Chapter Twelve – Wards and Wands

The door creaked as Dumbledore stepped inside Number Four, Privet Drive, as casually as though he were walking into an old friend's cottage for tea. Vernon Dursley stood frozen, lips puckered in mid-protest, the words caught somewhere between confusion and anger. His beady eyes flickered between the tall stranger's robes, the long white beard, and the soft hum of power that seemed to radiate from his very presence.

He didn't say a word—not yet.

But Petunia did.

She had turned pale, her sharp face gone almost grey, her thin lips trembling slightly as she gawked at the old man in disbelief. Her eyes darted to the wand tucked into the belt of his deep purple robes, and then to the piercing blue eyes behind those half-moon spectacles.

Dumbledore said nothing at first, allowing silence to stretch between them like a fragile bridge. Then, as he stepped into the hallway and passed a small wooden table covered in family photographs, he murmured in a voice full of calm observation.

"A lovely home."

His eyes lingered on each picture: Vernon shaking hands with his boss, Petunia in a frilly dress holding Dudley as a baby, Dudley grinning with ice cream all over his face, Dudley in a bow tie, Dudley at the zoo...

But not a single one had Harry.

Not one.

Dumbledore's lips twitched—not in a smile, but in a grim downturn. He felt it then, a heavy sorrow that settled into his bones. Beneath the calm, behind the twinkle of his eyes, lay a storm of grief and regret.

'Lily. James. I have failed you,' he thought bitterly. 'And I have failed your son.'

As he moved forward, he entered the dining room, where Dudley sat at the table, cheeks puffed out with eggs and toast, chomping like a miniature rhinoceros.

Dudley blinked, looking at the stranger with the beard and robes and strange smile.

"Who are you?" he mumbled through a mouthful of sausage.

"I am Albus Dumbledore," the old man replied gently. "Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Petunia snapped back to life. "What are you doing here?!" she shrieked. "Leave immediately!"

Vernon finally found his voice and puffed up like a balloon about to burst. "Leave now or I'll call the police!"

Dumbledore, ever calm, simply folded his hands behind his back. "There is no need for threats. I am here to discuss the treatment of young Harry. But perhaps... not while the children are listening."

His eyes flicked briefly to Dudley, who had dropped his fork.

Petunia's face went from red to white. She hissed, "Fine. Dudley, go get ready. You and Harry are going to school early today."

"But Mum, I haven't finished my breakfast yet!"

Vernon cut in, forcing a smile. "Uh—oh, don't worry, son. I'll get you a hamburger on the way to school. How does that sound?"

Dudley brightened instantly. "Okay!"

Petunia, still fuming, marched toward the cupboard under the stairs, unlocked it with a hard twist, and yanked the door open.

"Get up and get ready."

Harry, rubbing sleep from his eyes, nodded quickly and scampered toward the bathroom. Five minutes later, Vernon was dragging both boys into the car and down the drive.

The moment the door closed behind him, Dumbledore let his calm facade dim just slightly.

"So," Vernon grumbled, stomping back in. "What do you want?"

Dumbledore turned to face him, hands folded calmly in front of him.

"I have received a report," he said softly, "that Harry has not been taken care of properly. In fact, quite the opposite."

Petunia scoffed. "We give him food and a place to sleep. What more does he need?"

Her voice was cold, mechanical.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed, briefly, and though he regained his composure instantly, the air in the room felt tighter, denser.

"A cupboard," he said slowly, "is not a bedroom. Scraps and leftovers are not sufficient nourishment for a growing boy. I had hoped—naïvely, perhaps—that you would treat your nephew with at least basic human decency."

Vernon's face twisted with rage. "He's a freak! Just like the rest of you! We didn't ask for this!"

Dumbledore's voice sharpened.

"I understand that you dislike magic. But that does not excuse abuse. I wrote to you, carefully explaining the importance of raising him with care. Did you not read it?"

Petunia snapped, "We don't care about your world or your letters! He's just like her!"

Vernon nodded. "If you're that upset, take him away!"

Dumbledore stepped forward. The tip of his wand flicked into view, raised ever so slightly—not aimed, but present. The air shivered faintly with invisible power.

"I cannot," he said sharply. "The blood protection that shields Harry from those who would harm him is tied to this home—this bloodline. If he is removed now, he will be vulnerable."

His voice dropped into something hard and final.

"But you will treat him properly. A real room. Proper meals. No shouting. No locking him away. You will not raise your hand or voice in cruelty again."

Vernon snarled, "And if we don't?"

The wand in Dumbledore's hand glowed faintly.

"Then," he said softly, dangerously, "I will see to it that you regret every moment of it. I may be kind, Mr. Dursley—but I am not without teeth."

---

Scene Shift – Magnolia Primary School

Harry walked slowly through the school gate, deep in thought.

'That old man… something about him… he looked like he came from one of those fantasy books Dudley always made fun of. That beard, those robes. It was like—'

He paused mid-step.

'Merlin.'

He gasped quietly.

'A wizard. That man—he must be a wizard. Just like me. And Jonathan.'

His steps quickened as he neared his classroom. Inside, the room was nearly empty. Ms. Wilkins, their teacher, was chatting with two older students.

When she noticed him and Dudley enter, she blinked.

"You boys are early," she said with a smile. "Go ahead and find your desks—I'll be with you in a moment."

Harry nodded and slipped into his seat. Dudley slumped into his, arms crossed.

Harry's mind was buzzing. 'If he's a wizard, then… he came for a reason. Was it because I'm doing magic? Because I opened the lock? Because of the light?'

He felt a thrill of excitement, the same thrill he felt when he first saw Jonathan spark light from his hand.

Ms. Wilkins walked over to the old box TV and glanced at them.

"Well, since we have some time, let's put a movie on. What would you boys like? The Lion King, Snow White, or The Sword in the Stone?"

Before Dudley could grunt, Harry's hand shot up. "The Sword in the Stone, please!"

She smiled. "Good choice."

The classroom lights dimmed as the movie began to play. Harry watched as Wart stumbled into Merlin's cabin, watched wide-eyed as the old wizard summoned teacups, transformed into animals, and crafted glowing magical artifacts from thin air.

Harry leaned forward in his chair, mesmerized.

'So that's what it could be like… Is this what I can do one day?'

He barely noticed as more children entered the room. Barely heard their chatter or Ms. Wilkins taking attendance.

What finally pulled him out of the trance was the soft shuffle of a chair beside him. He glanced to his right—and there was Jonathan, already watching him with a knowing smirk.

The same look.

That same look.

Harry smiled back, excitement bubbling in his chest. He couldn't wait for recess. Couldn't wait to talk. To try more spells.

To become a wizard.