Harry wasn't expecting Dumbledore at that exact moment. 'At such a time!' He complained loudly in his heart. It had to be that their first encounter was in the middle of rule-breaking.
"Harry!" His mother cried, Lily's expression a mixture of worry and sternness.
Lily was marching across the yard, more adults following behind her. Mrs. Weasely was a close second and having already grasped Ron's hand, she went after the twins. Her large and heavily pregnant belly swayed as she walked/waddled.
'Poor Ginny,' Harry thought. 'All that stress before birth can lead to personality changes, poor sleep, and short tempers.' All of which, come to think of it, the youngest Weasely had in spades. 'Strange, I always thought it was the diary that gave her the poor sleeping habits. But, I guess it was the stress.' He harrumphed in amusement. 'I hadn't noticed the past hundred or so times, but I did this time!'
For Harry, even a repeated life was amusing. A bit like watching a favorite movie a hundred times and noticing a detail you hadn't in the past. But, in truth, this was because he periodically forgot details.
Souls weren't meant to house the entirety of hundreds of lifetimes. But where did the excess go? In Harry's case, his soul stored his memories and abilities. Each life was hidden behind a door with core memories for each life time, a personality, a character.
While this kept him relatively sane, it meant that some details would often escape him.
In one life, he forgot who Hagrid was and ended up with a terrible anxiety attack each time the half giant was mentioned. Before he met Hagrid, all his memories involving the large and friendly man were filled with shadows. In the hut with a shadow; talking to a black silhouette about the word Malfoy had used.
It had been eye-opening to realize the limitations of his memory, his ability. Because of this strange situation, he had developed shelves for his emotions and memories. This also meant that difficult abilities could not be accessed in a body unable to house said ability.
'A child simply does not have enough mass and elements to create even a miniature dragon with the conversion equivalence ratio,' he lamented.
Perched in Dumbledore's arms, Harry tried to relax. His bottom was on the man's forearm, legs gripped and held against the Supreme Mugwump's side and torso. It was a typical pose to hold a small child, and child-on-hip came naturally to Albus Dumbledore. He scooped Harry around the waist and pulled up and into his arms. One hand on his back, forearm supporting the legs and weight as he held his posture with a bent arm. Kids usually liked this hold because of the view and the sense of freedom-- the lack of weight on their torso inspiring a sort of independence. Well, as independent as a toddler less than ten stone could be.
"Ahdgjjjkks pfffbbbttt," Harry said with great animation, his face lit up as he looked at one of the most powerful wizards alive. He then blew a raspberry, his laughter ringing immediately after. Child-Harry had much of the same inclinations and instincts as any other child his age.
Albus smiled, lines around his eyes appearing to crinkled as his eyes turned upwards in the corners with delight. Beneath his white beard, the Headmaster was smiling brilliantly.
"Harry James Potter," Lily scolded, moving in to take her troublesome son from the elderly wizard.
Dumbledore, resplendent in bright teal robes with exaggerated patterns and stitching of the sea life and the ocean floor, simply smiled at his former student.
"I am afraid Harry and I are quite inseparable at this very moment, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't hand him over," Came the amused voice of Hogwarts' Headmaster.
Confusion mixed with surprise on Lily's pretty face, pinching her brows together as she assessed the situation. After a moment of scrutiny, looking over the professor and her son, her expression cleared and she laughed.
"Yes, it would seem that you are absolutely inseparable," she agreed, poking her index finger gently against Harry's soft stomach.
For indeed, when you looked closer, it became immediately clear what the old man meant. At that moment, Harry had two fistfuls of beard hair woven through his chubby fingers. Any attempt at removing the child from his person, without first carefully extracting his hands, would result in a great deal of pain and hair loss.
"So it would seem," Dumbledore agreed, trying to appear and sound grave, but his eyes twinkled merrily and gave him away. "Perhaps I ought to invest in a hairnet, or consider taking up knitting. Knitting, as you know, is a great deal like braiding."
Lily began to laugh, and James took this chance to loop around and sneak up behind Dumbledore. Harry was distracted trying to stuff as much of the white beard as he could fit in both fists, pushing it against his mouth and attempting to chew on the soft hair.
The elder Potter was unsuccessful in his retrieval, however, and resorted in trying to pry hair out of one hand and attempting to empty the other as quickly as possible before more hair was grabbed. Needless to say, it was a daunting task with no end in sight.
"Does this happen often, Headmaster?" Lily asked politely, tone mild but filled with amused undertones.
"This particular incident? No, usually I intimidate most children. There have been the rare occasion of animals, but usually that is just Hagrid's new guests, or a young Fawkes just after a burning day." His chin was tilted down and his impossibly blue eyes peered over the rim of his gold-framed glasses at the child in his arms. "Fawkes is quite fond of using my beard as a nest, or at the very least, attempting to."
The silence stretched and his raised eyebrows seemed to question, 'Are you nesting, young Potter?'
Harry laughed and tried to crow like a rooster. His vocal cords weren't developed enough to perfectly mimic the call for challenge, but he put in a good effort. Only other birds would notice his failure to enunciate. 'Ah, but I am not a bird either,' The toddler mused with disappointment, glancing down.
Lily dived in while he was distracted, taking hold of one hand while James continued with the other. Soon Lily was pulling Harry to her chest and cooing at her son. The tiny immortal gurgled happily at her, drooling and trying to teeth on a fistful of her blouse.
"I am surprised you could make it Headmaster, but delighted," the young redhead told the elder wizard, a dimple appearing in her left cheek when she smiled.
Dumbledore smiled back, coaxed by the dimples appearance; such witches like Lily Potter were rare. She was simply magical in every way.
Moments after, reflecting on why he was present, his face slackened and he looked serious.
"I wish I were visiting for the sake of a good game of pinata, Mrs. Potter, but I am afraid I come with vital news," He said with a tone filled with reverence.
Green eyes widened and the young mother held her child closer, eyes flickering nervously about the yard.
"Augusta!" She called out, her voice sounding faint at first, but rising strongly at the end.
Neville's grandmother, vulture hat and all, stepped from the living room back door and quickly crossed the yard.
"Yes, Miss Lily?"
Her tone was polite and held an under-note of respect. Harry was surprised and turned his attention to the woman. Matriarch Longbottom liked his mother?!
"Bring Harry, Neville, Ron, and the twins into the house if you would, dear? Headmaster Dumbledore... the other parents, and I, we... need to assemble the pinata and string it up." Her eyes were fixed on the old white wizard as she spoke. "We'll be just a moment."
Augusta Longbottom frowned, but she lead the children back into the cottage, not once looking behind her. When the patio door closed and the garden was quiet, all attention turned to the Leader of the Order of the Phoenix.
Waving a hand, he indicated to James, Sirius, Frank, and Remus, who all began to layer privacy and silencing spells in a perimeter around the yard. When the four had finished, everyone turned their attention back to the eldest in their midst.
"We have earned some important information, but also terribly dangerous," He began. "On the one hand, this could mean our last hope, an option to end this war," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the shocked gasps that followed this statement. "Or, it could very well be our final stand."
His eyes lowered and he took a deep breath, smoothing down his beard in a stroking motion. "The war will end, one way or another, and soon."
Everyone looked at each other, expressions of excitement mingled with anxiety and therefore strangled any hope that tried to rise within them. Could this really be it? This didn't seem possible.
Finally, it was James who spoke.
"What makes you so sure, Professor?"
Frank decided to add his own as he spoke up, "Yes, what sort of news could be so reliable, so sure?"
They often heard fake news or rumors with the war, but how could any of them be certain something could completely end it?
"There was a prophecy," Albus began, only to be interrupted rudely.
Sirius was scoffing and letting out harsh laughter that rang like a dog's bark out into the night. "A prophecy?! Since when has there been a Seer of any clout in England?! There hasn't been a true Seer in these parts for a good two hundred years. All the old family bloodlines died out-- like most cold, dead, heartless, and shriveled pureblood line abilities." He snorted loudly, shaking his head, chin down. "Nah, that's just more smoke up our arses from the damned wang-sucking-corpses!"
"Sirius!" Mrs. Weasely scolded, nudging him with her palm. Although she personally agreed, she didn't appreciate his language.
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I thought so, too. However," he paused. "However, the woman who made the prophecy is the granddaughter of a powerful and famous prophetess. One of the last true line abilities relating to the Sight."
Alice gripped her husband's sleeve, making a determined expression. "Do you trust this prophecy, Headmaster? Because in the end, that's what's important."
Dumbledore slowly nodded. "Having born witness to the prophecy being made in my presence, I can almost guarantee that this information could turn the tides of the war with the Dark."
Mrs. Weasely gasped, and Lily hugged her arms around her large middle, a protective stance over the unborn. Seeing this, James wrapped his arms around Lily and pulled her against his chest.
"I am assuming this has something to do with us, considering your appearance today," James said, fishing for control of this situation.
Folding his hands and tucking them into his long robe sleeves, Dumbledore admired the garden, not looking at anyone present. After a moment, he spoke.
"Indeed, it does or I would hesitate to interrupt today's festivities," He agreed, stepping forward and leaning down to smell the petals of some blue hydrangea that grew abundantly.
"And?" Sirius prompted, growing impatient. His posture and stance screamed agitation and Remus laid a hand soothingly on his shoulder.
"And," Dumbledore continued, taking his time. "I am afraid the prophecy regards a child."
The sudden chill and silence that overtook the small cluster of magic users felt heavy like a weight. A sudden thickness seemed to choke and stifle the air, weighing down each breath, sitting like stones in their chest as they filled their lungs.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those that have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies--"
Dumbledore's speech was interrupted by a stifled scream. "Oh thank Merlin, it's not my Ronnie or my baby," Molly Weasely whispered, hand over her mouth. "What a... terrible thing to say, I am so sorry. I meant no harm."
Dumbledore nodded and Alice put a gentle hand on the other woman's shoulder in understanding.
Looking across to ensure he had their attention, Dumbledore continued.
"And the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal, and he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...."
Remus frowned. "So... so thrice... defied the Dark Lord three times..." He paused. "The seventh month dies... July is the seventh month, unless you're reconfiguring the months without the addition of Julius, Augustus--"
"Remus!" Sirius bumped shoulders with his school friend. "Ease up."
"So that's it, then," Lily whispered, face rather pale. "It's either us or the Longbottoms... Rather, it's... it's Neville or Harry."
Everyone stood in confusion and shock, trying to absorb the news.
Albus nodded. "Yes, I am afraid one of those boys will either save us or be destined to die trying."
Sirius looked angry and scared, beginning to pace with obvious and jittery movements.
Frank spoke after another stretch of silence. "How will we know?"
"Which child?" Dumbledore asked, pulling out a small lemon candy from the confines of his robe sleeves. Popping the treat into his mouth he smiled placidly, but his eyes had yet to relight their usual spark.
"I am afraid we will only know after the Dark Lord makes his move," He admitted, sounding a bit wistful and grave. "Until that man makes an attempt and marks one of the boys-- figuratively or literally, we have no way of truly knowing."
"What do we do?"
"Where should we go?"
"We can't just wait--"
"I don't feel comfortable letting two children play bait to some sort of--"
"What are our options?"
And finally.
"What do you suggest?"
Albus looked up at the setting summer sun. "Born as the seventh month dies," he repeated, his eyes showing a great distance as he mused to himself.
Slowly, the white-bearded man turned to both families.
"How familiar are you with the effects and ability of the Fidelius Charm?"