Harry walked back to the Dursleys. The afternoon heat was making him sweat profusely. Even though it wasn't that far from Mrs. Figg's, it still wasn't very comfortable, and whatever earful he was going to get for coming back filthy wasn't much of an incentive.
He had taken a bit of a 'detour'. Down two streets from Mrs. Figg's, in a small home, lived Pip, or real name Phillip, an old widower. He was a cool guy Harry liked to hang out with. He was quite older than Harry, and even Pip had pointed that out. But Harry wasn't one to not sate his curiosity.
Regardless, Pip had great stories. Stories of his childhood, his school life, even how he met his wife! Hearing about the convict that helped him come here from the countryside or the bad old lady who burned in her wedding dress.
Even how he went to Cairo... it was certainly better than the wretched Beedle!
After hearing all the 'good' stories to cleanse his mind of that load of crap, here he was, nearly 'home.' He stopped there and sighed, his face twisting in a grimace. Weekends were always like this. Monotonous. If you're home, Dudley's friends annoy him or Vernon is on his case. Petunia? The horse-lady, his dear aunty, was always busy craning her neck, getting reports on how many times Mr. and Mrs. Roberts fought and wondered to Vernon if they were going to get divorced.
Harry looked down at himself and scratched his cheek. Muddied clothes. Playing with Pip's old companion dog did get messy. His aunt certainly wasn't going to like that. He would have to clean the house on weekends for the next whole month! Unacceptable! Blasphemy!
He slowly inched around the house and wondered if the back door was open or not. It always did on Sundays. He slowly adjusted his fingers on the ridges of the fence and hoisted himself up. When Harry wanted to, he could easily do things like scaling fences or disappearing in dark alleys. Certainly helped when he poked the 'Wild Dudley and his Herd'.
As his head peeked from the fence, he saw the back door open. No horse—err, aunt or his uncle in sight. That was good. But as he scanned the backyard, his gaze fell upon a rotund, white, layered, sweating, heaving, snorting, wild... Dudley. The fatty was frantically washing something under the faucet.
As Harry narrowed his eyes to what it was, he suddenly grinned. His glasses nearly flashed because of the sparkle in his eyes. What his dear fatty cousin was washing was a prized possession for Mrs. Dursley. It was a baby blue, floral scarf.
Apparently, the bull—sorry-not sorry, his uncle had gotten that scarf for her when he was promoted, and it was also their anniversary. That scarf, as Vernon boasted, 'was given by the wife of the founder of Grunnings, herself.' It was taken out for special outings and dinners. Harry didn't know why or how it got to Dudley... But he would have to capitalize on the opportunity.
He dropped down and thought for a moment. 'What to do? What to do!', he thought hard.
'Aha!', he grinned. Then raced down the street to pick up an empty soda can. He quickly filled it with small pebbles and some dirt from a nearby lawn. He then sneaked to the Roberts' backyard, which had a much lower fence on the back, and filled the can with water.
He then made another trip to the back of the Dursleys' front porch and rang the doorbell. As fast as ever, he ran to the back and threw the can over the fence.
"Who is it?!" Vernon's bellow from the front door.
"Where's my scarf?" Petunia's screech followed.
Harry quickly ran to the front, and as expected, the door wasn't closed. He quickly got in and threw off his dirty clothes in his 'designated' laundry basket. Changed into another pair of clothes. He did his own laundry for months now. Who was going to check, anyways?
He washed his face and smelled his armpits for sweat. Yeah, that was enough to convince the pair. He picked up his basket and calmly went to the backyard. The noises were getting louder.
"BUT I WASN'T PLAYING WITH CANS MUM!", roared the baby Dursley.
"DON'T LIE DUDDYKINS!" screeched the mama Dursley.
"Grrrm." growled the bully Dursley in his throat, glaring at the scarf.
Dudley, realizing that the luck wasn't on his side, tried his tested method. He puffed like a bullfrog and threw the scarf on the ground and started crying and stomping. His mother gasped, and his father turned red in the face.
Petunia pulled Dudley's ear and scolded, "BAD DUDLEY! BAD!"
Harry's eyes widened, and then he grinned widely at Dudley. He did a little wave and went to wash his laundry.
Oh, the dangerous games played... Gosh, he ought to be careful. He sighed. What a great day indeed...
--Hogwarts Castle--
Minerva McGonagall climbed the stairs to the Headmaster's office and faced the gargoyle.
"Chocolate Toffee," said Minerva, a little embarrassed by the password. "Albus and his little jokes! At least a proper password is necessary for the office," she sniffed angrily.
The gargoyle didn't even twitch at the childish password and just gave way to the office. She got closer to the door and knocked.
"Come in," an old but merry voice sounded from within.
As she entered the office, she saw an old man in strange, old-fashioned wizard robes and a small wizard hat. He had half-moon spectacles on his nose and a long beard that disappeared beneath the desk. He appeared to be writing a letter to somebody. A red bird, a Phoenix named Fawkes, screeched lightly after seeing her.
"Ah, Minerva. Finally. I've been waiting all day. Sit, sit," said Albus as he put down his quill. He summoned two cups, a teapot, and a box of biscuits.
"Thank you," she said, as she took a seat and accepted the teacup. They enjoyed the tea for a while. Finally, it was Dumbledore who broke the silence.
"I'm really curious about what your reason must be to stay there all day. Even more so, when I am aware that you do not enjoy seeing those particular people," he said, smiling.
She huffed. Always perceptive. Sometimes it was uncanny how this man knew other people. But she nonetheless, recounted everything she had seen and experienced the whole morning and noon.
As she kept narrating, he would smile, nod, or even laugh a little at her expense. He was quite enjoying the little visit of hers. She was certainly not pleased when he openly laughed at her. It reminded her of her rookie days in the Ministry. She had, at times, gotten overzealous to prove herself, resulting in some... embarrassing memories.
"Harry has certainly grown quite well, I see," said Dumbledore.
"Yes. Despite his shenanigans... He doesn't seem much depressed, at the surface at least," said Minerva, quietly looking at him.
Albus understood what she seemed to imply but kept quiet. Minerva was frustrated at his non-answers and silences.
"Albus. The boy is not happy, anyone with eyes can tell. Isn't it time? Haven't we kept him away for a reasonable time? I'm sure we can slowly introduce him to all of this. Isn't there just... another way?" she said, frustration clear in her voice.
"I understand your concerns, Minerva," Dumbledore replied, a little somber. "But as the boy said after reading the book, 'Magic is so troublesome.' There are many problems he may face if he leaves the house. The magic he wonders about... has created many problems."
She slumped after hearing that. She had tried. That's what she could do. It was rather true that Harry's return to the Wizarding world would create ripples that would alert many undesirables still at large. Even though they could protect him, they couldn't let the boy face the horrors still so young.
"But I'm quite intrigued at Arabella's suggestion," he smiled at her surprised expression. "Although he is young, he seems sensible not to divulge some things out. It wouldn't hurt to let him read the 'silly, antique' books. Dare I say he would be quite interested in the simpler magical theories, that are mere fantasies to him," he said, mustache quivering and a twinkle in his eyes.
To say she was surprised was an understatement. Although the boy would be reading those books in Arabella's presence... it was quite risky.
They discussed that matter for quite a long time and decided on the conditions and the amount of books he could read. He let her decide what Harry could read, as he vetted some books and suggested some.
Somewhat satisfied, Minerva left the office, imagining the look of shock on the younger boy's face when he would find the odd story books. She smiled a little. Minerva McGonagall could hold a grudge, it seemed.
--After some time--
Albus Dumbledore sighed as he rubbed his eyes. He put on his glasses again and started arranging the reports he had gotten. For eight years, even before Voldemort's fall, Dumbledore had been noting his actions.
And the recent reports from the Albanian forest concerned him. The villages surrounding it—muggle and magical—were facing the challenge of supernatural forces. Increased visits of werewolves, magical fauna going berserk, new diseases that required expert-level care...
Wraith as he was, Voldemort was now very stealthy. After a painful amount of searching, he had located Voldemort across the land, far away in Albania. He had been taking asylum in those forests. Dumbledore also knew the visits that were made to the forest.
And mysterious things were happening in Albania... he just hoped that they would die away, or drastic measures had to be taken.