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Once he was back inside number four, Petunia barely acknowledged him, other than to tell him to get on with his chores. Harry didn't want to upset his aunt and risk her preventing him from going to Hogwarts, so he quickly stashed his wand in his new bedroom before starting on the chores. It had been a pleasant surprise when Petunia had informed him that the spare bedroom was now his.
He suspected that the Dursleys were still shaken by the letter that knew he had been sleeping under the stairs. Harry wasted no time in moving his few belongings into his new room before Petunia could change her mind.
When he wasn't working, Harry threw himself into his school books with renewed fervour, determined to memorise everything and attempt to replicate the spells described.
After reading that wizards with great control over their magic could bring forth a visible aura, Harry was eager to try it out. However, Vernon had laid down strict rules about what could and couldn't be done in the house.
"You are to be the best at this freak school, you hear me?" Vernon had said sternly, taking Harry aside. "I don't want to see you again for at least 9 months. If you get sent home for misbehaving or failing your lessons, I will lock you in that cupboard for the rest of your life!"
He had added, "There is to be no magic within the house. I don't want to hear it, see it, or feel it!"
"But what about the magic I need to do for homework?" Harry had asked. "I will need to use magic for my schoolwork."
"Hmm, you do raise a good point, for once," Vernon had conceded. "As I said, you are to stay ahead in your lessons… and I suppose that would include homework they set you over the summer… Very well, there is to be no magic within sight of me, Petunia, and especially Dudley! It is to be kept within your room with the curtains and door shut. Anytime we have guests over, you are to hide it all, understand?"
Turning back to his book, Harry thought, 'I can't make an aura, as I'm sure people will see it, but I might be able to make my magic visible somewhere smaller, like my hand.'
He concentrated on his magic, trying to concentrate it into his hand. The sensation of magic flowing through his body was exhilarating, yet exhausting. His hand began to glow brighter and brighter until it hurt to look directly at it. Glancing at the mirror, Harry saw the light reflected in the glass. Normally, mirrors didn't reflect his magical sight, which made him realise he wasn't seeing magic like one sees light.
His magic simply identified magical sources and showed them to him in a way he could understand, which explained why it had only developed after he had started channelling magic through his body.
Turning back to his glowing hand, he imagined the magic leaving his hand to solidify above it in a perfect sphere, just the right size for him to close his hand around. The magic followed his command and began leaking out of the pores on his hand, condensing above it. More and more kept coming out and he started feeling magically drained.
He was used to the feeling from his previous magical experiments and pushed past it. His efforts soon paid off when it condensed into a ball made of pure magic about the size of a tennis ball.
The weightless sphere felt oddly comforting in his hand, despite its glowing intensity. He experimented with it, passing it from hand to hand without issue. When he tried to bounce it off his wardrobe, however, it left a large dark green scorch mark on the wood.
Harry decided against playing around with his magic after that and let himself fall asleep from magical exhaustion. Unbeknownst to him, the shiny metal began frosting over the ball of magic as it cooled from its lack of external energy.
The next morning, Harry awoke with a massive headache that stayed with him as he prepared breakfast. He didn't notice the metal ball lying at the foot of his bed until he returned to his room and stubbed his toe on it.
Harry briefly wondered where it had come from before remembering the ball of magic he had made the night before. He had assumed it would have dissipated overnight like the small flames he liked making. Since the metal ball was almost the exact same size as the ball of magic, it wasn't hard to guess.
Deciding to experiment, Harry followed exactly what he did the night before but this time, rather than a ball, he imagined a small cube on his palm. Once it had formed, Harry stopped feeding it magic and gradually the metal sheen started spreading from the top of the cube furthest from his palm downwards.
As it spread, the cube lost its blinding light, reminding Harry of ice forming on water in the winter. He then fed the cube his magic again, making the metal retreat and the cube began to glow again.
Harry looked at the sphere and decided he wanted to change it. Going on instinct, he looked at the cube and imagined it becoming taller and rounder, forming a cylinder. His magic rushed over the cube and obscured its appearance.
When the magic pulled back, he held exactly what he had imagined. He had also given the top of the cube a slight dip which perfectly matched the curve of the sphere.
Turning back to the sphere, he picked it up with his other hand and gently put it onto the stand he had just made. He then fed both pieces some magic, concentrating on what he wanted carefully. Slowly, the metal where the cylinder met the sphere started glowing as the two pieces of metal merged into one seamless piece.
When Harry stopped feeding it his magic, the metal once again spread from the top down until it covered the entire object. After carefully looking it over, Harry was amazed at what he had accomplished. Despite the fact that he knew they had started as two different objects, nobody else would have been able to tell.
Harry wanted to experiment some more, but his magic was screaming at him, as this new power he had learnt drained his magic like nothing he had ever done before.
He had come a long way during his private magical studies and had built up his endurance to magical exhaustion considerably. He knew that if he had tried to form the sphere when he had started learning, he would have lost consciousness long before the sphere had finished forming.
Knowing he had reached his limit, he put the object on his cabinet and tried to keep it out of mind as he read over his books again, eventually falling asleep while his magic tried to recover from the workout it had been put through.
During the night, Harry's wand started twitching. It had missed his master's magic, as it hadn't sensed it for a whole three days. It sent out invisible feelers that would be invisible to anyone without the ability to see magic. The feelers soon found its master's energy and tried to pull the magic towards itself.
But as the magic was so much denser than itself, it was the wand that moved instead. It eagerly rolled across the cabinet where Harry had carefully left it and stuck to the source of the magic.
When Harry awoke the next morning, he was amazed to find his wand stuck to the metal ball as if it was magnetic. He remembered how Ollivander had told him that his wand might be attracted to his magic but he hadn't thought he was being literal.
Like all his metal it glowed with his own green colour which explained why the wand had been attracted to it in the first place. Deciding to have some fun Harry picked up his wand and thought about his magic going into the orb, almost immediately the orb lit up.
He then made a groove appear at the top of the orb that was big enough for his wand to sit in it with room either side so he could easily take it out again. He laughed when his wand seemed to sing to him after he placed it in its new home and went on with his day happily.
Despite having so much more to learn, he barely spent any time on his school work as he was constantly tired from experimenting with his new metal making powers. He spent all of his free time creating and changing various metal objects, eventually he started seeing what it would take to destroy them although he left his wand holder alone.
He quickly learned that while creating the metal left him incredibly tired, he was slowly increasing his capacity, where a tennis ball had drained him after just a week he could now comfortably double the mass.
When he tried reversing his power he discovered something wonderful. When summoned, the metal drained him, turning the metal into magic and absorbing it he felt rejuvenated. Like some sort of magical battery.
Far away in the northern mountains of Scotland, a wizened old man sat behind his desk, deep in thought. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had just finished reading a letter from his old friend Garrick Ollivander. The day had started pleasantly, and Albus always enjoyed conversing with Garrick. However, the contents of the letter gave him pause.
Garrick had written about Harry Potter's recent visit to Ollivander's. The wandmaker's concerns were evident, comparing Harry's experience to that of Tom Riddle's first visit decades ago. Albus knew the significance of such comparisons all too well.
But what troubled Albus more deeply was his own hesitation. For years, he had respected Petunia Dursley's wishes to keep Harry away from the wizarding world, convinced it was for the best. He had sent countless letters, requests to visit, all of which were met with rejection.
Now, with the benefit of hindsight, Albus wondered if he had made a mistake. He regretted not intervening earlier, not ensuring that Harry received the guidance he deserved. Perhaps now was the time to take that risk, to reach out to Harry directly.
When he had created those protective wards around the Dursley home, designed to keep Harry safe, Dumbledore had not anticipated that those same wards would deny him access, influenced by Petunia's spite and mistrust of magic.
Albus leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together in thought. His blue eyes stared unseeing at the patterns on the ceiling as he contemplated the complex web of decisions and consequences. The Dursleys had been a difficult case from the start, particularly Petunia. Her bitterness towards magic, towards everything it represented, had driven a wedge between Harry and the wizarding world.
He recalled the many letters he had penned, each one a plea to allow him to visit, to check on Harry's well-being, to ensure that the boy was not only safe but also aware of his true heritage. Petunia's replies had grown more vehement over the years, refusing him outright, accusing him of meddling, of being the cause of her sister's demise.
Dumbledore sighed deeply. There had been times when he had been tempted to intervene forcefully, to override Petunia's objections. But he had always held back, respecting the delicate balance of magic and Muggle life, of the Statute of Secrecy. Yet, in doing so, had he inadvertently left Harry vulnerable?
Now, with Harry approaching his eleventh birthday, the time for such hesitations was past. The events were moving inexorably towards something larger, something that Dumbledore had foreseen in his own ways, but which still left him uneasy.
He thought back to the letter from Ollivander. Garrick's concern was palpable, and Dumbledore shared it. Harry Potter was no ordinary child, and his destiny was intertwined with the fate of the wizarding world. It was time for Dumbledore to step forward, to take a more active role in guiding Harry towards his destiny.
With a determined nod, Dumbledore stood up, his robes swirling around him. He walked to the window of his office, gazing out at the vast grounds of Hogwarts below. The castle stood proudly against the changing sky, a bastion of magic and learning.
"I really must visit Harry Potter," Dumbledore said aloud to himself, his voice firm and resolute. "It is time."
Turning back to his desk, Dumbledore began to draft a new letter, one that would request a meeting with Harry and the Dursleys. It was a risk, he knew, but a necessary one. Harry's welfare was too important to leave to chance any longer.
August had been a whirlwind for Albus Dumbledore, with the hectic preparations for the upcoming school year at Hogwarts. Managing both the administrative duties of being headmaster and the countless other responsibilities had left him with little time for anything else. However, despite the chaos, Dumbledore had finally managed to carve out a space in his busy schedule to visit Harry Potter.
The day was uncharacteristically overcast as Dumbledore apparated to Privet Drive, arriving at the same spot he had stood eleven years earlier, delivering Harry to his muggle family. He approached the Dursley's front door and raised his hand, three precise knocks echoing in the quiet street.
Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Petunia Dursley standing there, a look of disbelief mixed with a hint of defiance on her face. Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles as he greeted her warmly, though he let his voice carry a hint of steel.
"Ah, Mrs. Dursley," Dumbledore began, his tone polite but firm. "I am Albus Dumbledore. We have spoken many times before in the past. May I come in?"
Petunia's breath caught in her throat, a surge of panic rising within her.
"I told you, you're not welcome here!" she said, her voice tight with thinly veiled hostility, her hands trembling ever so slightly at her sides.
Dumbledore's smile faltered for a moment, replaced by a steely resolve. "It is a good then, Mrs. Dursley, that it is only Harry's opinion that currently matters to me," he replied calmly, his expression unwavering.
With a strangled gasp, Petunia stepped back, allowing Dumbledore to enter the narrow hallway. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach as Dumbledore passed by, his presence looming over her like a dark cloud.
Dumbledore turned back to Petunia, his expression a blend of polite aggression. "I must compliment you upon your home, my dear. Although, it must be a shame for you that Harry spends so little time with you."
"Pardon?" she asked, unsure of what exactly he was implying.
"Your photos, madam. Plenty of yourself, your husband, and son. But unless I am mistaken, not one featuring Harry…"
Petunia hesitated, then turned and called up the stairs, her voice trembling slightly. "Harry, your new headmaster is here to talk to you."
Moments later, Harry descended the stairs, his expression guarded. Dumbledore knelt to meet him at eye level, smiling kindly. "Hello, Harry. I'm Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts. I've come to check up on you, and to answer any questions you may have."
Harry, curious and a bit nervous, immediately questioned Dumbledore about an issue that had been bugging him. "Who wrote the laws of magic, sir?" he asked. "Because they're wrong."
Dumbledore blinked, before chuckling in surprise. "Ah, that was not quite the type of question I was referring to answer... But, what do you mean by 'wrong', Harry?"
"Well, I've broken most of them already," Harry explained excitedly, thrilled he finally had someone to share with. "Before I even knew there were rules to magic. I've never felt that anything was impossible for me."
Their discussion led to Harry leading the man upstairs, demonstrating his ability to manipulate magic. He showed Dumbledore the Mithril orb he had created, astonishing the Headmaster. Dumbledore examined it carefully, recognising the mythical metal that would repel all magical intent to damage it.
"This, my child, is Mithril," Dumbledore said, amazed. "The most precious metal on earth. Only the goblins are known to be able to craft it."
Harry looked up at Dumbledore, his eyes wide with a mix of pride and apprehension. "I just wanted to make my magic visible," he explained. "When it fell to the floor, it cooled into this metal. When I fed it magic, it changed back, so I was able to reshape it by imagining what I wanted it to become."
"Astonishing," Dumbledore murmured, his eyes alight with fascination as he stroked his long, silver beard thoughtfully. "It seems this mithril responds only to your magical abilities, Harry. I suspect it will resist any other magic, including mine. Would you be opposed to experimenting with this? Perhaps you'd be so kind as to create something new out of mithril?"
Harry nodded, closing his eyes in concentration. Dumbledore's chuckle turned to silent awe as he watched magic seep from Harry's hand like molten silver, condensing and floating above his palm. The liquid shimmered, then began to morph, gradually taking the shape of Dumbledore's face, complete with his iconic beard. Though rudimentary, the likeness was unmistakable.
Dumbledore's eyes widened as Harry lowered his hand, the small figure remaining suspended in the air. The connection between Harry and the magic broke, and the figure fell into his hand, solidifying into pure mithril.
Wordlessly, Harry handed the figure to Dumbledore, who examined it closely. The mithril gleamed with an ethereal glow, its surface flawless and cool to the touch. When Dumbledore tried to probe it with his own magic, the metal repelled him, heating slightly under the pressure. He realised he could force his magic into it, but the resistance was palpable. Withdrawing his magic, he offered the figure back to Harry.
"Keep it," Harry said with a small smile. "I made it for you."
Dumbledore's expression softened as he pocketed the gift. The mithril figure, with its silvery sheen and subtle magical hum, was unlike anything he had ever been gifted before.
Dumbledore and Harry discussed the finer points of magic for over an hour before Petunia began to hover at the edges of the room, her impatience evident in the sharp glances she cast at the clock and the way she repeatedly smoothed invisible creases on her apron. Finally, she cleared her throat loudly and spoke with forced politeness.
"Professor Dumbledore, it is getting rather late," she said, her tone strained. "I'm sure you must be very busy with the start of the school year approaching."
Dumbledore looked up, his eyes twinkling as if he had anticipated this moment. "Ah, yes, time does fly when engaged in such fascinating conversation," he replied. "However, I do have a few more matters to discuss, and it would be most convenient to do so over dinner, if you wouldn't mind."
Petunia's face tightened, but she nodded stiffly, unable to refuse. "Very well," she said, her voice barely concealing her reluctance. "I suppose you can stay for dinner."
The dinner passed in silence, the Dursleys stealing glances at the old man throughout. Finally, Dumbledore pushed his plate away and addressed the family.
"I thank you for that most excellent dinner, Mrs. Dursley," Dumbledore began, his voice laced with subtle disdain. "Now, there are a few things we need to discuss regarding Harry's journey to Hogwarts and what he can expect there."
He turned to Harry, his tone softening considerably. "Harry, the magical world is full of wonder and discovery, but you will also be recognised and, unfortunately, often judged by your scar. It would be wise to wear a hat to conceal it whenever possible, at least until you arrive at Hogwarts.
"As for your abilities—anything you can do without a wand—these are exceedingly… rare. I ask that you keep your discoveries to yourself and only share them with trusted friends."
Dumbledore then faced the Dursleys, his expression hardening slightly. "I must insist that you, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, treat Harry with the respect he deserves as a member of this household and as someone of great importance in our world. The magical community will not look kindly upon any mistreatment of him."
Petunia and Vernon exchanged uneasy glances, their discomfort palpable. Dumbledore continued, his tone now more commanding. "Harry will be departing for Hogwarts on the first of September. He will receive a letter with all the necessary details, including where to catch the Hogwarts Express. I trust there will be no issues in ensuring he reaches King's Cross Station on time."
Finally, Dumbledore addressed Harry once more, his voice gentle and encouraging. "Harry, I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts. Remember, the world of magic holds endless possibilities, and I have no doubt you will thrive there."
With that, Dumbledore stood up and turned to Harry one last time. "I will see you on September first, Harry. I wish you all the best." With a small pop, Dumbledore vanished, leaving the Dursleys to process the encounter.