After putting his things away, Harry headed downstairs to wash up, only to find that Professor Watson and his aunt and uncle had already gathered in the living room for what appeared to be an uncomfortable social gathering.
Professor Watson occupied one entire side of the room to himself, sitting with perfect posture in the good armchair that usually no one was allowed to touch. He was leisurely holding a glass of honey-golden liquor that caught the lamplight beautifully, looking completely at ease despite the tension in the room.
On the coffee table in front of his aunt and uncle sat two wine glasses as well—crystal ones that Aunt Petunia only brought out for very special occasions though by all appearances, neither Vernon nor Petunia had any intention of touching them.
In a fleeting glance as he passed through to the bathroom, Harry was fairly certain he caught his Uncle Vernon shooting him a look of pure resentment.
No doubt blaming him for having brought a wizard like Professor Watson into the house, for disrupting their lives yet again.
Harry smiled privately to himself where they couldn't see.
If it had been any other wizard—if Professor Watson's face hadn't been the spitting image of Vernon's old boss at Grunnings, the drill company where Vernon worked...
Actually, the truth was that Professor Watson's father had been Vernon's former superior at work, though he himself had never worked there. But the Dursleys, it seemed, hadn't managed to piece that connection together.
CLICK—
Harry shut the bathroom door quietly and disappeared from the three adults' line of sight.
"This conversation wasn't part of my original plans for this evening, admittedly," Bryan began, "but since we've found ourselves crossing paths on this lovely summer evening, I thought it only fitting to brief the two of you on a few important matters. Things you ought to know."
He raised his glass toward the Dursleys in a gesture of toast. They did not return the gesture—they only shrank deeper into the sofa cushions, as though trying to disappear into the furniture itself.
"You may not be aware that Harry's year at Hogwarts was... rather difficult," Bryan continued in a slow and casual tone.
"Given your understandably limited familiarity with the wizarding world and its affairs, I'll put it simply and directly: the wizard who murdered Harry's parents—the one our kind has long called the most evil dark wizard in history has returned from the dead. He is active in the wizarding world once more, gathering followers."
'Returned from the dead.'
Rose from the grave like something from a horror story.
It was, by any measure, an absurd thing to say in a suburban living room on a Tuesday night.
Vernon opened his mouth, his face was reddening. Then closed it again without uttering a single word, completely at a loss.
In the warm amber glow of the sitting room lamp, a subtle but unmistakable change passed over Petunia's long face.
"Ah—I see you understand what that means, Mrs. Dursley?" Bryan had caught the shift in her expression immediately.
Petunia gave a small, hesitant nod—then, the very moment her husband turned to her with a startled, questioning look, she flinched visibly and shook her head instead, denying what she'd just acknowledged.
Bryan turned his glass slowly between his fingers, watching the light play through the liquid. His gaze was distant and deep, looking at something far beyond this ordinary room.
"Harry has always been a thorn in Voldemort's side—" Bryan said softly.
"Why?"
Vernon spoke up suddenly, finding his voice again. "That—that Volde-whatsit fellow—why does he hate the boy so much?"
"Ah, well—" Bryan took a sip of his mead, considering his words.
"In brief: throughout the years when Voldemort terrorized the wizarding world—and believe me, Mr. Dursley, those were dark years indeed—he met no equal in power or cruelty. He hunted down anyone who dared to resist him. Harry's parents, Lily and James Potter, were killed for exactly that reason.
But when Voldemort moved to kill Harry, intending to eliminate the entire Potter family, he was defeated. Destroyed. By an infant child who couldn't even speak yet."
He paused.
"So, you can imagine that, now Voldemort has returned, he regards Harry as his foremost enemy. The child who destroyed him. The living proof that he is not invincible."
"Ridiculous," Vernon muttered under his breath. "Absolutely laughable. A baby defeating a grown wizard?"
"—And so," Bryan continued smoothly, ignoring the interruption, "it's not difficult to understand why Voldemort will stop at nothing to destroy Harry now. He needs to prove to his followers that he is unstoppable, that his first defeat was merely a temporary setback. Killing Harry would restore his reputation."
He leaned forward and refilled his glass from the bottle with a casual gesture.
"Which is also why I've decided to take Harry away from here for the summer."
Vernon's thick brow furrowed as he struggled to follow the logic, his limited understanding was struggling to make the connections.
"You're saying those criminals might break into my home—"
HISS!
Vernon shot up from the sofa like he'd been stung, his face was flushed. He glared at Bryan with fury and terror mixed together.
"I absolutely will not allow it—you take that wretched boy and get out of my house, right this instant—"
"Please, Mr. Dursley, there's no need to alarm yourself unnecessarily."
Bryan raised one hand—just slightly in a calming gesture.
But Vernon, convinced some kind of magical trick was coming, that he was about to be cursed or transformed, stumbled back in fright and crashed heavily into the sofa. Petunia pressed herself beside him, her body went stiff, and began whimpering softly.
"First of all," Bryan said patiently, deciding to bring this unpleasant exchange to a close before it spiraled further, "there is a powerful enchantment in place around this house. So long as Harry remains in this house, you are all protected."
He set down his glass with a soft clink on the coffee table.
"There is a second reason I'm taking Harry away," he continued, glancing toward the shadow shifting behind the bathroom door and quickening his pace slightly.
"The political situation in the wizarding world is complicated at present, more complicated than I can easily explain. Certain officials at the Ministry of Magic—our government—it seems, are looking to make Harry a scapegoat.
To use him as a distraction from a catastrophic prison break that occurred earlier today. We don't yet know exactly what the Ministry intends to do with Harry, what charges they might manufacture. But the enchantment protecting this house cannot keep out Ministry enforcement officers. And that is my second reason for taking Harry with me."
Bryan had tried to be brief and clear, but even so, the sheer weight of what he'd said—the layers of danger, political and violence, left the Dursleys' thoughts in complete disarray.
The two of them sat pressed together on the sofa like frightened children, staring blankly at the bathroom door as though they couldn't quite fathom what could possibly be so remarkable about this nephew of theirs, that so many powerful people should want him dead.
"That's the situation, then—" Bryan said with finality.
He gave a small, dismissive wave of his hand. The wine bottle and glasses on the coffee table vanished instantly, disappearing into nothing. The smile returned to his face, and he inclined his head slightly toward the Dursleys in a gesture of polite farewell.
"Again, my sincere thanks to you both for your hospitality tonight."
With that, he walked out of the living room, climbed the stairs with quiet dignity, and disappeared leaving the Dursleys sitting bewildered and shell-shocked beneath the dim amber light of their own living room.
About five minutes later, Harry shuffled out of the bathroom.
The Dursleys were still frozen on the sofa, the warm glow of the lamp was doing nothing to dispel the daze that had settled over them like a fog.
Perhaps it was pity—the odd, uncomfortable sort that comes from realizing someone else has been dragged unwillingly into your trouble without asking for it but Harry felt an unexpected flicker of sympathy for his aunt and uncle.
They were exactly the kind of people who hated the strange and the inexplicable above all else, who built their entire lives around normality and routine. And yet by some cruel twist of fate, they had ended up raising a wizard. Not just any wizard, but one who was, without fail, continuously surrounded by catastrophe and danger and darkness.
For the sake of the pleasant summer ahead—one he wouldn't have to endure on Privet Drive, one he'd spend at Grimmauld Place with Sirius—Harry thought it only fair to say something conciliatory.
"Just tonight," he said stiffly, awkwardly. "I'm leaving first thing in the morning with Professor Watson. I won't be much trouble."
"Listen here, boy!" Vernon roared.
He was on his feet again in an instant,. A man-eating expression twisted his face. He crossed the room in large, aggressive strides and stopped just in front of Harry—clearly desperate to roar at him at full volume, but too afraid of disturbing the scary young wizard upstairs.
He settled for hissing through clenched teeth, his breath was heaving like a bellows, his face was inches from Harry's.
"If you have even a shred of decency—if you remember that we took you in when you had nowhere else to go, that we fed you and clothed you—then stop dragging us into your mess!
Tonight is the last night you sleep under this roof. After this, don't you dare set foot in this house again!"
"Believe me," Harry shot back, meeting Vernon's furious glare without flinching even slightly.
"If it were up to me, I'd never set foot in this house again either!"
Vernon raised one of his great bear-paw hands threateningly. Harry was fairly certain that he was about to grab him by the hair or the collar, maybe shake him.
"Vernon—" Petunia's voice cut through sharply. She hurried in from the sitting room where she'd been hovering, her voice was low and urgent, warning.
"That man is still upstairs. He'll hear you."
The flesh on Vernon's face twitched violently, fats were jumping beneath the skin. Slowly, he lowered his raised hand, forcing himself to step back.
"Go to bed," Petunia said, turning to Harry with a tight expression. "Just... go to bed."
Harry's expression darkened. Without another word, he turned and walked up the stairs toward his old room.
"Wait—" Petunia called out suddenly.
Just as Harry was about to vanish from their sight at the top of the stairs, Petunia called out. Harry's brow pinched together in confusion. He stopped and looked back down at his aunt, wondering what else she could possibly want.
His aunt's expression was strange, unlike anything he'd seen on her face before. She wasn't glaring at him the way Vernon had been—there was something else in her face. A wariness, yes. But also something Harry couldn't quite name or identify.
"That wizard—Voldemort," She spoke carefully. "Is there truly no one who can stop him? No one at all?"
Harry blinked in surprise at the question. Then his face settled back into calm, and he considered his answer carefully.
"Of course there is," he said firmly. "Professor Watson is one of them—one of the most powerful wizards alive. And Hogwarts' headmaster, Professor Dumbledore—I believe they can both stand against Voldemort."
He paused. "But—"
He stopped for a moment, then said, with a steadiness that surprised even himself: "Sacrifices will be hard to avoid."
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