37 Meeting with Dumbledore

Albus Dumbledore walks through the streets of Cambridge, his mind heavy with the weight of recent events. The warm sunlight filtering through the leaves of the trees lining the sidewalk does little to lift his spirits as he considers the far-reaching consequences of the actions of Dark Lord Desolus and those behind him on the Muggle world.

The gentle breeze carries the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery, mingling with the distant hum of traffic. But even these simple pleasures seem muted, tainted by the knowledge of the suffering that has spread across the globe like a malignant shadow.

Dumbledore sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turns a corner, his long robes swishing around his ankles. The streets of Cambridge are quieter than usual, a stark reminder of the impact of Desolus's machinations. Fewer cars pass by, and more people walk or ride bicycles, their faces etched with worry and fatigue.

It's a scene that has become all too familiar in recent months, as the Muggle world grapples with the economic fallout of Desolus's actions. The dark wizard's destruction of critical infrastructure has sent shockwaves through the Muggle economy, driving up prices for essential goods and services to unprecedented levels.

In the United Kingdom, the effects have been manageable, thanks in part to the government's efforts to stabilize prices and provide assistance to those in need. But even here, the strain is beginning to show. Businesses are closing, jobs are being lost, and families are struggling to make ends meet.

But it's the poorer countries that have been hit the hardest, Dumbledore knows. In nations where poverty and hunger were already rampant, the sudden spike in prices has been nothing short of catastrophic. Food has become unaffordable for millions, leading to widespread malnutrition and starvation. Transportation costs have skyrocketed, making it impossible for many to access essential services or to seek work. And medicine, already scarce in many areas, has become a luxury that few can afford.

The reports that have reached Dumbledore's ears are grim. Stories of families selling everything they own just to buy a single meal. Of children dying in the streets, their bodies wasted away to nothing. Of entire communities being wiped out by disease and despair.

It's a tragedy of unimaginable proportions, and one that weighs heavily on Dumbledore's heart. He knows that the Muggle governments are doing what they can to address the crisis, but their resources are limited, and the scale of the problem is vast. The International Confederation of Wizards has also stepped in, providing what aid and support they can without risking exposure of the magical world. But it's a delicate balance, and one that is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.

Dumbledore shakes his head, trying to clear his mind of the dark thoughts that threaten to overwhelm him. He knows that dwelling on the suffering of others will do nothing to alleviate it, and that he must focus on the task at hand. And right now, that task is to meet with Harry Potter, the boy who survived Tom's attack all those years ago, and who has since become a prodigy in the Muggle world, one who's work has already greatly helped in the aftermath of Dark Lord Desolus's attacks.

He approaches Harry's house, a well-maintained two-story building guarded by two burly men in suits. They eye him warily as he approaches, their hands resting on the bulges beneath their jackets.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Dumbledore greets them with a friendly smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm here to speak with Petunia Dursley. I believe she's expecting me."

The guards exchange a glance before one of them nods and speaks into a small device on his wrist. A moment later, the front door opens, and Petunia steps out, her lips pressed together and her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"Dumbledore," she says, her voice tight. "Please, come in."

Dumbledore follows her inside, taking in the tasteful decor and the photographs lining the walls. Pictures of a smiling Harry at various ages, surrounded by his aunt, uncle, and cousin. At least he's had a happy childhood, Dumbledore thinks, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

They settle in the living room, Petunia perched on the edge of a plush armchair while Dumbledore sinks into the sofa. He begins to ask about Harry, gently probing her mind with Legilimency as they talk. Images of Harry flash through his mind - a toddler talking with eloquence, a young boy maturely confronting media reporters, a studious child poring over books, fondness of the boy who changed their lives so positively.

They've grown close, Dumbledore realizes, his eyes softening and his hands unclenching. Despite everything, they've become a family.

But then Petunia mentions something that gives him pause. "I've never seen Harry perform any magic," she says, her brow furrowed and her fingers twisting together in her lap. "Not once. I thought... maybe he's like me."

Dumbledore frowns, his eyebrows rising in surprise. No accidental magic? That's unusual for a child but I'm certain he has magic. I felt it when I first held him as a baby.

He assures Petunia that he will assess the situation himself and asks to speak with Harry. She nods and leaves the room, returning a few moments later with a young boy in tow.

Harry Potter stands before him, a picture of health and vitality. His black hair is tidy, his emerald eyes bright and curious. The lightning scar on his forehead, once so vivid, has faded to a thin, barely visible line.

Remarkable, Dumbledore thinks, his eyes widening slightly. The scar has healed far more than I expected. What could this mean?

He greets Harry warmly, explaining that he's a professor at a prestigious boarding school that wishes to accept him as a student. Harry listens politely, but there's a slight tilt to his head and a quirk to his lips that suggests skepticism.

"I've already almost completed university," he says, his voice calm. "What kind of boarding school could possibly accept me at this stage?"

Dumbledore smiles, recognizing the intelligence and curiosity in the boy's words. "This is no ordinary school, Harry," he says, leaning forward, his hands clasped together. "It's a school of magic. And you, my dear boy, are a wizard."

Harry's expression doesn't change, but there's a slight widening of his eyes and a quickening of his breath. Recognition, perhaps? Acceptance?

"Magic?" Harry asks, his eyebrows rising slightly. "Like in fairy tales and fantasy novels?"

Dumbledore chuckles, shaking his head. "Not quite, my boy. The magic we teach at Hogwarts is very real, and very powerful. It's a part of who you are, just as much as your intelligence or your curiosity."

Harry leans back in his chair, his eyes distant as he considers this. "And you're certain that I have this... magic?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

"Absolutely," Dumbledore replies, his voice firm. "I felt it the moment I first held you as a baby, and I can sense it in you now. You have a great potential, Harry. A potential that we can help you realize at Hogwarts."

Harry nods slowly, his brow furrowed in thought. "And what exactly would I learn at this school? How to pull rabbits out of hats and make things disappear?"

Dumbledore laughs, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, no, my dear boy. The magic we teach is far more complex and varied than mere parlor tricks. You'll study potions and charms, transfiguration, defense against the dark arts and more. It's a whole new world, Harry, and one that I think you'll find endlessly fascinating."

Harry's eyes light up at this, a spark of excitement kindling in their green depths. "It does sound interesting," he admits, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But I'm still not entirely convinced. Prove to me that magic is real, and that I have it."

Dumbledore nods, expecting this response. With a wave of his hand, he levitates a teacup from the table, letting it hover in the air between them.

"Is this sufficient proof?" he asks, his eyes twinkling.

Harry smiles, a small, knowing curve of his lips. "Indeed it is," he says, his voice tinged with amusement. "But I'm afraid it's not necessary. You see, I've already experimented with magic myself."

And with that, he waves his own hand, summoning a book from across the room. It soars through the air, landing neatly in his palm. Then, with another gesture, it rises again, spinning around him in a dizzying dance before returning to its place on the shelf.

Dumbledore stares, his mouth falling open slightly. Wandless magic, he thinks, his mind reeling. At such a young age, and with such control. It's almost unheard of.

He composes himself, smiling at Harry with genuine warmth. "Well, then," he says, his voice laced with admiration. "It seems I don't need to convince you of the reality of magic. That's a relief, I must say."

Harry grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I've been experimenting with it for a while now," he admits, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Ever since I first realized I could make things happen just by thinking about them. I've been trying to figure out how it works, what the limits are. But I've never met anyone else who could do it, until now."

Dumbledore nods, his expression serious. "It's a rare gift, Harry, and one that must be nurtured and developed with care. That's what we do at Hogwarts. We help young witches and wizards like yourself to understand and control their magic, to use it for good and not for ill."

Harry's expression sobers at this, his eyes searching Dumbledore's face. "And what about the dangers?" he asks, his voice low. "The potential for misuse, for harm? How do you ensure that the magic you teach doesn't fall into the wrong hands?"

Dumbledore sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. "It's a constant struggle, Harry, and one that we take very seriously. We have strict rules and guidelines in place, and we do our best to instill a sense of responsibility and ethics in our students. But ultimately, it comes down to the choices that each individual makes. We can guide and advise, but we cannot control."

Harry nods slowly, his eyes distant as he absorbs this. "I understand," he says finally, his voice firm. "And I want to learn. I want to understand this power that I have, and how to use it wisely. When can I start?"

Dumbledore smiles, his eyes crinkling with warmth. "In about six months," he replies, his voice gentle. "We'll make all the necessary arrangements with your aunt and uncle, and with the Muggle authorities. In the meantime, I'll be happy to answer any other questions you might have, and to provide you with some introductory materials to study."

As he speaks, Dumbledore reaches out with his mind, attempting to gently probe Harry's thoughts with Legilimency. But instead of the expected stream of consciousness, he finds himself engulfed in a vast, churning sea.

What is this? he wonders, his eyebrows knitting together. It's like nothing I've ever encountered before.

He tries to push deeper, to navigate the swirling currents of Harry's mind, but he's met with a barrage of random, inconsequential memories that rush past him in a dizzying torrent.

It's like he's drowning me in the mundane details of his life, Dumbledore realizes, his eyes widening in amazement and unease. Shielding his true thoughts and feelings beneath a flood of trivialities. He must be a Natural Occlumens.

He withdraws quickly, not wanting to intrude further. But Harry's eyes are already on him, a flicker of annoyance in their green depths.

"I'd prefer if you didn't do that again," he says calmly, his voice polite but firm.

Dumbledore gives an embarrassed smile, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I apologize, Harry," he says sincerely. "I was merely curious about your state of mind, whether you were feeling overwhelmed by all of this. I assure you, I won't attempt it again without your permission."

Harry nods, accepting the apology with a small smile. "I understand the curiosity," he says, his voice thoughtful. "But I can assure you, I have no intention of exposing the magical world. I see no benefit in doing so, and I recognize the valid reasons for keeping it hidden."

He leans forward, his eyes intense and his hands clasped together. "I'm well aware that there are likely strict laws against revealing magic to the general population. The chaos and unreasonable demands that would follow... it would be detrimental to everyone involved, myself included."

Dumbledore nods, impressed by the boy's maturity and foresight. He's wise beyond his years, he thinks, his eyes crinkling with approval.

They talk for a while longer, Harry asking insightful questions about the nature of magic, the structure of the magical world, the location of key magical sites. Dumbledore answers as best he can, his hands gesturing animatedly as he speaks.

Finally, as the sun begins to dip towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, Dumbledore rises to take his leave. "I'll return in a few weeks to take you to Diagon Alley," he promises, his eyes twinkling. "It's the heart of the magical community in Britain. I think you'll find it quite fascinating."

Harry nods, a glint of excitement in his eyes and a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I look forward to it," he says, his voice warm. "Thank you for coming, Professor. This has been... enlightening."

Dumbledore chuckles, sensing the understatement in the boy's words. "The pleasure was all mine, Harry," he says, extending his hand. "I have a feeling we'll be seeing a great deal of each other in the years to come."

Harry takes his hand, his grip firm and confident. "I don't doubt it," he says, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Until next time, then."