Chapter 4

In to the heart of Scottish highland, in a long-forgotten valley, there laid a small village seemingly cut off from the rest of the world. But it wasn't so. If one was to take a closer look at the residents, they would see that the individuals of the village were rather odd compared to the others of the time. From their attires to their houses, everything screamed early eighteenth century. The folks there still wore cloaks instead of overcoats. Some could be seen going about wearing robes of various colours. There wasn't a single electric light in the vicinity. Neither did the people seem to be aware of inventions such as telephones, let alone smartphones or even computers.

No, they were not LARP-ing. It was not some elaborate set-up for imaginative individuals to play out scenes from our long lost past. For the lack of better description, they could be explained in a single word – Magic. Yes, they were magical. The entire village was full of people who were born with the inherent powers of storing and channelling mystical energy to shape the world around them to fit their desires.

The village was called Hogsmeade. Why it was named so, nobody knew. To the residents, it just was. The scholars would try to debate that the village was named so because it rested under the shadow of the remarkable structure just a while away from the village. You see, the village of Hogsmeade was located within the valley of Hogwarts castle. Yes, it was a castle, a real-life, from medieval times, with its towers, drawbridges, dungeons, a functioning bloody thumping castle. And this castle was in actuality, a school. It was a school for magical children to learn their arts for seven long years before they could be called qualified witches or wizards. It was established over a thousand years ago by the then four remarkable magical beings – Godric Gryffindor; Salazar Slytherin; Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff. These four powerful and brilliant witches and wizards came together with a dream of starting an institution to teach the next generations of mages. Their dream stood tall even after a thousand years of their demise and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry still taught the young magical children of England, Scotland and Wales about how to harness the power they were born with.

The current headmaster of the school, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, held the position for more than the last three decades. He had joined the school at first as the Transfiguration professor. Later, he became the headmaster when the then headmaster, Professor Armando Dippet retired. Although, if one would see Professor Dumbledore, they would think him to be nothing but a jolly, old man, what with his long, silver hair and beard and the ever-present twinkle in his eyes that made him appear as if he was highly amused by the hijinx of his students. But nobody should take in the old professor's gentle, genial grandfather like persona and discount him as unimportant. Albus Dumbledore - even in his one hundred plus years - was one of the most powerful wizards to be born. He had been a highly intelligent student in his younger years and after passing out from Hogwarts school, he had taken up an apprenticeship with the near-mythical alchemist, Nicholas Flammel. Under Master Flammel's guidance, the young man Dumbledore had become a noted alchemist himself and discovered twelve uses of dragon blood. Later, he was almost immortalized by his legendary fight and subsequent defeat of the dark lord Gellert Grindelwald, who had almost made the entirety of Europe on their collective knees during the Second World War. While the non-magical people were fighting against the Third Reich and putting up Captain Steve Rogers as their figurehead, the magical side did the same with Albus Dumbledore.

The peace aftermath of Grindelwald's defeat was quite short-lived. Because Britain was once again plagued with another dark wizard by the name of Lord Voldemort who had started his campaigns of racial propaganda since the late Eighties. The propaganda had nothing to do with the colour of one's skin or which religion they believed in, no. It was about one's birth. You see, there was a sect in the wizarding world, who are called purebloods. A witch or wizard would be pureblood if they can prove that both of their grandparents were magical. The purebloods looked down on anybody who didn't belong to their perceived exclusive, privileged life. They even tried to introduce laws to prevent anyone who was not of pureblood birth, to receive an education from Hogwarts. The more fanatical ones of this sect even dreamt up convoluted theories about how those of the inferior births were stealing the inherent magic from the more deserving pureblooded magical.

Being a reclusive lot, the magical were quite separated from the wider world and it resulted in them being not at all accustomed to the progression that the rest of the world had made. Along with that, the belief in blood superiority had made them find spouses among the handful of the families. And thus, by the general rule of biology, deformities had started to raise their ugly heads in the form of non-magical births to magical parents, or squibs (one who never had magical abilities despite having magical parents). On one hand, there was a frightening rise of the squib birthrate, and on the other hand, there was a rise in the birthrate of muggleborns (the non-magical people were referred to as 'muggles' by the wizardry vocabulary. A muggleborn was the exact opposite of the one called a squib – in this case, the person was born with innate magical abilities despite having non-magical or muggles as parents). This situation only proved to be the fuel for the conspiracy theorists among the fanatical purebloods that muggleborns were indeed stealing the magic from the purebloods.

It was the time that these fanatics were backed by a wizard of an exemplary amount of power, cunning and intellect. Nobody knew his name as he was clever enough to create a shroud to hide behind anonymity. Only a whisper – Lord Voldemort. The general populace didn't take this seriously at all in the beginning. But the situation soon turned into powder keg for which Lord Voldemort provided the spark. Extremists under his direction began to exact their revenge for the perceived wrongs done to them. Muggleborns began to disappear along with their entire families, sometimes even before they were to set foot inside of Hogwarts. Reports of muggles being tortured or outright killed from all over the country were almost daily occurrences. Individuals or families who were vocal about the right of the muggleborns or half-bloods had started to feel more resistance than they ever expected for their political views. Veiled threats became the norm. Almost within a blink, a full-fledged civil war broke out among the magical populace of Wizarding Britain and quite a large part of the rest of Europe. Most of the remnants of Grindelwald's forces, who had gone into hiding after their master's defeat, had poked their collective heads out of their bolt holes and started to take up right where they left off.

Professor Dumbledore had kept his eyes opened, for all intents and purposes, the warring factions were his students, after all. He knew each of the combatants, often handed out rewards or rebukes to them by himself. He felt a conundrum within his being, they were all squabbling children in his eyes. Because no matter what, he could never forget these men and women who were spilling the blood of their fellow magical, were once the young and innocent eleven years old who had taken their first steps inside of Hogwarts with wonder in their eyes and an eagerness to learn magic in their tiny hearts.

Still, the man reformed the group he had once led against Grindelwald and his forces – the Order of the Phoenix. The Light faction tried their best to subdue the opposing, Dark faction. But they proved themselves incapable of doing so because they were bound by laws and bureaucratic quagmire. Dumbledore's group of vigilantes proved to be an effective strike force. Young witches and wizards, with the fire of righteousness in their eyes, had taken up wands to march into the battlefield following their ex-headmaster.

The war came to an abrupt halt when the mysterious dark lord, Lord Voldemort suddenly disappeared from the board. His followers fell into disarray. Without his leadership, Voldemort's supporters were either captured or went into hiding. The more cunning of the lot managed to hoodwink the legal system and claimed their freedoms – by bribery or exploiting loopholes in the existing laws. Nobody knew why the fearsome dark lord Voldemort suddenly disappeared, all they knew was that the dark lord had targeted a young couple to eliminate by himself – Lily and James Potter. James, a scion of a Light sided pureblood family, had married his childhood sweetheart, the muggleborn Lily Evans. Both were brilliant and were the Head Boy and Head Girl of Hogwarts in their last year there. Titles that were always bestowed unto the most promising and brilliant boy and girl of the Seventh Year. Both had gained accolades from their peers and professors alike and had finished Hogwarts with academic brilliance. They didn't waste any more time after their schooling was completed and married soon after. In those tumultuous time, none had taken it the wrong way, save perhaps the fanatics who had thought that James, being the heir to the prestigious pureblooded Potter family, had sullied their names by marrying a lowly mudblood (a slur the fanatics used to describe the muggleborns. Mudblood – the one whose blood is dirty, unworthy of wielding magic).

James and Lily, along with their friends, were members of the Order. They fought fiercely against the Death Eaters (Voldemort's followers), they even went toe to toe with the Dark Lord himself on more than one occasion. It was only during the year 2000, that they took a break from the front line duties. Because Lily had become pregnant and soon, gave birth to their son, Harry James Potter, on the 31st July 2000. It was during that time that Dumbledore got the information that Voldemort had personally targeted the duo. He had them hidden by magical means. But everything proved futile on the All Hallows' Eve of 2001. Voldemort had broken through the magical barrier or wards around the home of the Potters and killed the elder Potters. About the aftermath, nobody was sure what had actually happened. Because when people went to that house, they found the bodies of James and Lily, a tattered black wizard's garment and an alive and healthy Harry Potter who had shown no outwards effect of the attack save for a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead.

People celebrated all around the country, finally, they were free from the dark clouds of fear and uncertainty. Once again they had reasons to be happy. They toasted for the fallen couple and their baby boy, for they had made the ultimate sacrifice and the entirety of the country reaped the benefit. They saluted the Potters and celebrated Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

For Albus Dumbledore, it was a very hard time. He had once again had to bury two vibrant young people. Whom he had watched growing up right in front of him. He was overcome with grief for their sudden demise but never did he forget that the unsaid duty that now fell upon him – making sure that Harry Potter lived. Dumbledore had witnessed so many Death Eaters escaping the claw of justice, he knew the boy wasn't safe. So he made a desperate plan, removing the boy from the magical world altogether. People knew that Lily's family was muggle, but nothing more about them. So, Dumbledore had taken steps to deliver Harry to the last remaining member of his mother's muggle family – his aunt and Lily's sister, Petunia Dursley. Since the day they left baby Harry on the doorstep of his aunt, old man Dumbledore had fought an internal battle in his every waking moment. Did he do the right thing? Would Harry be happy? Would he become the man his parents had wanted him to be? But sadly, he had no answers. He did make plans for regular visits to keep a constant watch on the little boy, but rebuilding a war-torn country became his main priority.

[WoW]

On that particular day of summer, Albus Dumbledore had wished to spend his time lazily. It had been long since he had just a single day all to himself, not having to worry about running a school or a country. He had woken up late and had a late breakfast right at his office, rather than going down to the Great Hall of Hogwarts for his meal. He spent a few minutes just chatting with his familiar, Fawkes. Now, someone would think this was one of his idiosyncrasies the way he was having a conversation with a bird and behaving as if the bird's chirps and squawks were the proper replies to his side of the conversation. But they would indeed be wrong because Albus Dumbledore was bonded with the phoenix. They have some kind of mental connection with each other that helped the wizard to have a genuine conversation with the magical bird, who, in all sense of magic, was nearly an immortal being and had seen many things since the time he was hatched.

He had taken a stroll on the Hogwarts ground afterwards and attended a rather enjoyable lunch with Hagrid in his hut. The gentle half-giant was a font of knowledge about the vast forest that surrounded the castle and its ground and the denizens of the said forest. Albus was humming a catchy song he had heard during his time aboard as he entered his office and came to a sudden stop.

Something was not right with the atmosphere of his office. His mind became alert within a fraction of a second to try and find out the anomaly. It didn't take him long to find out that the subtle thrum that always presented to him from the hidden safe behind one of his bookshelves was missing. His heart hammering in fear, he strode forward and shoved his priceless collection of old tomes aside without care and wrenched open the safe. Inside of it laid one strange stone, before Albus' horrified eyes, the stone started to change colour – it went from vibrant red to dull black. Then again, it changed to red, but it was less vibrant than before. Each time the stone changed back to red from black, it seemed to lose some lustre in its colour.

Albus Dumbledore moved with a speed that belied his age. He threw a handful of green powder right into the fire of his fireplace and yelled at it –

"Arabella Figg's house!"

The red flame turned green and the aged wizard stepped right into it. But instead of getting burnt, the wizard began to spin rapidly and then vanished with a small whooshing sound.

About all the other way of the country, inside of the fireplace of a remarkably normal suburban house in the County of Surrey, Albus Dumbledore reappeared with a noise of the roaring fire. He was greeted by an elderly lady clad in a housecoat who held a can of cat food in her hands and a few felines purring and mewling while snaking between her legs. The lady was startled by the sudden appearance of the wizened wizard.

"Albus? What -"

Dumbledore didn't give her a chance to finish her query as he hurried out of the house, a discreet wave of his wand removed the remnants of the soot from his attire that he collected in his travel within the fireplaces.

He would have looked quite out of place in the streets of Little Whinging in his resplendent robes. But as soon as he stepped out of Arabella Figg's house, there was a ripple in the fabric of his garments and it changed from robes to a quite stylish set of a three-piece suit in midnight blue. His long flowing hair and beard shrank and became styled. Within the time it took Albus to advance a step, his entire attire changed to make him appear as an elderly individual who could be a distinguished professor of a prestigious college than an eccentric old wizard. With agitation evident in his appearance, Albus advanced towards the Dursley abode.

He stood there in front of the closed door as he waited for someone to respond to his knocking, but when a few minutes passed without anyone acknowledging from the inside, Albus, after a glance around, slipped his wand out of his pocket and waved it to unlock the door. With swift feet, he entered the house of No. 4 Privet Drive. Albus frowned at the state of the house, a shiver in his bones reminded him of the same feeling he had experienced back in his office at Hogwarts just a few minutes ago. Something was definitely wrong about the house he was standing in.

Slowly, he advanced towards the room that he guessed was the kitchen and if he wasn't mistaken, the family's general gathering place beside the living room, which was darkened and abandoned for now. On his way, he didn't fail to notice the various photographs that were hung on the wall. Each and every one of them showed the Dursley child in various stages of his life. But what about Harry? Where were his pictures? – thought Albus.

The kitchen, as Albus surmised, seemed as painfully normal as the whole house. The only anomaly that his eyes could perceive was the half-eaten plates of food on the table. It looked as if the Dursleys had sat down to enjoy lunch but then had to leave in a hurry if the state of the remains on the plates were any indicator. What could have happened to cause such a hurry – Albus wondered. His charms had told him that there was not a single soul present in the house. That meant neither the Dursley child nor Harry was present. Where could have they gone? Once more, Albus waved his wand in a wider circle around himself and placed the wand on his open palm, he had Harry's magical signature memorized. The wand would point towards the direction of the little wizard's location. The wand stopped spinning and it pointed towards the kitchen door, obviously, the child wasn't in the kitchen and wherever he is, was outside of this very room, Albus mused about the limitation of the spell. He slowly turned around and walked out of the kitchen when his wand, which was still on his opened palm, started to buzz like an angry bee. Albus frowned as he looked around, was Harry inside of the house after all? Following where his wand was pointing, he came to a stop before a tiny cupboard under the staircase. The feeling of dread had come back with a vengeance. With trembling hands, he unlocked the bolt and opened the doors…

His shoulders shagged as he let out an explosive sigh of relief. No, Harry wasn't inside the cupboard – dead or alive. But then why did his wand point him here? Taking a second glance, Albus recoiled. A tiny cot, a threadbare blanket, a few broken toys were all that could be found inside of the spider-infested small place…and an inexplicable amount of dried blood. They had hurt Harry! – His mind raged – these damned people had hurt a little, innocent boy! They had hurt him so much over the years and the amount of blood he had spilt was enough for the charm to indicate towards this place as if the boy himself was here.

Albus straightened up, his normally twinkling blue eyes were now frozen chips of ice. There stood a wizard who was not the smiling grandfatherly headmaster that students of Hogwarts were used to seeing. He wasn't the senile, old man that the pompous fools at the Ministry believed him to have become, no, there stood a man who had defeated one of the terrible dark wizards of the last hundred years and was a cause of genuine concern for the other one – there stood the fearsome wizard Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, defeater of Grindelwald and bane of Voldemort, and he was pissed. Once more, his wand whirled about in his hand and Albus Dumbledore disappeared from the Dursley home with a resounding crack.

[WoW]

Somewhere between the lands of the living and those that are not…land of reality and not

Harry let out a groan as he was regaining his senses. This was not any different than those times he had woken up after receiving a beating from Vernon, or the times when Dudley had punched his lights out just for the laughs. He expected to see the darkened interior of his cupboard as he slowly opened his eyes, only to close them tightly again.

Wherever he was, it was not his cupboard. Because his cupboard wasn't these much…brighter? He didn't see any source of light in his half a second long glance, but it appeared as if he was somewhere full of cotton candies, or were they plain old cotton? Whatever it was, it was all white and fluffy and it freaked him out. He dared to open his eyes again and hoped to find his usual darkened niche which was always full of spiders – his friends within the Dursley household.

Nope, he was still in some sort of spongy domain, what were these cotton-like things – he wondered.

"H-Harry?!" A scared voice made him stop his scrutinizing of his surroundings and look up.

"Peter?!" He almost thought that he was dreaming some weird dreams, but having Peter there along with him, could tip the balance that they were in some other dimension. Wasn't there that conspiracy theorist who claimed that Captain America was lost in an alternate dimension after the World War?

"Peter!" Harry scrambled up on his feet and rushed towards his friend. Both boys crashed into each other, each trying to find some semblance of normalcy in this totally weird place they found themselves in. Having his brother within an arm's reach calmed both boys down somewhat.

"What is going on, Harry? Where are we?" Peter asked in a quivering voice.

"Dunno…I just woke up here…" Harry replied while casting his eyes around.

"Me too." Peter frowned.

"What do you remember last, Pete?"

Peter scratched his head, "We were running away from Dudley and his gang, you are feeling sick after MSC. I was helping you…and then…and then Dudley found us…and I think he shoved us in front of a car, Harry!" He waved his hands frantically.

Harry nodded sombrely, "Yeah, I reckon so too…" He lowered his eyes and did a double-take, "What are we wearing?"

Both of them were wearing clothes of pristine white colour. Although Harry's clothes were the same baggy and raggedy, they were still milky white. Uncle Ben and Aunt May once offered to take Harry for clothes shopping, but he denied in fear that the Dursleys would at first take them away from him and then would forbid him to visit the Parkers ever. The adult Parkers reluctantly gave in to his pleading.

Peter brushed his hands on his clothing, "Feels like my clothes, but I don't own anything white…" He looked up to Harry askance.

"And it will be the end of the world if Dudley had anything in white, let alone it remained white afterwards."

Both boys chuckled at that.

"What should we do now, Peter?"

"I think we should try and find a way out of here…wherever here is…" He looked at his friend.

"Yeah…that's a good idea."

They chose a direction in a whole lot of nothingness and started walking. An inordinate amount of time later, they felt once again that something was not right. Well, as much 'not-right' it could be in the vast white surroundings. The white cloud/cotton-like substances that the boys had grown used to, were replaced with grey tar-like things. It seemed as if the clouds (?) were rotted and turned into this gooey mess. Peter let out a yelp as one of his feet sank into a knee-deep hole. Harry grabbed the back of his shirt and heaved, trying to free his friend. After a few minutes of struggling, Peter's feet came loose and they fell backwards with the momentum of their pulling.

"Harry," Peter panted, "I don't like this."

"Me too, Pete."

There was a sudden tremor around them. Tiny black threads from the grey started to snake away, forming something made of inky darkness. Harry and Peter scrambled to their feet, ready to run away but before they could take a step, a voice stopped them in their tracks –

"Harry Potter…and friend. Welcome, welcome to what has become my humble abode."