Chapter 331: Chapter 331: "Aftermath and the Summons"
The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter, the clinking of cutlery and the rustle of robes filling the air. Students huddled over their breakfasts, some barely awake while others animatedly discussed the latest gossip. The calm hum of conversation shifted as the morning owls swooped in, delivering copies of the Daily Prophet and other mail. Almost instantly, the hall grew quieter as students dropped everything to read the news.
At the Ravenclaw table, Harry sat with a plate of toast and eggs in front of him, his attention fixed on the Daily Prophet spread open beside him. He'd expected the front page to be dominated by the attack on Azkaban—and he wasn't wrong. What surprised him was how the story had been framed.
The headline blared: "Azkaban Under Siege: Aurors Thwart Dark Wizard Breakout Attempt!"
The article described how a "rogue group of dark wizards" had allegedly attempted to break into the prison to free their allies, only to be heroically repelled by the Aurors, led by Alastor Moody and Sirius Black. There was no mention of Voldemort, no mention of the dementors abandoning their posts, and certainly no reference to a mysterious masked wizard who had turned the tide of the battle and prevented a large-scale breakout.
Harry raised an eyebrow as he read through the piece. Every word reeked of the Ministry's influence. Either Fudge was still manipulating the Prophet to protect his crumbling narrative, or the Dark Alliance had a hand in ensuring the attack's true severity was downplayed. The complete omission of the dementors' defection was particularly glaring. The Ministry clearly didn't want the public to know that their longstanding prison guards had turned rogue and joined Voldemort.
Folding the paper, Harry set it aside, his expression thoughtful. The lack of recognition didn't bother him in the slightest. Fame or glory had never been his motivation. He had acted to protect Sirius, to thwart Voldemort, and to ensure the Dark Alliance didn't grow stronger with a flood of escaped prisoners. He had accomplished his goal—that was all that mattered.
Still, it was interesting to see how quickly the narrative had been shaped to suit the Ministry's agenda.
Around him, the Great Hall buzzed with speculation about the attack on Azkaban. Some students were skeptical of the Daily Prophet's account, while others accepted it without question. Harry listened absently, his mind already elsewhere.
He was waiting—for something, or rather, someone. It was only a matter of time before Dumbledore summoned him for a conversation.
The clues had been too glaring for someone of Dumbledore's intellect to miss. A powerful wizard close to Sirius, wielding advanced magic, and summoning a thunderbird Patronus? The list of potential candidates was incredibly short.
As if on cue, Professor Flitwick approached the Ravenclaw table, his usually cheerful demeanor replaced by an uncharacteristic seriousness. "Harry," he said quietly, "the Headmaster would like to see you in his office."
Harry nodded, calmly wiping his mouth with a napkin before standing. "Of course, Professor."
As they walked together through the castle's corridors, Flitwick's nervous energy was palpable. The diminutive Charms master kept glancing at Harry, his brow furrowed with worry. Finally, he spoke, his voice hesitant.
"Harry, you must be careful. Dumbledore is… perceptive. I've heard about what happened last night, and from the descriptions, anyone with a sharp mind could guess it was you who prevented the breakout at Azkaban. And—there's a high chance he'll deduce that you're one of the vigilantes."
Harry gave him a faint smile. "I know, Professor. But don't worry. Dumbledore won't do anything to me."
Flitwick frowned deeply. "How can you be so sure? If he realizes you're the vigilante disrupting the Dark Alliance and killing wizards—"
"He already knows," Harry interrupted, his voice calm and measured. "Or at the very least, I've been on his suspect list for a long time. But he won't act on it. Our methods might differ, but our goals are the same. And without concrete evidence, there's little he can do. I'm the Lord Potter, after all."
Flitwick still looked uneasy. "Even so, Harry, you must tread carefully. Dumbledore is not a man to be underestimated. He could leak your identity and cause you serious trouble with the Dark faction."
Harry's smile widened, though his tone remained serious. "There's another reason he won't interfere. He needs me."
Flitwick blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Dumbledore's time is running out," Harry said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "He knows it. With Voldemort and Grindelwald working together, he needs someone to hold the line, someone to distract them and buy time for Charles to grow stronger. That someone is me. As long as I'm out there causing problems for Voldemort, Charles can stay under the radar and train."
Flitwick's eyes widened in realization. He had long suspected Dumbledore's health and strength were failing, but Harry's words confirmed just how dire the situation was. The war would be far more difficult without Dumbledore leading the charge.
His expression grew grim as the weight of the revelation settled over him. He wanted to ask Harry more questions, but before he could speak, they arrived at the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office.
Harry turned to Flitwick with a small smile. "Professor, let's talk later. Let's get this long-overdue meeting ticked off first."
Flitwick nodded, though the worry on his face didn't fade. He stepped forward and muttered the password—"Sherbet Lemon." The stone gargoyle shifted aside, revealing the spiral staircase leading to Dumbledore's office.
"Good luck, Harry," Flitwick said softly, his tone tinged with concern.
Harry gave him a reassuring nod. "Don't worry, Master. I've got this."
As the staircase carried him upward, Harry leaned back slightly and smiled to himself. There wasn't the slightest trace of nervousness in him. This wasn't a meeting between an ordinary seventh-year Hogwarts student and the revered Headmaster. This was a knight—a wizard who had fought and won against Voldemort—meeting a dying old man whose time was running out.
If anything, Harry thought, Dumbledore was the one who should be worried.
Chapter 332: Chapter 332: "A Game of Words"
The circular office was bathed in the soft glow of morning light as Harry stepped inside. Portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses looked down at him with unconcealed curiosity, their whispers faint but discernible. Silver instruments on nearby tables whirred and puffed, their magical workings adding to the room's ethereal atmosphere.
Fawkes sat regally on his perch, his golden-red plumage gleaming in the sunlight. The phoenix greeted Harry with a soft trill—not entirely warm, but not hostile either. Fawkes seemed to recognize that Harry wasn't wholly aligned with the Light, yet acknowledged the strength of his purpose and power.
Behind the desk, Dumbledore sat with his fingers steepled, his cursed hand hidden beneath his long sleeves. His blue eyes twinkled, as they always did, but Harry caught the faint strain around them—signs of the toll the curse was taking.
"Ah, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, his voice warm but tinged with seriousness. "Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat."
Harry inclined his head slightly and took the chair across from the Headmaster. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was steady, unwavering. "You wanted to see me, Headmaster?"
"Yes. Thank you for coming," Dumbledore said again, gesturing lightly with his good hand. "I trust you slept well last night?"
Harry's expression remained perfectly neutral. "Of course, Headmaster. The Head Boy's quarters are quite comfortable."
"Indeed?" Dumbledore's gaze sharpened slightly, the twinkle in his eyes becoming more focused. "Not too tired from your visit to Azkaban, then? It was quite the battle, from what I've heard."
Harry's eyebrows rose in a perfect mimic of surprise. "Azkaban? What are you talking about, Headmaster? I was here at Hogwarts, catching up on my studies. The NEWTs are just around the corner, after all."
Dumbledore's lips twitched, as though suppressing a smile. "Of course. And yet, it's curious how a certain masked wizard with a thunderbird Patronus appeared at just the right moment to turn the tide of the battle. Even more curious how this wizard seems to have a particular connection to Sirius Black."
Harry tilted his head slightly, his confusion artfully feigned. "A masked wizard? Headmaster, I'm not sure what you're referring to. The Daily Prophet didn't mention anyone like that at the prison last night. As far as I read, it was just the Aurors against a group of dark wizards. Are you suggesting I was one of those dark wizards? Because if so, I must say, I take offense at the accusation."
"Come now, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said with a faint sigh. "Let's not play games. You and I both know the Daily Prophet can be... persuaded to omit certain details."
"Oh, certainly," Harry agreed smoothly, leaning back slightly. "But that doesn't explain why you're so sure I was involved. The journey to Azkaban is, after all, quite treacherous." His gaze flicked meaningfully to Fawkes. "Not all of us are fortunate enough to have a phoenix for instantaneous transport."
At this, Fawkes let out another soft trill, a sound that almost seemed amused.
Harry tilted his head curiously. "Actually, Headmaster, why weren't you there last night? Surely such an attack warranted your presence?"
He already knew the answer. Dumbledore was conserving his strength, hiding his deteriorating state from the world for as long as possible. But Harry wanted to see how the old wizard would respond—and, admittedly, it was satisfying to steer the conversation in his direction.
A shadow flickered across Dumbledore's face, so fleeting that most would have missed it. "I was occupied with other pressing matters," he said evenly. "By the time I was alerted and prepared to intervene, I received word that the situation was under control."
"How fortunate," Harry said brightly, his tone almost mocking. "Well, if that's all, I really should be getting to class. NEWTs year, you know. Quite busy. No time for idle chit-chat."
Dumbledore's smile faded slightly, his tone sharpening. "But not too busy for your nightly excursions to fight dark wizards?"
Harry's expression turned to one of practiced bewilderment. "Leave Hogwarts at night? Whatever for? What's with all these wild accusations today, Headmaster?"
Leaning forward, Dumbledore's gaze grew intense. "To fight the Dark Alliance, of course. While I admire your efforts, we should discuss your methods—"
"I'm sorry, Headmaster," Harry interrupted smoothly, "but what fights? Aren't we at peace? The Ministry certainly seems to think so. Unless, of course, you're suggesting Minister Fudge is wrong?"
Dumbledore's patience wavered, his voice becoming firm. "Mr. Potter, don't answer me in riddles. We both know what fights I'm referring to. We both know we're at war."
"Do we?" Harry's voice turned thoughtful, almost philosophical. "Strange war, isn't it? People going about their daily lives, shopping in Diagon Alley, attending Quidditch matches. If we were truly at war, shouldn't people be acting like it?"
"That is the Ministry's doing," Dumbledore sighed heavily. "There's little we can do while Cornelius remains in denial."
"Little we can do?" Harry's tone sharpened. "The same way you 'couldn't' do anything about Umbridge until you decided to act? Funny how quickly that situation resolved itself once you finally intervened."
Dumbledore's expression softened, though his voice carried a hint of steel. "I am not as great as people think I am, Harry."
"And you're not as helpless as you pretend to be," Harry countered, his tone cutting. "We both know you could force the Ministry to acknowledge Voldemort's return if you really wanted to. But you don't. Your inaction is a choice, Headmaster—a calculated one. Part of some greater plan, isn't it?"
Dumbledore stared at Harry for a long moment, his piercing blue eyes searching for something beneath the younger wizard's calm exterior. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from stern to weary. "Let's move on. You don't need to confirm that you're the one disrupting Voldemort's plans. I know it's you, Sirius, and perhaps someone else. I want you to stop."
"Again with the accusations," Harry said lightly, shrugging. "I reject them, of course. But just to satisfy my curiosity—why should these people, whoever they are, stop? You said yourself they're doing good work—more than some others are doing."
"Because their methods are too harsh," Dumbledore replied, his voice firm. "Many of those they've killed were merely misguided. They deserved a chance at redemption."
"Ah, yes," Harry said thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. "Second chances. A luxury of peacetime, wouldn't you say? The muggles learned through their wars that such mercy often comes at too high a price."
"This is not the muggle world, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore countered, his voice tinged with exasperation. "Our community is small. We don't have the numbers the muggles do. We can't afford to lose old families."
"Interesting perspective," Harry replied, his tone turning cold and cutting. "Did you not fight your way through the last war with those same principles, Headmaster? Let's review what happened then. You succeeded in saving the dark families with your mercy and second chances. But what about the light families? The Bones? The Prewetts? And so many others? Maybe you should teach Voldemort your principles so he can give second chances to the light families too. Maybe they can turn dark and save their lives."
Silence fell across the room. Even the portraits, usually quick to mutter their opinions, seemed to hold their breath.
"You've been... influenced badly by the muggle world," Dumbledore said at last, his voice heavy with disappointment.
"Thanks to you, actually," Harry replied cheerfully, his tone sharp with irony. "If you hadn't orchestrated my placement with the Dursleys, I might never have learned to look beyond our insular magical society. I might have ended up believing, as some do, that their way is the only right way."
Dumbledore's voice was soft but unyielding. "You are very dangerous, Mr. Potter. Your ideas are dangerous for the wizarding world."
Harry leaned forward slightly, his gaze locked with the Headmaster's. His tone was calm but challenging. "What are you going to do about it?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop as the two wizards stared at each other, neither willing to back down. For a moment, the silence was deafening, thick with unspoken tension. Then Dumbledore acted.
The old wizard's magic flared, washing over the room with impressive force, even in his weakened state. It was like the harsh rays of summer sunshine turned oppressive, pressing down on Harry with undeniable power. But Harry didn't flinch. Instead, his own magic rose to meet the challenge, a storm waiting to break.
The pressure in the room built rapidly, two immense forces colliding in an invisible battle. Then, almost casually, Harry's magic surged forward and simply… overwhelmed Dumbledore's.
The Headmaster's eyes widened in surprise as his attempt to assert dominance was swept away effortlessly. Harry's power crashed through Dumbledore's magic like a tsunami through a fragile sandcastle. Crackling energy filled the room, sending silver instruments spinning and papers flying. The very air vibrated with raw, uncontained power.
Harry's lips curled into a faint smile. The destruction of the Headmaster's office is happening earlier than the canon, he thought, amused by his unintentional move. But it's not unwelcome.
After allowing his display of power to linger for a moment longer, Harry pulled his magic back, the energy in the room dissipating as quickly as it had come. The office was left in disarray—spinning instruments clattered to a stop, scattered papers floated back to the ground, and the portraits muttered nervously.
"I seem to have underestimated you," Dumbledore said quietly. "You are stronger than me. What will you do next? Will you kill me now, for my part in your childhood suffering?"
Harry's smile faded, his expression hardening into one of cold resolve. "No. I've long since moved past that. In fact, I gained a lot from those experiences. I learned the importance of power early in life. I gained the perspective and resilience that helped me grow and led me to my present family. For that, I thank you."
Dumbledore's shoulders sagged slightly, his expression one of quiet resignation. "There is nothing I can say to that. But if you can forgive me, then perhaps… you could extend that forgiveness to your parents? They truly wish to reconnect with you—"
"Are you trying to clear your conscience before your 'next great adventure,' Headmaster?" Harry's voice was razor-sharp, cutting through Dumbledore's words.
The older wizard's eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean?"
Harry's tone turned icy. "There's no need to hide, Headmaster. You know who my teacher is—Lord Black. I recognized the curse on your hand the moment I saw you. The day you confronted Umbridge. I know you don't have much time left. Why do you think I'm not angry at you? I feel you've already been punished for your actions."
For the first time, Dumbledore looked genuinely shaken. His usual calm faltered as he processed Harry's words. "It seems there's no use hiding from you. I cannot win against you. But will you at least consider being less… aggressive in your methods?"
Harry rose from his chair, straightening his robes with a calm, deliberate motion. "Goodbye, Headmaster. This was an enlightening conversation, but I have classes to attend." He paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "This isn't your war anymore. It belongs to my generation now, and we'll fight it our way." His lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "Though of course, I'm just a dedicated student focused on his NEWTs. What would I know about fighting wars?"
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Dumbledore alone in his chaotic office. The room was still, save for the faint hum of whirring instruments and the quiet murmurs of the portraits. Dumbledore stared at the disarray surrounding him, his mind turning over the conversation.
He couldn't help but wonder when exactly he had lost control—not just of this exchange, but perhaps of the war itself.
Weekly Power Status
200+ Power
Ranking 
33 Power
stone 
Paragraph comment