After an uncomfortable tug behind his navel, Harry Potter appeared beside the far hedge of a primary school two blocks from the Dursley's home, holding a tin can threaded with loose string. After taking a moment to get his bearings, he set off, strolling leisurely through Little Whinging, enjoying the evening breeze and reflecting on the last sixteen hours.
Luna Lovegood was absolutely perfect. He thought about her smile, the sense of mystery behind her melodic speculations. He thought about her charcoal sketches, the bead of sweat that trickled down her neck. He thought about the way she stretched her lean body over the printing press, how her face shifted as he returned her gaze to the soft curves of her chest. He thought about the tight swell of her bottom in those jeans, her thighs wrapped around his waist. He thought about her lips, her tongue, her longing sighs and the intimate rhythm of her movement as they kissed.
She was fascinating in every conceivable way. And he was completely taken with her.
Harry fought to contain what must have been a ridiculously broad grin as he turned the knob to the front door of No. 4 Privet Drive.
Just to Harry's left, Albus Dumbledore sat in a oversized crimson wingback conjured squarely in the center of the Dursley's living room, wearing a deep purple robe with thin, bright orange pinstripes, casting an expression of weighty concern through the rising steam of a hot cup of tea.
"Good evening, Harry Potter."
Harry, expecting an empty home, leapt back violently, shouted and nearly wet himself.
Dumbledore's expression shifted immediately, and stumbling to quickly conjure a side table upon which to set his tea, he leapt to his feet. "Of course. I'm terribly sorry, Harry. I expect my presence was unanticipated." He gathered himself, taking a breath. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
The headmaster immediately conjured a slightly smaller crimson wingback, opposite his, a second side table, and a steaming cup of fragrant lavender tea. Luna came to mind, piercing a storm of questions and a general sense of confusion.
The headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, seated on an oversized crimson wingback, sipping lavender tea in the midst of the Dursley's family room, surrounded by plastic wrapped sofa covers, struck Harry as surreal on a level he hadn't yet encountered.
"Thank you, Professor. I… uh… I don't mean to be rude, but why…"
Dumbledore nodded his head differentially. "Ah. Why am I here, right now, in your home at nearly midnight? A valid question." He paused, shifted his eyes to the far corner of the room. "The answer? I'm here because we have much to discuss. And because, I'm afraid, I owe you a sincere apology."
Harry, not any less confused, made his way, disheveled, to the nearest wingback chair. He took a seat, and his tea in hand.
The headmaster conjured a small, emerald green glass bowl full of small, yellow candies. "Would you like a lemon drop?"
Harry shook his head politely.
Dumbledore smiled, a gravity behind his aged eyes. He sat again, continued. "It's difficult to know where to start, Harry, so I hope you'll bear with me. Perhaps the most direct route is to begin at the beginning. I am here, at your home at midnight, because nearly 15 years ago I cast a powerful trace on your still recovering infant body. It was, if I may say so, a nimble bit of magic. With this trace, I have since been able to monitor your location from anywhere in the world, and to ensure at a glance that you were alive."
He hesitated. "I suppose your first questions may relate to privacy. Suffice it to say that, in those dark days, I had every reason to suppose you were in danger, and facilitating a knowledge of your whereabouts was one of the tools I employed to keep you safe. Yet it occurs to me now that keeping such a trace active without your knowledge is a trespass perhaps inexcusable."
Dumbledore set down his tea, looked at Harry directly. "The trace I cast, as I mentioned, was quite powerful. And it has failed only on two occasions since your infancy. For nearly an hour, the night you were sent by portkey to the graveyard of Tom Riddle's father. And today, from around 6:30 am until ten minutes ago."
He paused, shifted his gaze away. "Only the magic of a powerful wizard can ward against the trace I cast that day, Harry. And this morning, I feared you were lost to us."
At this, Dumbledore sipped his tea, kindly smiled. "I see that I was wrong. I have questions for you about your departure. Before I ask them, I'm afraid, I have much more to confess."
Albus Dumbledore adjusted his crescent moon spectacles. "Are you familiar, Harry, with forensic magic?"
Harry shook his head, utterly lost.
He nodded. "You are aware, of course, of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The DMLE houses the Auror office. Aurors, in a word, fight dark magic. They find and apprehend dark witches and wizards, and they assist in providing evidence against them. And for many centuries the evidence to convict dark witches and wizards was limited to eye witness accounts. The nefarious influence of intimidation, imperious curses, and the sheer terror of testifying against a great wizard undermined the efficacy of such evidence. Within the last three generations, however, clever spellwork has facilitated the investigation of crime scenes for evidence left behind. We've found a way for the past to speak to the present."
The gravity behind his eyes loomed larger, and his brow furrowed.
"You see, Harry, darkness leaves scars. On places, as well as on people. Over time, clever witches and wizards learned how to find the scars left behind by darkness, and how to trace those scars to the criminal act that left them. We call these spells Forensic Magic, and many of Voldemort's closest associates were convicted on the basis of the evidence gleaned from spells like these."
He paused, troubled.
"Around 7:45 this morning I learned of your sudden disappearance. Naturally, I apparated to Little Whinging immediately, and within moments stood in this very room, desperate to discover evidence of the dark magic which took you. I cast the most powerful and comprehensive of forensic spells, expecting to find recent signs of struggle, dark curses cast by dark wizards. That isn't what I found."
At this, Harry began to understand, and looked away. Dumbledore's voice caught, and he summoned the courage to continue despite himself.
"Instead, I found over a decade of neglect, child endangerment, and abuse. I found harsh emotional manipulation, forced labor, and punitive malnutrition. And with open eyes I looked around this home and I saw what I should have seen many years ago, Harry."
Tears were welling in Albus Dumbledore's aged eyes. And he trembled.
"I am responsible for leaving you here. I have failed you, my dear boy. My blind eyes have facilitated more than a decade of darkness, and there is nothing I can say or do to atone for those sins."
Small pools of tears cast a shadow over Harry's green eyes. He was stunned, overwhelmed by a profound sense of relief that was muddied by a notion of looming fear, and overwhelming shame, all threaded throughout with heartfelt affection. He began to speak, but Dumbledore cut him off.
"If my too distant observations of your character ring true, your instinct at this moment will be to comfort me in my distress, to relieve the burden of guilt which I carry at this moment. And I will ask you, my dear boy, to refrain from that course of action. I am, by many accounts, among the most powerful wizards of my generation, and have been entrusted with matters of true, lasting importance. I count your life, Harry, as the chief among them. So if I may, I'd like to take the first step in making it right."
"I have something to show you, Harry."
Dumbledore stood, invited Harry outside, and banished the chairs, side tables and tea.
They stood just outside the white picket fence and latched gate of No. 4, Privet Drive. "Early this morning, I soon realized that your disappearance was not a consequence of dark or violent magic, so I called upon your neighbor, Ms. Figg."
"Ms. Figg? The cat lady?" The idea didn't fit squarely within Harry's mental categories.
Dumbledore nodded, smiling. "I suppose she does have many cats. Yes, Harry. I'm afraid you may grow tired of my apologies before the night's past. Ms. Figg is a squib, the non-magical descendant of a magical family. After your parents died, we needed help — someone nearby from the wizarding world to keep close watch on you as you grew up under the care of a muggle family. Ms. Figg volunteered, those many years ago, to relocate to Little Whinging."
Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "Alas, the presence of Ms. Figg fostered a false sense of awareness. For she did not see, perhaps she could not see, the true nature of your harsh and abusive upbringing. Yet her proximity and an unhealthy set of assumptions on my part facilitated an unfounded confidence that you were safe."
He paused, returned his gaze to Harry. "Perhaps it has occurred to you that her presence may have afforded countless opportunities to facilitate some understanding of your past, some sense of magical community to combat your harsh isolation. Again, Harry, I offer my sincere apologies. My distance, and the consequences of that distance, is, I'm afraid, unforgivable."
He took a deep breath, continued. "As I mentioned, I called upon Ms. Figg to inquire whether any recent activity might shed light on your absence. She mentioned that, just yesterday, you were visited by the young Miss Luna Lovegood. Counting Xenophilius Lovegood among my close associates, I am aware that the Lovegood property is protected by some of the most powerful wards I've encountered in my many years, wards which render the Ministry's efforts at observation obsolete. Suddenly it became clear to me that your situation wasn't perilous."
Dumbledore looked down at Harry with a playful smile. "From that moment, I set to work rectifying, as much as possible, the damage I've done."
He handed him a narrow slip of yellowed parchment.
"Read it, Harry. Not out loud."
Harry unfolded the slip of paper, and his eyes scanned the following words:
The home of Harry Potter may be found at No. 4 ½, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey