Note:

I know I haven't published in a long while, and that those of you that followed/favourited the story are waiting for chp 2 and probably angry at the fact that its a rewrite of chp 1- but I have finished chp 2. It should be up soon. I was j editing it when I saw that I had accidently strayed from the fic and when I opened this chp to correct it I saw major mistakes. I'm not planning on editing the chp again for quiet sometime- and I promise the next update (which will be very soon), will be chp 2.

The door slammed shut, and the boy with Jet-black gelled hair exhaled with relief as he heard the engine roar. His mother's sister Petunia and her family had taken him in when he was just one year old after his parents died and left him without a home, but they weren't very nice.

He questioned whether his massive, spoilt-rotten cousin Dudley might notice if the shirt bearing the slogan "Live to the Fullest" vanished from his closet. It won't fit Harry, but it was the smallest item Dudley owned, purchased two years ago on his birthday. It remained in the house because Dudley liked how the maroon shone in the dark. Harry didn't deserve any garment unless it made him queasy, as far as his relatives were concerned. Harry wanted the shirt badly. It was lying neglected in Dudley's spare room alongside damaged toys and pictures from their younger years.

Not worth it.

The boy opened the bathroom door, rotated the tap, and winced when he found out the water was too cold for a shower.

Dudley used it up.

He went down, past his cupboard, and into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia will think I took the rubbish out. Let me have these biscuits. He heard the bin lorry, took the rubbish bag, and flung it across the street- making the man salute, as the other families were out, no evident trash out upon the dustcart man's scanning.

Going back into the house, he kept the biscuits down and put on a hoodie. It was summer, but he was injured. Besides, he could use the hoodie to hide himself if need be. He then picked the biscuits back up.

Finishing the biscuits, he went to the local park, praying none of Dudley's cronies were lingering.

Across the street was the park, barren. As usual, he made his course to the park while keeping close to the foliage. Harry favoured the foilage because beyond the trees and bushes was a clearing. He never understood why the glade existed. There was no forest, and its purpose had been for children to fight, smoke, vape, and get drunk. Harry used it as an escape route. While every child knew about the clearing, many ignored it unless they wanted to use it, meaning Harry was safe from Dudley and his cronies.

Harry was near the park when a streak of silver caught his eye. He stopped, turned and entered the bushes — making sure to hide himself from view, and pulled his hoodie to cover himself.

The first man was tall, at least six feet, Harry presumed. By him was an unduly ancient man, and Harry could see wrinkles in his hands. They both had cloaks, with hoods concealing their eyes. Both had robes on, covering them from head to toe.

Harry heard their conversation while thinking it was a peculiar spot.

"..ody. There's a grave," The younger of the two enunciated. Did the two men kill someone?

"Recent ne–"

"8 years. Why was there an investigation anyway?" Are they not together? Has one blackmailed the other into remaining quiet? "Thought Remus was a factual traitor?" Did they frame Remus?

It didn't occur to Harry that he had turned into the Dursleys. He had heard others' dialogues and constructed his mind without learning about them.

Wait, didn't he say 'thought'? Was he not sure? Or was he reminding the other of some agreement? Harry inched closer, curious. This Peter could be in trouble. If I had a phone, the police would be talking to them. Aunt Petunia's never going to care. Or believe. He thought the last bit savagely. Anyone else would have run home and alerted their parents. Why were they bothered by something from nearly ten years ago? Why was anyone bothered?

"There might have been survival–"

"Where is Harrison? Padfo–"

"One survival." The silver-bearded man said calmly, taking over yet again. Due to the breeze, the cloaks moved, and Harry noticed that the older male's silver beard reached his stomach.

"It's considered to be Har-"

"Don't you dare say his name? And exactly how has a one-year-old survived the killing curse? Are you pushing to accuse me again!" His voice was leaving the empty— no, calm, and almost bored demeanour it had been. And he laughed. It was cold, causing the hair at the back of Harry's neck to rise. And an abundance of discomfort.

The other man appeared undisturbed by the laugh and the impulsive behaviour change, for when he spoke again, it was in a calm voice. It surprised the 9-year-old. "No one is incriminating you of anything,"

"I've learned not to believe you. Quote one thing that hasn't been seized — from me," The man choked the last bit out, and Harry reset his train of thought.

'Hasn't been seized from me.' He has lost everything or everyone. If he's doing something sinister, it might be through blackmail. This not-dead person is either someone dear to him or someone his capturer abhorred. And why did he say 'survive the killing curse'? Curses don't exist, do they? And a child? I can't recall the age. Why are they speaking so swiftly? Speak quicker than I think– these men.

He continued attending, doubtful why. The younger's voice soothed him, even as pain encroached on it.

"I have nothing. And faux hope is inadequate," The young man shuddered scarcely, but he stabilised himself quickly.

"False hope is not the term I'd use,"

"Then what do you call giving someone fake thoughts of optimistic things happening, AlDore?" He snarled at the older man. The younger is taller. "I never stated 'fake'— I said 'suggests, assumed, strong evidence, new information'," AlDore said, still calm. "A theory with no true information,"

"More like faux hope to me— a theory devised to make one laugh as their soul leaves their body." A dark fashion for depicting some shunned hope. Aldore's mate must have a formidable life.

"Negative, much?"

"I have no faith in anyone or anything," The young man said sharply.

"I must convey, to acknowledge everyone as a foe is unacceptable," AlDore comments, neglected. "Coming from an individual like you–"

"An individual like me, Dumbledore? I was taught as a juvenile to have high standards regarding obtaining people. Merely because they didn't make me articulate 'Mudblood' or to stay away from Half-blood or Half-breeds doesn't mean nothing was mandatory, you know," His companion retorts. Mudblood? Halfblood and Halfbreeds? What? The man stepped closer to Aldore. "You can't suppose I was unduly open," He snarled. "I befriended who I did because I knew that they were distinct and deserved an opportunity,"

"Undesirable, many think, your friends, wife and even child are–"

"You are a half-blood like my child!" He shouted, filled with anger. "And I have facts you don't. Don't assume things,"

"Blood traitor or not, you were, are, a pureblood, and there are things such as disgrace. A rebellious, disgraceful to his family–"

"Don't you dare! DARE TALK ABOUT HIM LIKE THAT!" The man snapped. This 'him' meant a lot to Aldore's company. He can't handle rude words or bad, perhaps wrong, remarks about him. "I, I AM, WAS HIS FAMILY! AND HE WAS BRILLIANT! IS! NEVER AGAIN. SPEAK OF HIM LIKE THAT AGAIN!" He roared, and thunder growled overhead. Who is 'him'? "And you won't see daylight again," Now, uttering the last bit, the fury had died. Instead, he had a sickly sweet tone that made Harry wish he were yelling again. For the first time, Aldore seemed at a loss for words.

Then, surprisingly calmly, thought Harry, "I meant the Bla–"

"THEY WERE NEVER HIS FAMILY. He was not THEIRS," Venom was practically dripping from his mouth.

He meant a lot to the man.

For a moment, both were quiet before Aldore spoke, "As you know, as far as they are concerned, you sank low when marrying a Muggle-born,"

"I lost my wife, three best mates and child in the same month. And after eight years, you declare that one is alive, surreal now?" The man sounded pained. So his wife, three best mates and child are dead. Or gone— disappeared? Aldore found out, or thinks, that one is alive. After 8-years? It's the child. I'm sure they mentioned a child earlier.

"How much of them deserved a chance? You refuse to trust anyone now that those relationships didn't work out." AlDore says.

"I am only with you because life has bound me," J rejoinders. Aldore sure plays— he's striking his companion, who won't plunge to his knees.

"Your past is propelling imperfect play," Harry realised that Aldore's companion was now still, and he seemed calm. What did 'your past is propelling imperfect play' mean? Again, they speak fast.

"...is calculated or on intent," He shoots back. If the latter has any reaction, Harry couldn't see it.

"I'm saying," They both want the other dead. Harry thought. He was surprised to see both still standing. Perhaps people know that they are together. They are important people. It seemed like AlDore managed to make everyone turn against the other. Pure-blood. Like royalty?

"...see a 9-year-old looking identical to you, don't kill. It would be your son," AlDore announced, still calm.

"Whatever happened to perhaps alive? Percifric, you are struggling to keep your word, aren't you? Maybe failed relationships aren't the reason for my mistrust after all. I became quite confused about your motive the day my father refused to speak with his cousin and a good mate. And, I questioned your knowledge of magical laws when Lily was the one who was convinced and spoken to instead of me. When Remus was in Azkaban, I knew something was wrong. I lost trust when all except Sirius and Peter turned their backs on me. And the next thing you see, those who believe in me are gone. How was I the convicted one then? But what happened? All are blind for years till my mark shows up. A powerful pureblood like me was kept safe due to my surname. Or did people know that I had done nothing, eh? You can't touch me. The world won't let you. Only the most powerful know how much money runs on my word, and they don't want to lose anything— they are filled with greed and want to gain. I can break true hell. I would enjoy it extensively. Why did one man's will cause great wizards to fear, run and bow? Trust me. Stop stepping out of line. Those boundaries should remain intact for the safety of the world. You can't hold my treasures," He concluded.

"You underestimate my power, nephew," Aldore said.

"You know of my power, uncle," The other man followed. Related.

"As to why it's always been you at fault. If you made a mistake, you refuse to acknowledge that a wizard.." Wizard? Magical then? A killing curse? Everything makes sense now. "...ke that destroyed a powerful, rich Pureblood family like mine. The family to which you are related. Or remorse— something I doubt exists. If you did it knowingly, the reason you are at fault is obvious. It may also be, in any circumstance, that individuals may find you peccant due to greed. One might remind them that you ravaged the sole remaining..."

"When you die, what you own will be given to those closest to you," said Aldore calmly.

"Goblins wouldn't disdain the Lord and King of the only clan ever considerate of them, not to obey a half-blood who scarcely cared. Pronounced them the reason Gringotts was getting unsafer, didn't the lot of you? Besides, we have many properties, money and artefacts that are neither registered by Gringotts nor lie there. Many, the magical society has never known of. And Lily will be of little to no help, I assure you. And since when were you closest to me? It will go to Moony and Wormtail before touching you," Strange names. "It'll go to McGonagall, Rubeus and others more worthy. I will ensure that nothing from my vast heritage comes to your hands, even if your most trusted advisors and brother himself get them. No blackmailing will damage them. And that sword might be getting bored by you. Besides, I believed you said that another soul of my lineage was still alive, no? Forgot already?" He was seething. Sword? That was a threat. No doubt. He turned around and started departing before stopping. "I thought you said no muggle would come close and hear this, Brian? Why has an individual heard so much of the dialogue," He challenged in a falsely charming voice- leaving Aldore shaken. He knew. Does he want me to tell someone? What do I do?

Panicking, Harry fled.

Harry closed the length between himself and his house and felt something. Just as he started rotating, fearing the possibility that the cloaked men had discovered him, a hand came upon his other shoulder. The grip was firm, and the hands were warm.

The figure whispered, "Do you know the man?" Don't glance back," The man spoke as he paled and tried turning again. "A blue shirt, white shorts, and a bronze moustache. Bald head,"

Harry shook his head, realising it was the younger man of the two he'd overheard.

"I'll handle him. Run home, lad," Harry almost missed the last word, his voice so soft it sounded like he was standing at the park.