“I saw him!
Where is he?
Why hasn’t he appeared?” Lily Potter stared at Dumbledore like she wanted to lunge at him.
Her body was too weak.
She staggered and nearly fell.
James rushed forward and caught her.
He looked back at the old man, voice tight.
“The ritual worked.
Why didn’t he show up?
What the hell happened?” “He can’t appear here,” Dumbledore said calmly.
“It wouldn’t be good for him or for you.
All you need to do now is wait.
Just like any ordinary parents waiting for their sleeping child to wake from a dream.” The old man stood.
Even though he looked frail enough for a breeze to knock him over, one small movement from him made everyone in the room tense like they were facing death.
“You should go,” he said, sweeping his gaze over them.
Those sharp blue eyes hadn’t dimmed even after fifty years in prison.
“Stay any longer and you’ll be keeping me company in a cell.” “Padfoot, get out of here,” James said, gripping Sirius’s shoulder.
“Me?
Run where?” Sirius shook his head.
“This is my house.
Unless those Pureblood Guard idiots are complete morons, running won’t help.
You two are the ones who need to leave.
No one’s ever seen you.” “But—” Gunfire echoed down the corridor.
The Muggles who had joined the Order were putting up a fight.
It wouldn’t last.
Armed Muggles were no match for wizards trained for combat.
“They’re about to break through,” Sirius said.
He shoved James toward the door.
“Go.
Now.
Have Lyte take you out of here.” Apparition was blocked.
The Floo was cut.
The only way out was through house-elf magic.
James’s face twisted with indecision, but one look at his wife and the thought of the son they were about to bring back made him decide.
He grabbed Lily’s hand and pulled her out of the hidden room.
Once they were gone, Sirius let out a long breath.
He grabbed a bottle of wine from the shelf and poured two glasses—one for himself, one for Dumbledore.
“Last drink before prison,” he said, handing a glass over.
Dumbledore took it.
They clinked glasses and drank.
Heavy footsteps pounded outside.
A deafening blast tore the door off its hinges.
A tall figure stepped through the smoke.
His gray hair was neatly combed.
He wore a long coat embroidered with runes and dragon-scale boots.
A crowd of fanatical Saints flanked him.
Sirius’s eyes went wide.
“He came himself…” The strongest wizard alive.
The man who had crushed Dumbledore in the war that decided the fate of the world.
President of the World Magical United Nations.
Gellert Grindelwald.
Sirius let out a heavy sigh.
He slipped off his bracelet and set it beside his empty glass.
Dumbledore moved fast.
He hurled his wine glass at the doorway.
Fire and shattered glass exploded outward, racing straight for Grindelwald.
At the same moment, Dumbledore pointed a finger at Sirius.
White light flashed.
Sirius’s eyes went blank.
The flames never reached Grindelwald.
They turned a soft blue and flowed harmlessly into his open hand.
He glanced at Sirius, then waved.
Two of his men stepped forward and dragged the dazed man away.
“No one can Obliviate themselves,” Grindelwald said.
“You must be very confident I won’t see through it.” He began pacing the hidden room, eyes moving over the chaotic runes carved into the floor, walls, and ceiling.
Even he couldn’t make sense of what kind of experiment had taken place here.
“What exactly were you doing down here?” “Saving the world,” Dumbledore answered with a small smile.
Grindelwald stopped and stared at him.
“This world doesn’t need saving.
Under my leadership, magic has advanced more in fifty years than it did in the previous thousand.
Old ways have been replaced.
Wizards have new careers.
If it had been you in charge, they’d still be hiding in corners like dirty little foxes.” “But it’s wrong,” Dumbledore said.
“The world is off its path.
You broke the fate that was meant to be.” “Fate?” Grindelwald laughed, low and cold.
“You’ll have plenty of time to think about fate where I’m sending you.
I’ve picked out a very special cell for you.
Enjoy pondering your destiny.” Dumbledore just smiled and held out his wrists.
Two wary Saints stepped forward and locked heavy manacles around them.
“We’ll see,” he said, and winked at Grindelwald.
…
Harry heard strange voices—soft, excited, like someone was trying very hard to stay quiet.
He smelled something faint and sweet.
The scent was gentle and soothing.
The bed beneath him was impossibly soft and warm, nothing like anything he’d ever felt.
“Has he woken up yet?” a woman’s voice asked.
It was unfamiliar, yet something about it tugged at Harry’s heart, like a memory from a life he’d never lived.
“Soon, love,” a man answered.
Aunt Petunia must be watching TV again.
Weird that Dudley wasn’t screaming to change the channel.
Harry mumbled and rolled over.
A warm hand brushed his forehead—slow, gentle, full of love and longing.
Harry’s eyes flew open.
He couldn’t picture Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, or Dudley ever touching him like that.
That would be the worst nightmare imaginable.
Instead he saw two faces hovering right beside him.
Strangers, yet somehow the most familiar things he’d ever seen.
The man looked like a mirror of what Harry would become when he grew up.
The woman had the brightest green eyes.
They were so warm and gentle that Harry barely noticed how beautiful she was.
He just wanted to stay lost in them forever.
“You—” Harry started to shout, but the feeling hit him like a wave.
The words came out before he could stop them.
“Dad?
Mom?”