“Why don’t you look for yourself?” Harry offered.
“I’m sure a man of your calibre is well-versed in Legilimency. I’ll drop my Occlumency shields around the memories of him, but I ask that you only look at those. Most of the rest is… personal.”
“You know Occlumency?” Dumbledore asked, clearly surprised.
“It’s necessary to protect my secrets,” Harry replied.
“Indeed. Legilimency is illegal, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore pointed out.
“But I do have a Pensieve. That way, you can choose exactly which memories I see.”
Harry thought to himself that the use of Veritaserum was also heavily regulated, but he nodded anyway.
Dumbledore summoned the stone bowl and placed it on the desk between them.
Harry sighed, drew his wand, and carefully extracted the relevant memories, placing them into the Pensieve.
“I don’t want to see them again,” he said quietly, gesturing for Dumbledore to enter alone.
Dumbledore nodded in understanding and plunged into the swirling silver mass.
It was a long time before he emerged.
His face was grave, his eyes shining with barely contained emotion.
Without a word, he opened a drawer, poured himself a generous measure of amber liquid, and drained the glass in one go.
While the Headmaster recovered, Harry retrieved and replaced his memories.
“I am truly sorry for the life you’ve been forced to lead, Harry,” Dumbledore whispered, his voice thick with sorrow.
“But killing him for revenge would make you no better than him.”
“It’s not only for revenge,” Harry said.
“There are other reasons I’m not ready to share yet.”
He had deliberately chosen not to mention the prophecy.
He needed Dumbledore as an ally, not someone trying to control or protect him.
“I hope, in time, you will trust me enough to do so, my boy,” Dumbledore replied gently.
“So do I,” Harry said quietly.
Dumbledore took a deep breath.
“So you wish to attend Hogwarts?” This chapter is updated first at g.com.
“Yes, sir. I still need to complete my last two years.”
“Of course,” Dumbledore acknowledged.
“But what do you intend to do about your family? You are the same age as your father here.”
“I honestly don’t know,” Harry admitted.
“I was hoping I could get to know him… maybe even become friends.”
“You look far too much alike for that to work,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head.
“And we can’t have you relying on Polyjuice Potion.”
Harry grimaced at the thought.
“You wouldn’t be willing to change your name and appearance,” Dumbledore stated, already knowing the answer.
“No,” Harry said firmly.
“Then there is only one path forward.” Dumbledore stood and moved toward the fireplace.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked urgently, rising to his feet.
Dumbledore sighed.
“People will take one look at you and know you are a Potter. The resemblance is undeniable, and I have no desire to hide it. It would be far too difficult and dangerous for you to remain alone in the world. I am going to contact Charlus and Dorea. They are your family. I am certain they will understand and help us find a solution.”
“No—wait. I’m not ready to meet them,” Harry pleaded.
“And I can look after myself.”
“My boy, the longer we delay this, the more difficult it will become,” Dumbledore said sadly.
“School begins in less than three weeks. We need a plan now.”
Harry opened his mouth to protest but found he had nothing left to say.
He hung his head in defeat.
“Good boy,” Dumbledore said softly. New chapters come out on g.com first.
“I will stand by you, no matter what comes.”
Harry sank back into his chair, even briefly considering running.
But he knew it would achieve nothing now that Dumbledore had made up his mind.
The Headmaster threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames.
“Potter Manor!” he called clearly, then thrust his head into the green fire.
A moment later, he pulled back and returned to his seat.
“They will be here shortly,” he informed Harry.
Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm the nausea swirling in his stomach.
Despite everything, a current of excitement ran beneath the fear—he was about to meet his grandparents.
True to Dumbledore’s word, the fire roared to life only a few minutes later.
A woman in her early fifties stepped out, dusting ash from her robes with a casual wave of her wand.
She had barely taken two steps into the room when she froze, eyes widening in shock at the sight of Harry.
She was strikingly beautiful, with long, thick black hair, delicate features, and light grey eyes.
Petite and graceful, she stood just over five feet tall.
Moments later, the fire flared again.
A tall, imposing man stepped through—well over six feet, broad-shouldered, with dark brown hair and matching eyes.
“This had better be damn important, Dumbledore,” he growled, brushing ash from his black robes—only to bump into his wife, who was still staring at Harry in awe.
The man frowned, then followed her gaze.
His eyebrows shot up in shock.
“As I said, we have a very delicate matter to discuss,” Dumbledore cut in smoothly.
“Please, take a seat.” He gestured to two chairs beside Harry.
Charlus and Dorea Potter snapped out of their stupor and sat down, clearly at a loss for words.
Dumbledore sighed when he realized Harry was too overwhelmed to speak and began the explanation himself.