Chapter 15: Interlude 1

Harry POV

It was Boxing Day, and Harry Potter was sitting outside in the small playground a few blocks away from Privet Drive. He didn't want to spend any time near the Dursleys today. Or ever, but he knew he had to go back eventually. For now, he was tired, and wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

Harry stared down at his hands, which had a pair of warm mittens on them. They were a gift from Sam, one of only two people he could honestly call 'friends.' And wasn't that a strange thing to think, that two boys five or so years older than him were closer and kinder to him than anyone else in his life.

He couldn't remember a time before the Dursleys, and had always been told that he was worthless. That his parents were worthless. That he should be grateful for the chance to live in a cupboard under the stairs.

No one seemed to care about him. Adults, other children… no one tried to speak up for him, to help him. Either Dudley chased them away, or his aunt and uncle spread lies about him.

Yet that wasn't the case for Edward, or Sam. They saw the bullying, and tried to help. They couldn't do much, but the little they were able to help with, like having breakfast every day or clothes that actually fit him, then they went above and beyond to help him.

But perhaps, Harry's biggest issue he wanted to think over was the revelation that he'd learned on Halloween. About his family. About his magic. About… everything, really.

Even now, two months after the fact, Harry still couldn't believe it, and was afraid he might suddenly wake up and find it was all a dream, and his gifts and changes would be dust in the wind.

But so far, for the first time in years, Harry felt… not happy, but hopeful. He was excited for the future. And it was all thanks to his older friends. His mentors. Especially Edward, who'd been the first to take an interest in him, had helped him in ways Harry wasn't sure he could ever articulate.

There was also the fact Harry felt safe around Edward. The older boy was like an older sibling, in Harry's opinion. Was it because Edward was so much like him that Harry felt safer around him? Harry wasn't an idiot. He saw the same signs in Edward as in himself, that Edward had been abused by his family for his status, for something he couldn't help or control.

Harry took a deep breath, and calmed his mind. Once again, Harry silently thanked Edward for having taught him about Occlumency. It'd come easily to him, to the older boy's surprise. Sam's guess was that spending ten years living with the Dursleys had something to do with it, and Harry agreed. After years of abuse, both physical and verbal, it trained him not to react to provocation, to always keep a calm, neutral mask despite whatever emotions roiled within him.

The Occlumency training had helped a lot with his emotions, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if it might have been harder to learn if he were older and more used to not having to hide his feelings from the Dursleys for half a year.

A flash of annoyance towards Mrs. Figg for never trying to help like Edward had zipped through Harry for a moment, and he forced it down. Mrs. Figg wasn't to blame. Well, not entirely. The more Harry learned about Dumbledore from Edward, the more he found himself skeptical of the old man's supposed benevolence.

If Dumbledore had taken down one Dark Lord before, why hadn't he finished off Voldemort when he appeared? Why had he waited for years, staging ineffective raids and guerilla tactics on an equally mobile force? Why hadn't Dumbledore gone after the Dark Lord's supporters in the open, or just cut their support apart in the Wizengamot? He was still the Chief Warlock back then; he could have done a few emergency measures to push for support for the Aurors! Instead of those sensible things, he'd instead chosen to fund a vigilante group that was barely more effective than the Aurors. In the end, the great enemy of Magical Britain had been defeated by pure chance, not through any actual talent or tactical skills. And wasn't that a scathing assessment of the so-called 'Greatest Wizard Alive's' plans? It took blind luck to take down a madman who, by all accounts, was beaten by a baby.

Harry knew a lot of his perception was being colored by Edward's biases (Occlumency sure was helpful in that regard!) but he found himself agreeing with a lot of the older boy's comments when he thought on them himself.

Why had Harry been left with the Dursleys? Was it to keep him away from fame? To protect him from Death Eaters? Surely it'd be safer in a magical household who could cast defensive spells, right? And if Dumbledore hadn't wanted Harry to be famous, why had he told the whole world that Harry had been the one to defeat Voldemort in the first place? Hell, no one even knew for sure what had happened that night! Everything the magical world knew came from Dumbledore, and the more Harry thought about it, the more suspicious things seemed.

Harry growled in annoyance to himself and leaned back on the bench, letting the cold air take away some of the anger in him. As the anger left him, Harry was left with a soothing sensation in his chest.

Ever since visiting his parent's graves yesterday, things had felt different for the scrawny ten-year-old. Realizing his parents had loved him had been hard to accept. Even if Edward had been so sure of it, Harry had still been uncertain of the truth himself.

Yet kneeling in front of their tombstones, realizing they'd done everything for him, including die to protect him, it was as if he'd felt something warm wrapping around his entire body, all the way from his head to his toes. His scar had hurt for a moment, but then it'd faded, and it no longer itched like it had throughout his life. He wasn't sure why, and he hadn't mentioned it to Edward as he hadn't wanted to worry his friend, yet deep inside of him, Harry instinctively knew it was a good thing, and not harmful at all.

After a bit, Harry stood up and made his way back home. He didn't want to go back, but he knew that it wouldn't be long before he was free. He'd waited ten years. He could wait a few more months.

Dumbledore POV

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, sighing heavily. He'd just gotten back from another Wizengamot meeting, and it'd been as tiresome as he'd come to expect. Why did they schedule the last session of the year right after Christmas? Everyone was too stuffed with Christmas feasts to do any actual governing.

He shook his head and shot a glance over at the assortment of odds and ends he'd collected over the years. His office was filled with all sorts of items, magical of course, that did all kinds of esoteric effects, ranging from pointless to useful. One silver bobble shaped like a thermometer measured the amount of ambient magic in a small patch of land ten miles from Stonehenge. Another one that looked like a tangled mess of copper wire and beads calculated the position and movement of Venus.

Yet the object he focused on this time was a spindle-shaped beryl, which spun in place on a small marble disc. It was an incredible item he had discovered in his youth. A Ward Stone Sensor, designed to anchor itself to Blood Wards and detect any fluctuations in the barrier it was attuned to. And the one it was currently connected to was the Blood Wards he'd set up around Number Four, Privet Drive.

Yesterday, the sensor had glowed. He wasn't sure how or why, but somehow, the barriers had become stronger. Strong enough that Privet Drive was acting like it was almost under a Fidelius. Only those who knew that Harry was living there would be able to find him. Otherwise, the house would basically be undetectable. This was good, in Dumbledore's opinion. The fewer people who knew where Harry was, the safer he'd be.

'Still, did Petunia have another child?' he wondered, curious. Mrs. Figg hadn't reported anything like that, but it was possible it simply wasn't obvious yet. That was the only reason he could think of for the Blood Wards growing stronger, since it was connected to the number of blood relatives related to Harry living with the boy.

After a bit more thought, he shrugged and looked away, attention turning to the bane of all men, paperwork. He had school forms to fill out, and he also had to start looking for a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He'd seen enough of the damned 'curse' on the position to know that Mrs. Hatburn would be leaving them a week before the end of the school year. And, from how she'd had only a few 'accidents' so far, the curse's 'finale' would be painful and crippling. The fewer cases of bad luck the DADA teacher suffered throughout the time they spent teaching, the worse their fate at the end of the year. Lucky for Mrs. Hatburn, she'd had a nasty slip on some ice last week and broke both legs, so the odds of her dying on the job were lower now.

Thinking about the curse made Dumbledore's mind drift to the one who'd cast the damned thing. Voldemort. Someone who should have been a blessing he could have used to unify the wizarding world had only divided it further.

The Gaunts had been the last surviving descendants of Salazar Slytherin, and though they'd fallen far from grace, they still had many old secrets and of course, a number of unique magical talents, Parseltongue being the least among them. Groomed properly, the half-blood Tom Riddle Jr. could have been a bridge between the magical and muggle worlds, useful in keeping the blood purists and the muggleborn in line. It had been his plan to use Tom Riddle Jr. to oppose Grindelwald's magical purity ideology.

But no, his plans went awry, and young Tom had slipped his grasp. Framing Hagrid for murder he had committed had been unfortunate, but it could have worked to Dumbledore's advantage. But Tom hadn't wanted to mend the fractures Grindelwald's Knights of Walpurgis had made in the global magical communities. Instead, Tom had gone and poured poison into the wounds. Had he managed to take over Magical Britain, Voldemort's next look would have been to the magicals of Europe and beyond, and that wouldn't have done anyone any favors.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. He'd tried to keep the war as lowkey as possible, preventing as many deaths as he could, but he wasn't omnipotent. Even the Death Stick he wielded had limits. Sure, Tom had been beaten when he went after the Potters, but he hadn't died that night. The sliver of soul in the young Potter's scar confirmed that to him.

The world was changing, and not in a good way. The Americas were a mess, especially Central and South America where the chaos in the muggle world was bleeding into the magical side. And that wasn't even getting into the ridiculousness that'd happened in the MaCUSA! Muggleborn overthrowing the established order and establishing a new government? It was madness!

Europe's magical communities were no better. As Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, he knew far too well how strained relationships were between the various magicals in that region.

Magical Europe could be divided into four factions. The North, aka the Nordic League, which was basically the various Germanic and Slavic speaking countries. They were more Dark leaning, with Durmstrang the main school. They believed in Blood Purity not unlike Magical Britain, and also felt that the old bloodlines should be in charge. Again, not unlike Magical Britain. They'd also driven their native non-human populations out or to the brink of extinction. Where the Nordic League differed from Dumbledore's homeland was the willingness to delve into Dark Arts like sacrificial blood rituals and the raising of the dead. They also hated the muggles, which, to be fair, given what the Communists in Russia had done to their magicals, was completely understandable.

Then there was the more Light leaning France, which even in the magical world was a superpower few individual nations could rival. It led a coalition of the lesser Central and Southern European magical communities with Beauxbatons their central school. The damage they'd suffered at the hands of Grindelwald had turned them away from Blood Purity, and they were much more open and accepting. They'd even begun integrating non-humans into their culture more freely! Giving Wand Rights to Veela and goblins? Insanity! They were as bad as the MaCUSA in that regard! At least Magical France still held that magical lineages were important and to be respected and preserved, unlike the American barbarians!

Thirdly were the Mediterranean States, who had their seat of power in the ancient magical city of Constantinople. And yes, it was still Constantinople among the magicals. Just because some boorish muggles had invaded and renamed it didn't mean wizards and witches would follow along!

Greece, Italy, Egypt and the rest of the ancient centers of civilization in that region of the world had suffered badly over the years. Their power was diminished. Their old authority waned. The last time they'd been relevant on the global stage had been during the Roman Empire! They generally followed the politics of France, favoring openness with their non-humans. But, they did agree with the Nordic League's opinion on muggles. They were to be shunned at best.

Then, last but not least, there were the Isles themselves. Magical Britain and its surroundings. Far too much like the Nordic League with their Blood Purity ideals and dislike of non-humans, but also too similar to France, what with the glut of muggleborn overwhelming the population of magicals and eroding old families' hold on power. Dumbledore despaired. If only he could have struck that delicate balance with Tom! But alas, that was not to be.

And that was just Europe! There were dozens more polities in the Middle East, Africa, and Asia. Large swathes of the Middle East were still ruled by the Mongol descended Golden Horde, and the Chinese, once one of the mightiest magical states, had become a joke. The Chinese magical community had suffered like the Russians when the Communists had attempted purges. Unlike the mostly unsuccessful ones in Europe and the Americas, the Communists had butchered thousands of magical folk, many of whom died due to collateral damage, or due to squibs in the Communist regimes pointing fingers towards the magicals. Mostly muggleborn and half-bloods had perished, but too many old families had been lost in the chaos.

Africa was unstable as well. The old tribal systems that had worked for generations were crumbling due to shifts in the muggle geopolitics, and too many of the muggleborn had turned their wands onto their non-magical kin, becoming petty warlords in that battle-ravaged continent.

The ICW was a powder keg holding itself together with spit and prayers, and it was primed to blow at the smallest spark. Would the old magical families and clans throw the first punch, who resented the march of time and the changes the muggleborn were bringing to their long-established order, or would it be the muggles, who seemed to be getting smarter and craftier every year? Why, Dumbledore had even heard rumors they were trying to build machines that could fly to the moon! Ridiculous, yes, but if anyone could succeed in that, it'd be the muggles. Given a century or two.

Dumbledore groaned and shook his head. Now wasn't the time to reminisce. He had work to attend to, and Minerva would scold him again if he tried to make her do his share of the paperwork. Again.

As he began to work through the stack of papers on his desk. Dumbledore's thoughts drifted back to Harry, and the boy's situation. Who should he send to pick the boy up when the time came for his Hogwarts letter to be sent? Minerva? No, the Transfiguration teacher would likely find something wrong with the way the Dursleys were treating him, and try to get him placed with someone else. Perhaps Hagrid would do? He was loyal, and he wouldn't question the boy's situation too much if Dumbledore told him not to.

Harry needed to be with the Dursleys. It was the best way to not only protect the boy, but keep him docile as well.

For the Greater Good, of course.

Author's Note:
Happy 4th of July! Enjoy an early chapter!
And many thanks to my supporters, including Travis McRice!
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