harry’s confusion deepened.
“But aren’t I already dead? And so is he?”
“We’ll get to that.”
John held up a hand before Harry could continue.
“For now, understand this: if you prevent his death, you’ll create consequences far worse than you realize.”
His expression became grave.
“Albus will remain a political obstacle for decades. His influence will continue shaping events, and eventually those changes will create conditions for another Dark Lord.”
Harry felt a chill crawl down his spine.
“And then?”
“You die before your time. Again.”
Silence settled between them.
Finally, John turned another page.
“And now we arrive at the other major disruptions to your destiny.”
His eyes scanned the text.
“Molly Jillian Weasley.”
Another page.
“Ronald Bilius Weasley.”
Another.
“And Ginevra Molly Weasley.”
Harry nearly jumped out of his chair.
“But Ginny—”
“Quiet.”
The single word halted him.
John waited until Harry reluctantly nodded.
“Good.”
His gaze returned to the file.
“Ginevra Molly Weasley spent her childhood listening to bedtime stories about Harry Potter.”
Harry blinked.
“What?”
“Stories told by her mother.”
John’s expression turned flat.
“From an extremely young age, Molly carefully cultivated the idea that her daughter would one day marry you.”
Harry’s mouth slowly fell open.
“That was the plan.”
The office remained silent for several seconds.
Then John continued.
“Molly herself was born a Prewett.”
Harry nodded vaguely.
“The Prewetts possessed respectable wealth. Nothing approaching the Potter fortune, but certainly enough to live comfortably.”
John folded his hands.
“As a Hogwarts student, she set her sights on Arthur Septimus Weasley.”
“Because of the Black connection?”
John nodded approvingly.
“Very good.”
Harry felt no satisfaction.
“She believed Arthur’s family ties would guarantee financial security.”
John’s expression twisted with annoyance.
“When that failed to happen quickly enough, she resorted to love potions.”
Harry froze.
“She what?”
“Used love potions to ensnare Arthur.”
The statement was delivered with absolute certainty.
Harry struggled to process it.
“The problem,” John continued, “was that Arthur wasn’t nearly as ambitious as she expected.”
A faint smirk appeared.
“Arthur is perfectly content running a modest Ministry department and earning an honest living.”
John shrugged.
“Part of that may be due to years of continued potion exposure.”
Harry’s stomach turned.
“The result is a family that is loving, generally decent, and far from impoverished by ordinary standards.”
Then his expression soured.
“But not wealthy.”
“And that bothered Molly?”
“Very much.”
John turned another page.
“Her original plan involved recruiting the entire family to help position Ginny as your future wife.”
Harry blinked.
“The entire family?”
“That was the intention.”
John began counting on his fingers.
“Arthur was too honest.”
Another finger.
“Bill believes in earning success legitimately.”
Another.
“Charlie cares more about dragons than politics.”
Another.
“Percy follows rules too closely.”
Two more.
“And Fred and George inherited Bill’s work ethic, though with considerably more chaos attached.”
Harry almost smiled.
Almost.
“Which left only two willing participants.”
John’s gaze met his.
“Ginny.”
A pause.
“And Ronald.”
Harry looked away.
“Ronald shares more traits with his mother than either would ever admit.”
John’s voice became colder.
“He envies what others possess.”
Harry couldn’t deny that.
“Unlike Molly, however, he’s terrible at hiding it.”
The folder snapped shut.
“He’s lazy, entitled, prejudiced, and believes the world owes him rewards simply because of his blood status.”
Harry winced.
“You should have ended that friendship the first time you truly recognized those traits.”
His eyes lowered.
“The Firebolt.”
John nodded.
“Exactly.”
Harry remembered the argument.
The jealousy.
The resentment.
The way Ron had reacted.
“Your true male friend was never Ronald Weasley.”
Harry slowly raised his head.
“Neville.”
“Correct.”
John gave a single nod.
“Neville Francis Longbottom.”
A wave of guilt washed through Harry.
Looking back, he couldn’t honestly disagree.
“But all of this started long before that.”
Harry frowned.
“What do you mean?”
John leaned forward.
“Think carefully about your first journey on the Hogwarts Express.”
Harry did.
“Molly Weasley standing outside the barrier.”
The memory surfaced instantly.
“‘What’s the platform, dear? Nine and three-quarters?'” John recited in a nearly perfect imitation.
“‘All these Muggles around…'”
For a brief second Harry almost laughed.
Then realization struck.
His amusement vanished.
John noticed immediately.
“Good.”
Harry’s eyes widened.
“Oh…”
“Exactly.”
John steepled his fingers.
“Molly attended Hogwarts for seven years.”
Harry nodded slowly.
“She then spent the next decade escorting children to and from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.”
The numbers began forming in Harry’s mind.
“Three trips per year.”
John nodded.
“Christmas. Easter. Summer.”
His gaze sharpened.
“By the time Ronald started Hogwarts, she had likely visited that platform over one hundred times.”
Harry felt his stomach drop.
“One hundred and three,” John said.
“Give or take.”
The implication was unavoidable.
“So she knew exactly where it was.”
“Of course she did.”
Harry stared at the desk.
“She was waiting for me.”
John nodded.
“She wanted you to hear her.”
A pause.
“She wanted you to approach her.”
Harry clenched his jaw.
“And I did.”
“Which led to introductions.”
Another pause.
“Which led to Ronald.”
And another.
“And Ginny.”
Harry looked away.
“I walked right into it.”
“Yes.”
The answer was neither cruel nor gentle.
Simply factual.
John studied him carefully before speaking again.
“And let’s not forget something else.”
Harry raised his eyes.
“You already knew Molly admitted to using love potions on Arthur.”
Harry’s expression slowly tightened.
John’s gaze remained fixed on him.
“So tell me, Harry James…”
His voice dropped to almost a whisper.
“Is it really such a stretch to believe she’d use the same method on you?”