Was it a deterrent to the wizarding world?
Or perhaps… a deterrent to himself?
What if those four elemental giants weren't fighting each other but were instead acting on Harry's command, launching an attack on someone or some place?
Could the Ministry of Magic's Aurors withstand such an assault?
A cascade of questions forced Dumbledore to pause and reflect deeply. The real world wasn't like the video games Dudley played, with infinite save points and reloads. Dumbledore wanted to find a way to keep Harry on the right path, to make the most correct choice possible.
Beyond that, there was the matter of the elemental resurgence. After confirming the existence of elemental forces, Dumbledore no longer dismissed Harry's claims as childish fantasies. He began to worry about what changes this resurgence would bring to the wizarding world—and how the Muggle world would react.
A new opportunity? Or a new war?
Would the elements, awakened from ancient history, stir other equally ancient entities into corresponding changes? Should he stop Harry from rousing these primordial forces?
He had to admit, the future Harry described after the elemental resurgence was enticing to Dumbledore—a brighter future for wizards, one that didn't require war with Muggles.
Then there were the souls returning from the Veil, the disturbances in the Death Chamber of the Department of Mysteries, the matter of souls, Ariana…
These events and changes seemed to pile up all at once, crashing like waves over Dumbledore, an old man who saw protecting the wizarding world as his lifelong duty.
To say he wasn't exhausted would be a lie. No matter how legendary he'd been in his youth, Dumbledore was now a hundred and ten years old. His energy was waning, yet he couldn't rest. The weight of the entire British wizarding world, and even the international magical community, rested on his shoulders.
Or rather, Dumbledore wouldn't allow himself to ignore these matters.
When he witnessed Harry's elemental powers firsthand and saw him selflessly share that power with other young wizards, Dumbledore felt a wave of relief.
He was surprised to realize that even if he did nothing, Harry seemed destined to stay on the right path. Though stubborn and headstrong, Harry had a clear moral line, knowing what he could and couldn't do.
This boy was astonishingly honest, openly admitting to an unknown adventure in a place no one else knew about—an adventure that had changed him, shaped him.
Dumbledore was further surprised to find that many of Harry's words echoed principles he himself held dear. Harry needed no teaching, no guidance—just a bit of help when he asked for it.
The next step was to grant Harry the position his magical prowess warranted. Though such rules were never explicitly stated in the wizarding world, powerful wizards naturally earned their rights and status.
Take Dumbledore himself: no matter how much Rita Skeeter slandered him in the papers, it didn't truly affect his standing in the wizarding world. No one could storm into Hogwarts and oust him from the headmaster's chair—unless he chose to step down.
In Dumbledore's view, the only thing holding Harry back from such a position was his age. To those unaware of his abilities, Harry's youth would always lead to underestimation.
But that wasn't a major issue. From what Dumbledore observed, Harry had little desire for power. His heart was set on the elemental resurgence and spreading the ways of shamanism, which pleased Dumbledore most of all.
Well, except for the fact that every time Harry came to him for help, Dumbledore couldn't help but sigh deeply. He always felt like this boy had some kind of misunderstanding about him.
Was this how Dumbledore was supposed to be used?
But above all, what reassured and comforted Dumbledore most was Harry's attitude toward his friends. Harry had forged genuine bonds with a few close companions.
Not only that, but Harry's supporters weren't limited to Gryffindor. There were students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and even a small number from Slytherin.
Of course, at first, Dumbledore had been wary. A gifted student, beloved by peers and professors, becoming the center of attention at a young age and forming his own group—these traits set off alarm bells in his mind.
It was too familiar. Too much like him.
But as time passed, Dumbledore confirmed that Harry was fundamentally different from Tom Riddle. Harry not only had supporters but treated them with kindness. He had friends he could truly confide in.
Most importantly, Dumbledore had seen how Harry interacted with his aunt's family, especially after what he witnessed today.
It was as if everything Mrs. Figg had reported was false. Dumbledore could see that Harry's relationship with his aunt's family was now genuinely warm, as if the hardships of his first eleven years had never happened.
Vernon was starting to resemble a proper uncle. Dudley no longer bullied Harry. Even Aunt Petunia had helped with cleaning the house today—all because of Harry's efforts.
With an unexpectedly broad heart and remarkable maturity, Harry hadn't used his newfound power to retaliate against the Muggle relatives who had neglected or mistreated him. Instead, he'd reversed the strained relationship caused by his parents' generation, making everything normal again.
For Dumbledore, there was no more convincing proof than this.
He finally believed that Harry possessed something Voldemort utterly lacked—love.
Walking along the cobblestone path of Godric's Hollow, Dumbledore's thoughts wandered. He smiled faintly, then shook his head.
In that moment, his white-haired, stooped figure seemed to straighten, radiating a sense of ease, as if a burden had lifted from his shoulders.
As he walked forward, Dumbledore's form suddenly vanished from Godric's Hollow.
Unaware that Dumbledore had lingered outside after leaving, Harry now sat at a small tea table in the corner of the living room. The chandelier was off, and only a dim yellow table lamp illuminated the space.
Across the table, Uncle Vernon leaned back in his chair. Truth be told, even after using a weight-loss potion, the chair was still a bit too small for Vernon's frame, making him visibly uncomfortable.
After seeing Dumbledore off and returning to the house, Harry had found Vernon waiting for him, gesturing for him to come over.
"…Do you remember what you said to me last year, lad?" Vernon asked, squirming in the chair but failing to find a comfortable position. He finally gave up and continued, "About the—er—upbringing costs."
"Oh, that?" Harry nodded knowingly. "Like last time, gems are fine, right? You probably don't want Galleons, wizard currency. I'll pay the equivalent value of gems based on how I was raised these past years."
"No, no, lad, let me finish," Vernon said, waving his hands. "I don't want the money."
"You don't?" Harry said, surprised.
Harry had long moved past many of the grievances from his childhood and could understand the burden his aunt's family had taken on raising an extra child. Still, he hadn't planned to offer an excessive amount of gems—just enough to match the care he'd received.
But putting the amount aside, what shocked Harry was Vernon's reaction. After all, Vernon's attitude toward him had only softened last year because Harry had promised to pay upbringing costs once he inherited the Potter fortune.
And now he didn't want it?
"Yep, don't want it," Vernon said with a yawn. "Thanks to you, I've just made a tidy sum. Was even planning to book that villa today, but now it'll have to wait a bit."
"You really don't want it?" Harry raised an eyebrow, repeating the question.
"Don't be a pest, lad!" Vernon stood up, looking annoyed. He headed toward the stairs to the second floor, waving a hand without looking back. "You and that headmaster talked so long I nearly fell asleep waiting."
Vernon moved quickly, but as he reached the turn in the staircase, he paused and leaned back toward Harry. "What I said yesterday still stands, lad. You can still pick your favorite house on the Majorca villa first. That's it."
With that, Vernon lumbered up the stairs.
The living room fell silent, leaving Harry alone. Godric's Hollow was quiet at night—so quiet that Harry could hear the chirping of insects outside the window.
"…A glass of mead," Harry said suddenly, breaking the silence. With his words, a small glass of mead appeared on the tea table beside him.
The old Potter house even had a dedicated wine cellar, and Alfred had uncovered some fine bottles while cleaning today.
Harry swirled the amber liquid in the glass, sipping slowly, savoring its flavor.
So be it.
The Dursleys spent a pleasant night at the Potter house. They didn't rise until the sun was fully up, and after a breakfast prepared by Alfred, they prepared to leave for their own home.
"You really aren't coming back?" Dudley asked, looking conflicted. Honestly, the events of the past few days felt surreal to him. His cousin, who had grown up with him, now had his own home and wouldn't be returning to Number 4 Privet Drive.
"Nah," Harry said with a shrug. "You saw—Alfred's already brought all my stuff over, including that gaming console you gave me."
"Don't worry, Godric's Hollow has electricity. Once I've practiced, I'll come play with you. And you're welcome to visit anytime—just call Alfred's name when no one's around," Harry said, handing each of them a small trinket. "Here, take these."
"What's this?" Aunt Petunia asked, puzzled, examining the object in her hand—a small wooden stick with incomprehensible patterns and writing.
"Amulets," Harry explained. "Think of them as keepsakes to carry with you. Soak them in water for at least fifteen minutes each day. They'll protect you if you're ever in danger. Family safety comes first, right?"
Seeing Vernon pinch the tiny totem between two fingers, frowning as if he wanted to say something, Harry quickly shifted gears.
"…Alright, you're right," Vernon sighed heavily, pocketing the totem. "Safety first."
Looking thoroughly put out, as if he'd been defiled, Vernon's comical expression made Harry and the others burst into laughter.
"Go on," Harry said finally, standing in the garden and stifling his laughter as he watched his aunt's family hold hands, with Petunia grasping Alfred's slender fingers. "Hope you enjoy the trip."
In the end, the Dursleys chose to let Alfred take them back to Privet Drive via Apparition, flatly rejecting Harry's suggestion to ride the Knight Bus. In Vernon's words, he'd rather die than set foot on that "damned bus."
"Oh, I wish it could've been comf—"
Dudley's words cut off abruptly. In front of Harry, Alfred and the Dursleys twisted as if being sucked into a vortex—not the best metaphor, but their bodies seemed to warp and spiral into a single point in the air, disappearing like water down a drain.
That was Apparition for you.
Harry didn't have to wait long. Barely a minute later, Alfred reappeared with a pop.
"How are they?" Harry asked, barely containing his amusement.
"Just as Master Harry thought! They threw up everywhere!" Alfred said cheerfully. "Mr. Vernon was cursing up a storm. Alfred cleaned up Mrs. Petunia's mess and made them all a cup of tea!"
"Hope they recover soon," Harry said with mock sympathy. "The first time Apparating's rough."
Apparition felt like your entire body was being squeezed by a powerful force, shoved through a narrow tube while spinning rapidly. Everything around you blurred, like being caught in a whirlpool.
It was as if your organs were being wrung out, your whole body flung through space. For first-timers, the sensation was especially intense.
Harry doubted the Dursleys' parting words about visiting often would hold up. Not just Vernon—his whole family would likely develop a deep-seated trauma toward wizarding transportation.
The idea of Alfred shuttling them back and forth was out of the question. Vernon would probably insist on driving himself, however long it took.
If the chance arose, Harry thought it might be nice to get the Ministry to connect Number 4 Privet Drive's fireplace to the Floo Network. According to books, Floo travel didn't cause physical discomfort.
Or did it?
Recalling a book that enthusiastically praised the Knight Bus and lured unsuspecting people into riding it, Harry suddenly wasn't so sure.
There were some shady folks in the wizarding world.
Sighing at the complexity of human nature, Harry returned to his manor. Yesterday's cleaning had only been a rough start. Wizarding homes often had interiors far larger than their exteriors suggested, and many rooms still needed sorting and organizing.
With the Dursleys gone, the vast house was left to just Harry and Alfred. But honestly, Harry didn't feel lonely or empty. Instead, he felt an indescribable sense of calm.
"By the way, Alfred?" Harry suddenly said to his house-elf.
"Yes?" Alfred turned, looking puzzled.
"How are you settling in?" Harry asked seriously. "Working here, I mean. You've probably noticed by now—whether it's my personality or anything else, I'm not quite the Harry Potter you might've imagined."
"Take the Malfoys, for example," Harry said bluntly. "You've seen how they treat me. And we both know that to many people, the Malfoys are seen as dark wizards."
"Yet I get along well with a family like that and even promised to visit again," Harry said, locking eyes with Alfred. "Is that the Harry Potter you pictured?"
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