HD-8

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, which is owned by JK Rowling, nor do I own Marvel Comics. I also lay no claim to the characters of Harry Potter, Victor Von Doom, or any other character I have used in my fic, except for the completely OC characters I introduce.

This is a work of fanfiction, not made for earning money, but just to satisfy my hobby of writing. There is also no guarantee that I will finish this work of fanfiction, so keep that in mind before taking a look inside.

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Yours faithfully, HelloDarkness07.

—

James Potter, Born 27 March, 1960. Died 31 October, 1981.

Lily Potter, Born 30 January, 1960. Died 31 October, 1981.

"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death." I read out loud the words written below their names and dates of birth and death, on the sole headstone made out of white marble. They had been buried together, which I hope is something they appreciate in Death.

But the words. What were they? A family saying? A motto? What do they mean here, in this case?

Is Death an enemy to be destroyed? Or are they saying that Death is the Last entity you should think about defying and turning into an enemy? I wouldn't know, not yet at least. I have yet to learn much about my family, and even the Wizarding World.

I know the bare basics, like my Grandfather's successful career in Potioneering, the miracle baby they had in James Potter, and my father's cousin's fight in the Second World War against the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald. But except for one line, which said that the Potter family is over 800 years old, I haven't found much else.

Shaking my head, I conjure flowers, Lilies and Hydrangeas and gently place them in front of the gravestone. Kneeling down, I touch the grave, and say, "Hello mum, hello dad."

Taking a pause, I think on what I want to say, and finally open my mouth, "I'm.. probably not what you expected a son of yours to be. But I have to assume that you're still happy with how my life has been till now. Or maybe not that Happy, considering the first few years of my life. If things were different.. I probably would have been still working my butt off in the Dursleys house, cooking for them while taking their harsh words and beatings. Which.. by God, mum, I have only been through a couple months in your journal and I still wonder how you're even remotely related to a bint like Petunia."

Sighing, I say, "I won't harm them, no matter how much I want to and I guess a mother like yourself would want to as well. Despite everything, Petunia and Dudley are my last remaining relatives from your side, and I don't want to.. hurt you. Wherever you are."

"Dad, you tried. You tried delaying Riddle so mum and I could escape. You laid down your life so mum could try to flee with me. And for that, I will be eternally grateful for having you as my dad. Thank you, mum. Thank you, dad."

Another pause. A long one this time.

Shaking my head, I say, "I do not know what else to say, I just knew I had to say something. I hope your souls have peace wherever you are. I hope you're happy with how I'm living this life of mine, that you gave me the chance to live, Mum. Twice even. I hope.. I hope that you don't disagree with how I do things, or how I'll be doing things later as well. That's it, I guess. Goodbye.. Mum.. Dad. Rest well."

Even if you're not currently, you will soon. It is a promise by Doom.

"I didn't think I would see you here this soon, dear boy." An aged voice says, bringing me out of my thoughts of the possibility of my parents being in a Hell Dimension.

Turning my head, I look at the person who spoke, and I find my eyes landing on an old woman, who I had no doubts was at least a century old. I was aware of her presence in the Graveyard, of course. Her Magic was clearly felt as soon as she entered the Graveyard a few minutes ago.

Being as this village was a mixed village, meaning Wizards and Non-magical people, muggles, live in concert, I did not pay her much heed. But I do wonder why she chose to speak with me.

My eyes meet hers, and I say, "And why is that?"

The woman chuckles softly, and says, "You've been away from the Wizarding World for Eight years, Mr Potter. I assumed, like so many others, that you would only come here after your Hogwarts education begins."

So she recognised me. Not that I'm hiding, but still.

I just nod slowly, and say, "Well, I did only recently learn where my parents were buried. Paying my respects as soon as possible seemed obvious."

The woman walks slowly to join me in front of the grave, turning to look at the headstone, and says, "You're a good lad, dear boy. Brave pair, your parents. Nice people too. I cannot count the number of times your father helped me fix something at my house, or when your mother brought me my groceries. That was before they went into hiding, of course. Before You-Know-Who targeted them."

So they were targeted. The books aren't really clear about why exactly Tom Riddle, or You-Know-Who, came to our house, and tried to kill me. The reason for trying to kill me is still unknown to me, however.

"You've lived here long?" I ask instead.

The woman nods enthusiastically, and says, "Oh, yes. I've lived here all my life. All 139 years of it, in fact. I was born in Godric's Hollow, and I suspect I will die in Godric's Hollow. Dear me, I never even introduced myself, did I? Bathilda Bagshot, at your service, Mr Potter."

I can't help but raise my eyebrows at that. She's.. older than I expected. I should look up how long Wizards tend to live.

But the name does seem familiar. Taking a moment to remember, I ask, "You're the author of 'A History of Magic' and 'Hogwarts: A History'."

"Among other titles, yes. In fact, your mother was really fond of another book of mine, 'The Decline of Pagan Magic'. Such interesting conversations we've had on the topic." The woman, Professor Bathilda Bagshot, says with a small proud smile.

Pagan Magic? Did she believe her Witchcraft to be Pagan Wicca? I'll see if I can find this book in the Book store once I return there.

For a few seconds we stay silent, just staring at the headstone with thoughts in both our heads.

Suddenly, she straightens up in her place, and says, "Come, let's have a spot of tea, shall we? I hope you don't mind hearing tales of your family from an old lady."

Chuckling a bit, I say, "No, I don't mind. I was in fact hoping to ask you a few questions myself."

As she starts hobbling towards the gate of the graveyard, she enthusiastically says, "Of course, Mr Potter. But first, let me tell you about the wonderful history of the Village of Godric's Hollow."

Bathilda Bagshot, a woman old enough to have seen both the World Wars as an adult. A woman old enough to have the majority of her books as suggested reference materials for anyone studying history. A woman who was apparently a good friend of my parents.

I listen to her talk about Godric's Hollow, how Godric Gryffindor was born here, how his family owned a Castle somewhere here. Unfortunately, it was destroyed by Goblins in 1376, in a War that they began so they could get the Sword of Godric Gryffindor back in their possession.

"The Goblins believed that the Professors of Hogwarts at the time, and the descendants of Godric Gryffindor, had hidden it away somewhere. Preposterous, of course. No one's seen the sword since a few years before Godric's death in the 11th century." Bagshot explains, as I listen intently.

She is.. highly knowledgeable about the History of the Wizarding World. The way she speaks, it is not arrogance in her beliefs, but a confidence in her facts. And I am glad that she's sharing her knowledge while I'm yet to read most of her books. Which I will be rectifying as soon as possible.

The topic turns to the Potter family within half a minute of our slow walking, as she explains, "The cottage, it was built along with most of the other houses around Godric's Hollow. In 1692, when the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was established, the village was properly established as a refuge for Wizardkind. Many families chose to establish their homes here, since a few prominent families had connections here already."

"Your grandfather was the first to move into the house in over 200 years. Fleamont was his name, and he was a talented Potioneer. I use his Skele-gro almost once a month. These old bones aren't what they used to be, you know."

As she keeps speaking in a voice that belays her history of teaching, I keep listening while keeping an eye out for trouble. 

"Fleamont, being a Potioneer of some repute, had frequently visited St Mungos, you see. During one of those visits, he met with your grandmother. Euphemia Reyes, a bright young Healer, almost a decade younger than Fleamont. They married within two years of meeting one another, but alas, they had the strangest bad luck when it comes to having children. They didn't know why, despite dozens of years of research, but Euphemia just wouldn't fall pregnant."

"Fleamont wasn't alone of course. He still had his older brother Fergus and Fergus's son, Charlus. But tragedy struck in 1929, just four years after Fleamont lost his father, Henry, and Fergus was killed by an opponent of his from the Wizengamot. Charlus was still young, of course. Just shy of 14, then. Fleamont took over the raising of Charlus, and Euphemia became a mother figure to him. For a while, they lived happily, and then the War happened."

"Grindelwald?" I ask, seeing her face become sad suddenly.

The woman nods, and then shakes her head, "That's not a tale for ears as young as yours." She says firmly, and I understand that she won't be saying anything on it. 

She then continues, telling me how my father's cousin, Charlus, married Dorea Black in 1947, causing a big scandal. Apparently, the Potter's being a very muggle-supportive family, and the Blacks being a very anti-muggle family, they had never married into one another. Ever. 1947 is also when my grandfather, now over 60 years old, and Euphemia, in her 50s, decided to move out of the Pottery, which she explained was the Ancestral home of the Potter family, and into the Cottage that I recently claimed.

Once I find out what happened to my parents' stuff, I'll try to track the castle down.

Over a decade later, in 1960, the couple had their miracle baby in James Potter, but tragedy struck again soon after, when Charlus and Dorea both lost their lives one after another. Charlus in 1963, to dark magic left over from his injuries during the War, and Dorea barely a few months later, in childbirth. The child didn't survive either, unfortunately.

As she is speaking about how Fleamont and Euphemia mourned for their loss of a nephew by spoiling their miracle son, and how James was the apple of their eye, we finally reach the streat that housed my house, and her own a few houses down.

Both Bagshot and I stop on the other side of the road, opposite my house, and she says, "It was a sad day for Godric's Hollow. The rest of the Wizarding World may have celebrated the fall of You-Know-Who, but for the residents of Godric's Hollow, we lost one of our own. We lost one of the families living here."

She continues saying platitudes about my parents' deaths, but I've stopped listening, an instinct in me warning that something was wrong. Not wrong, no. Just.. different. Different from what my eyes told me was true.

Narrowing my eyes, I slowly rove my eyes all over the opposite side, finally stopping in front of an inconspicuous looking spot in front of the gate leading into my house.

Someone was there.

Someone invisible.

My eyes glow a bit with green magic flowing through them, and my eyes slowly start making out a figure standing in front of my house with their back turned to me. I couldn't see them like they were visible, it was more like I could see the magic that surrounds their body, making them glow a bit to my eyes.

It was a man, a bit on the wider side, with a staff held in one hand. Not many people use a staff these days, I've learned. Most prefer Wands over any other focus. There was a prosthetic leg, that much I can make out, but other than that, I can't see anything except for the soft blue glow he gave out.

I keep staring, trying to deduce what he wants. Because he's not doing anything, merely studying the Ward I erected barely two hours ago. I cannot sense any attempts at tampering with the Ward in question, nor do I sense any hostile intent.

But why then, is he outside my house?

As I stare at the puzzle in front of me, I feel the person tense, as his own instinct no doubt warns him of his useless invisibility, and after a tense few seconds, he turns around. I feel his eyes on me, as I stare at where I believe his eyes are, openly curious while just slightly angry.

If he had been trying to break in, it would have been another matter entirely.

For a tense few seconds, as Bathilda Bagshot talks continuously words that I listen halfheartedly, the man brings out a wand, making me wonder at the duo of foci, and turns himself visible with a flick of his wand.

His eyes, or eye really, as the other was another prosthetic, was still locked to mine, as he limps forward with the help of his staff, wooden leg stomping on the ground, and gruffly calls out to the startled woman beside me and says, "Bagshot! Introduce us to your young friend, wouldn't you?"

—

A few minutes later, the man whom I've since learned is named Alastor Moody, and I, sit in the Drawing Room of Professor Bagshot, as the woman hummed to herself in her kitchen, preparing tea for the two of us. Moody had refused the tea, claiming allergies.

All while Moody and I observe one another. Turning to glance at Bagshot, I softly ask, "So, is sneaking around other people's homes in the job description of being an Auror, or is it a personal hobby of yours, Mr Moody?"

Aurors, Magical police. Bagshot had introduced him as one of the best Aurors around, with over 50 years of experience in the field. He was apparently a companion to Charlus Potter, during the Second World War.

Moody also once used to stay in Godric's Hollow, as a permanent Auror stationed here, before the Blood Supremacy War forced him to join the active efforts against the Dark Lord.

The man named Moody grunts, and says, "It is our job to keep the peace around Magical Britain. And someone pretending to be Harry Potter and claiming his house as their own does come under our purview."

I turn back to look at him, amused, and ask, "You actually think I'm not Harry Potter?"

Moody stares silently for a second, and answers, "No 9 year old, no matter how talented, would have seen me while I was Disillusioned. And no 9 year old would have been able to modify and upgrade the Wards around the Potter Cottage."

I shrug with a smile, and say, "I'm not a normal 9 year old though, am I?" Referring to my survival against the Killing curse, which the Wizarding World believes to be an action of my own.

"No.. you're not." Moody says, narrowing his eyes.

Sighing, I say, "I am not being possessed, Mr Moody. Nor am I anyone else pretending to be me. I am Harry Potter, son of Lily and James."

"We'll see." Moody simply says, and suddenly the fake eye in his socket turns to look towards the corner of the room, behind which I know is the front door.

I've noticed something about the fake eye. It was fairly independent of the other eye, moving around as if randomly. But the way Moody's normal eye twitched, glancing at the door and then back towards me, I have no doubts that he can see through both of them. And more than that, his fake eye can see through a lot of things, including as I've just found, Walls.

Unfortunately for him, I've also noticed that while the eye is focused on where I'm sitting, it cannot see me. It is just a tad bit too late to look at me, as compared to his normal eye. As if he's only looking at where he knows I am.

My spells to protect me from Scrying work wonderfully on any Magical sights, it seems. Including his Magical eye.

I turn towards the direction of the front door as well, curious about what got Moody's attention now, and raise an eyebrow when the bell rings.

Moody immediately stands up, and says, "I'll get it, Madam Bagshot. I know who it is anyway."

Madam Bagshot, an improvement from yelling just Bagshot. But far from the title I've noticed she prefers. Professor. She may not have taught anything for the last 50 years, but when I called her Professor, I could tell that she was ecstatic. Much more than now, when Moody called her Madam.

I lean back, waiting for any trap that Moody might spring, any ambush that he might carry out now that he has me somewhere else. Is Bagshot involved? No, her behavior is anything but tense, she's annoyed even, maybe even knowing who is at the door.

Well, let us see what Moody has planned, shall we?

The clacking of Moody's wooden foot hitting the wooden surface of the Bagshot home made me turn my head towards the door, as Moody enters the room again, another person right behind him. The man was old, maybe not as old as Professor Bagshot, but old nonetheless. He had a long white beard that went as below as the start of his stomach, and half-moon spectacles that hung just over his nose.

With bright violet robes, stars, planets, and comets moving all around his robe, the old man was taller than Moody by almost half a head. As he walked into the Drawing Room, however, he did not seem as old as he looked. He just looks.. powerful.

Which is the most exciting part. I cannot feel his Magic, despite the fact that I know he is Magical. His control over his Magic might be almost as good as my own!

And of course, I recognise him. He's the most famous Wizard in the entire World, according to multiple books. And according to my mother's journal, this man was her Headmaster once.

Professor Albus Dumbledore. Master of Transfiguration, and Alchemy. 

And coincidentally, the person who dropped me off at the Dursleys after the Incident.

Sparing me just a glance, the old man immediately moves towards the kitchen and starts a small conversation with Professor Bagshot, as if I am just a side note, and not why he came here today.

I look towards Moody with a raised eyebrow, and become amused when Moody just looks straight at me, as if this was normal. Shaking my head, I let Dumbledore convince Bagshot to get out of her own house, as he finally enters the Drawing Room properly, the tea Bagshot had made for me forgotten.

Sitting down on a soft chair in front of me, right next to Moody, the old man looks at me from over the spectacles, and stays silent. He keeps staring at me for over a minute, and I keep my eyes on his.

Finally, after a while, I softly ask, "Are you done?" A bit of annoyance in my voice.

The old man blinks, and says, "With what, dear boy?"

Sighing, I lean back, and wave my hand towards the kitchen, summoning the tea that Bagshot had prepared to offer me. Taking it in my hands, I take a sip, and say, "Intimidation tactics, your tries at entering.. sorry.. finding my memories. Maybe even the spells you cast trying to get rid of any disguises I'm wearing. Take your pick."

The old man leans back, while Moody looks just as prepared for a fight as he did before. Dumbledore frowns a bit, and pointing towards the tea cup, he asks, "You can understand of course, why I find it hard to believe that you're Harry, when you're supposed to be hidden somewhere no one can find."

I roll my eyes, finding it really hard to refrain from doing so for some reason, and say, "Just because a place is hidden does not mean those hiding in there cannot leave of their own volition."

Dumbledore tilts his head, accepting the argument, and says, "That still does not explain the feats of Magic I've seen you perform. No child should be able to perfectly levitate a cup of tea towards himself without spilling a single drop."

Emptying the cup in one large gulp, I drily say, "I practiced. A lot. Trust me, it wasn't half as easy as it is now when I began using my Magic."

"And when was that?" Dumbledore asks, leaning forward.

Shrugging, I say, "Since I was four years old. But you already knew that. Tell me, how is Petunia? Is her mind intact after you went through it for memories of me?"

Dumbledore blinks as Moody stands up and aims his wand at me. "How could you possibly know that?" Dumbledore asks, just a little bit of surprise showing on his face.

I narrow my eyes at Dumbledore, and say, "Just because I left the Dursley home does not mean I don't have eyes on them 24x7. You rang the bell 7 minutes ago, asked her questions about me while staring a tad bit too hard in her eyes. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out, but it certainly helps being one."

Magic, and Science. An absolute beauty when combined. I might not have the technology required to connect all, or even one of my cameras to my neural network as of now, although I do have plans to do so. What I can do, however, is scry on the television which shows the camera feed from the Dursley home, activated by a trip mechanism.

I could not make the sensor sensitive enough to catch a Magical person, since Magic is everywhere, and it kept triggering by itself. But what I did instead is check for changes in the natural flow of Magic near the house. If the change goes wide enough to signify the presence of any magical person, the cameras are activated, allowing me to see, and hear everything going on inside the house.

Dumbledore raises his hand, calming Moody down, and as Moody takes his seat once again, he says, "Mr Potter, I need you to understand why I find it impossible to believe that you're who you say you are. What I've seen you achieve with your Magic, all you've done in the presence of Petunia and her family, is something that even some grown Wizards might have trouble with."

"Their incompetence is not a fault of mine, Mr Dumbledore." I interject, lifting my hand to stop him. "I let Moody interrupt the discussion I was about to partake in with Professor Bagshot regarding my family. I let him stall till you found your way here. Because I was curious about him, and then about you. Now, unless you have an absolute method for me to prove my identity once and for all, bring it out. Because I do have some questions for you after that fact is established."

Dumbledore looks at me, and I can just feel the tense atmosphere as he's itching to bring out his wand and force me into revealing my supposed identity. Thankfully for the both of us, logic prevails, and Dumbledore sighs.

Putting his hand inside a pocket in his robe, Dumbledore takes out an orb of glass, with a single alloy ring surrounding it. Inside of the glass was a plain white smoke, that floated from one point to the next, seemingly randomly.

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore." The old man says, holding the orb in his right hand, in front of his face.

The orb pulses with Magic, moving towards Dumbledore within moments, and the smoke flashes green, before turning white once again. 

Looking up from the orb, Dumbledore says, "This is an artifact, an invention of mine in fact. If you hold it, and say your full name, it will judge if you're speaking the truth. If you're under any form of disguise, be it transfiguration, illusion, or Metamorphmagic, it will be undone, and your true face will be revealed. If you're suffering from a possession, the being that's possessing you will feel immense pain, and the artifact will bind your body in metal chains. Pass this test of mine, prove you're Harry Potter, and I will answer your questions before moving on to the next issue we have."

Raising an eyebrow at that last sentence, I ask, "And what issue is that?

Dumbledore smiles and says, "Let's leave it for if you pass my test shall we?"

And he's not going to let me be unless I pass this test. I can tell that much. 

Of course, I can try and fight him, but just like with the Ancient One, I know that I will lose. With Moody, I can judge that while our fight will be tough, I will win. But Dumbledore.. I cannot even judge. I cannot tell how badly I would lose.

I cannot wait for my magic to get stronger, and my body to mature.

Shaking my head, I put my hand forward, gesturing to Dumbledore to hand me the Artifact. As soon as it is in my hand, I understand what he did not tell me. This is a very complex artifact, it will mingle with my Magic, trying to find impurities, things that don't belong.

Possessions, spells, poison, potions, I don't doubt that even alcohol will trigger a different functionality within the artifact.

How that will work, is something I cannot say. Wizarding Enchantments are beyond me, for now.

"Harry James Potter." I intone, staring at the orb resting in my right hand.

Just like with Dumbledore, the orb flashes with Magic, and I feel a pulse travel all over me. My pockets cause it to have a reaction, and so do the glasses on my nose, along with a locket I am wearing, and all my clothes.

Despite it all, however, the smoke within the orb turns green, before returning to its white state.

Looking up at Dumbledore, who was staring at the orb with a frown, I ask, "Are you satisfied?"

Dumbledore looks up at me, and slowly nods. Turning towards Moody, who still had his wand out and was standing behind Dumbledore, the older man says, "It is him, Alastor."

"You sure? He could have tricked it." Moody grumbles out, looking at me with suspicion clearly visible on his face.

Dumbledore nods, and says, "I created that artifact myself, my friend. Of course I'm sure."

Moody narrows his eyes at me, he says, "I'll still be keeping an eye on you boy."

"You'll try." I just say, and turn towards Dumbledore with a raised eyebrow.

Dumbledore takes the orb from me, and placing it inside his pocket once again, he says, "You have questions. Please, ask, before we get to a bit more.. uncomfortable topic."

Nodding, I look him in the eyes, and ask, "Where is all of my parents' stuff? I found a few things hidden by blood locks but the house itself is practically empty, where is it?"

Dumbledore sighs, and mumbles, "You surely don't start small." A bit louder, he says, "I'm afraid during the first few days after the incident, more than a few people managed to break into your house for a souvenir or two. By the time we realized it, a lot of your baby clothes, pictures, and your old toys, had gone missing. The Ministry decided to collect everything and lock it all up inside a Vault at Gringotts. Only after which, your parents' house was declared a monument to protect the Vandals from doing anything else to it."

That's.. reassuring. Although I hope for their sake that I never find those who dared steal from me. 

Narrowing my eyes, I nod at Dumbledore, and ask, "I will be needing the key to that vault. Speaking of, my mother's journal tells me that both my parents had Vaults at Gringotts as well. I will be needing those keys as well."

Dumbledore nods slowly, and says, "That can be arranged, albeit not by me. Alastor will have to take you to the Ministry of Magic for you to claim your inheritance."

I turn towards Moody with a raised eyebrow, and he just nods gruffly, still suspicious of me. Turning back to Dumbledore, I say, "Why do people refuse to say the name of the man who killed my parents? All I've been hearing is You-Know-Who, whenever someone wants to refer to him."

This one isn't that important of a question, but still, I am curious why people refuse to say the name of the man.

Sighing, Dumbledore says, "The man who killed your parents called himself Lord Voldemort. Unfortunately, during the War, he used a Taboo spell to track anyone who said that name. If you said his name, you summoned his servants at your location. This made people afraid of saying his name, so much so that even now they're afraid of it."

I can understand fear, I might not be afraid of anything, but I understand fear. Doom had taken advantage of the fear people felt towards him. But even after they believed him to be dead? At least now I know why Tom Riddle is not known to be the Dark Lord. He went under a pseudonym.

I take a few seconds to think of any more questions I want to ask him. I do have a lot of questions still, but not for him. They're questions related to Magic, and I will discover the answers myself once I'm proficient enough in Wizardry.

Nodding at Dumbledore, I say, "Lastly. I will be staying at my parents' old house, ergo, my House, from now on. Who will I have to talk to to make it so?"

Dumbledore blinks, and then sighs. Running a hand through his beard, he says, "And that brings us to my own issue, dear boy. You cannot stay there, and you cannot stay alone."

I still in my place, and slowly lean back into the chair. I say, "I think you must've misunderstood my words. I am not asking for anyone's permission to stay there. In my home. I am asking so I can have the legalities of it all behind me. So I can get the appropriate Papers in my hand."

Dumbledore calmly says, "And that cannot be made possible. Not until you turn 17, which is the age of Majority in the Wizarding World. Mr Potter, you are a 9 year old child, no matter how talented at Magic you may be, or how maturely you behave. There are laws that everyone must follow, and one of those says that you will have to stay with your guardians, ergo Mr and Mrs Dursley, until your age of maturity."

As he says those words, I just keep getting more and more annoyed. Tapping the arm of the chair with my fingers, I say, "Professor Dumbledore. Let me tell you in words you'll understand. I will be staying in that house, just like I had planned to do once I learned about it. You may try to convince me otherwise, but I assure you that you will fail."

"Mr Potter, you are 9 years old! It is absolutely not safe for a 9 year old to be living alone. Especially not in the same house that saw your parents die. There are traces of extremely Dark Magic inside, which will have.. consequences on anyone living there. Nightmares, insomnia, itching that you can't get rid of, unexplainable fear." Dumbledore argues vehemently.

I wave my hand, and say, "I got rid of the Dark Magic traces before even deciding to start living there. As for not being safe, it is far safer for me behind the Ward than in a magicless environment at Privet Drive."

Not that I am afraid for myself, of course. If anyone wants to harm me, let them come. I will personally show them the error of their ways.

"But.." Dumbledore begins, but I just stop him by raising my hand and standing up.

Looking out towards where Professor Bagshot is in her garden, I say, "Unless you have some other topic to go over, this meeting is finished. I will not be changing my mind. Mr Moody, set up a date and time for when you'll escort me through the Ministry of Magic, and I will be waiting for you in front of my house. Until then, Professor Bagshot promised me tales of my parents and grandparents. So, if you'll excuse me."

Saying that, I simply walk away ignoring the suspicion and anger emitting out of Moody, and the disappointment filled stare given by Dumbledore. They've already intruded on my time enough, not any more.

Now, I have tales to listen to from a wonderful teller of tales. Tales related to my family, to my heritage.

—

(Albus Dumbledore POV)

When Alastor Moody had contacted him, sending a message that Harry Potter was in Godric's Hollow, Albus did not entirely believe him. 

One guess was that someone had transfigured themself, or a child, into Harry Potter's likeness, trying to take advantage of sympathetic fans of the boy. Another one was that Alastor had finally lost it, his paranoia had finally turned him demented.

But still, there was a tiny bit of a chance that it was true, and so, he had apparated to Privet Drive. The first thing he had done on appearing in Privet Drive, was check on the Ward around the entire area. A Ward so vast, and so powerful, that it hid not just the entirety of Privet Drive, but a fairly large part of Little Whinging itself, from all manner of magical tracking spells, while making it so that any Witch or Wizard meaning harm to Harry, would find themselves unable to come even close to the town.

Seeing that the Ward was completely intact, and untampered, Albus then checked on the Dursleys, and interrogated Petunia, while subtly reading her memories of the boy. And he was left shocked.

Not only had Harry discovered Magic at the very young age of four, he had used said Magic to threaten his family, to barter a room from them. He used said Magic to come to and from the house, hiding his presence from the Dursleys unless there was an actual need, while getting better and better at it.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, practiced Wandless Magic to such an extent, that it looked seamless. And that's just what he allowed Petunia to see. Conjuration of flames, Telekinesis, and even a manner of Protective Enchantments, small wards. Harry Potter learned it all before the age of 7!

All thanks to just one reason.

Petunia couldn't keep her jealousy away.

She projected all her insecurities, all her hatred of magic, onto Harry, and abused him for almost three whole years. Until Harry snapped, and gained his independence.

Despite that, Albus still could not deny the possibility that something else had happened, that someone had taken advantage of Harry's beaten down self to take over the body. Thanks to the traces of Demonic magic he had found in Harry's old room, he had even suspected said Possessor to be a Demon.

But the Orb of Truth had proved that despite whatever they might think, it was still Harry Potter in that body.

Now watching the boy walk away, to talk about his long dead family with Bathilda Bagshot, Albus could only wonder.. Did Harry Potter make a deal with a Demon for knowledge and skills in Magic?

He hoped not, Voldemort is still out there, somewhere. And if Harry dies to fulfill his end of the deal, if Harry's soul ends up in Hell, then the Wizarding World will be beyond saving.

'For neither can live, while the other survives.'

That's besides the fact that Harry Potter, a talented Wizard from what he has seen, dabbling in Demonic arts, will lead to nowhere good.

Shaking his head, Albus stands up, and turns around to walk out of the house. 

Alastor soon joins him, his fake foot making noise alongside his staff, and in his usual gruff tone he asks, "What now, Albus? You're going to let the boy stay in that old house? You know as well as I do that the traces of Dark Magic will overwhelm the boy."

Albus shakes his head as they finally step outside into the open air of Godric's Hollow, and as they walk towards the Potter home he says, "I do not know, Alastor. But I suppose it is out of my hands now, and in yours. You'll be taking him to the Ministry soon, to the Department of Inheritance, I assume."

"I'll first have to talk with Bones, see if she can give me a few of her minutes. Better take the other legalities out of the way as well. Why?" Alastor says, looking around as he's used to doing.

Albus hums to himself, and says, "Tell her that Harry plans on living alone, with no supervision. If she cannot get him to go back to the Dursleys, better make sure he has someone taking care of him here, to make sure he does not experiment with Magic that he cannot control."

Alastor nods, and says, "Ain't so easy, is it? The boy's more stubborn than even you. And arrogant as well. A lot of things about him bother me."

"Hm? Like what?" Albus asks, as they finally reach the formerly destroyed cottage. 

It was repaired, and the ward around it changed. It was.. even better than the one the Ministry had put up, and had merged fully with the one the Potter family had put up centuries ago. 

A Blood lock, activated after a property remains unaccessed by the blood of said family for more than a few years. It prevents anyone and anything from entering the house unless the house is destroyed completely, or the barrier is unlocked with the blood of the family. A lot of families utilize such locks, especially those with multiple properties to their name.

As Albus raises his hand and touches the Ward with his magic to study it, Alastor says, "He's scary good, Albus. He saw right through my Disillusionment charm. I'm not as good as you, but you know as well as I do that there are seasoned Aurors that fail to detect me when I'm disillusioned. And I couldn't even see him coming. There's an enchantment on his person, stopping my eye from seeing him."

Albus drops his hand slowly, and says, "Not just your eye, my friend. It stops all magical attempts at seeing him. The same enchantment is on the house, preventing me from even getting a glimpse inside the house. Based on this, and the fact that he insisted on not returning to the Dursleys, we can deduce that Harry is proud of his Magic, and of his independence. And he does not like anyone spying on him."

Alastor scowls, and asks, "Why? How would he even know to protect against something like this?"

"I think it is safe to assume by now that Harry has already encountered someone that spied on him. And he considers them a danger to himself." Albus muses to himself.

And if that person could spy on Harry at Privet Drive, without letting Albus know, then that means Harry's insistence on not returning to his relatives might have some other reasons.

Shaking his head, "Don't try to break through the Wards, Alastor. Warn Amelia about it as well. I suspect that all of you will tire yourself out before managing to even make a dent in the Ward. Better have a cordial relationship with him, than turn Harry away from the Light through our own hubris."

Alastor grunts, and says, "Yeah, yeah. I'll make sure the Aurors don't mess it up. Try and make him mellow out a bit, why don't you? Merlin knows you'll be meeting with him at least once a month."

Albus shrugs, even as Alastor Disapparates away from there, and says, "I will do what I must, Alastor."

'To make sure that this Magical genius does not become similar to the last two Magical geniuses I encountered.' he thought to himself, remembering his old lover, and then the Dark Lord.

Harry's behavior may have been different from how Tom Riddle behaved at any age, but he cannot take any chances. He cannot have the Boy-Who-Lived become a Dark Lord. And if he has to meet him everyday, to ensure the boy turns towards the Light, and as far away from the Dark as possible, then he will do so.

For the greater good.

—

A/N: I don't believe Dumbledore even said "For the greater Good" ever in the books, or the movies lol. 

Just in case it isn't clear, this is not Evil! Dumbledore, or any manner of Dumbledore bashing fic. He is manipulative, but not evil. He just wants the Wizarding World to remain peaceful, and that would happen (according to him), when Harry kills Voldemort.

Remember, he doesn't know about the Horcrux in Harry's head, so he isn't planning on Harry eating another Killing curse yet.

How was it? Too unrealistic? Too passive? Tell me in the comments!

Thank you!

Tata!