After everyone had calmed down and the mood in the room had improved a little, Dumbledore approached the young Harry with a gentle inquiry. "Harry, do you recall the events of today?" he asked, his voice soft yet probing.
Harry, instinctively wary, shifted his gaze away from Dumbledore. He had a lot of secrets and did not want Dumbledore to attack his untrained mind with Legilimency and go through his memories or worse alter them. Harry knew Dumbledore could go to any lengths for his 'Greater Good'.
Lily, noticing Harry's reaction, sought to reassure him. "What happened, Harry? It's alright, you can tell us. Dumbledore is here to help," she said, her voice soothing yet tinged with concern.
Harry, channeling the innocence expected of his age, relayed his grandfather's warning. "Grandpa said never look at strong wizards in the eyes till you have something called mind shield. He said they can see my memories and play games with my mind. He said I might go mad if someone reads my memories." he explained, his voice reflecting a child's understanding of complex magical concepts.
Dumbledore's face registered surprise. He hadn't expected Fleamont to have taught his grandson such a cautionary lesson. Dumbledore had intended to gently probe Harry's memories, considering the knowledge of that night's events to be of paramount importance. But he wasn't about to admit this.
The experienced Auror and Order member, Mad-Eye Moody, observing the exchange, let out a gruff chuckle, his magical eye swirling independently. "Good advice, boy. Constant vigilance! Remember, never look other wizards in the eye if you don't have strong mind shields." he remarked, appreciating the prudence in Fleamont's words.
Lily, attempting to alleviate Harry's concerns, reassured him. "Dumbledore wouldn't harm your thoughts, dear," she said softly, then gently prodded, "Can you tell us what happened today, Harry?"
Harry understood this was his chance to change the narrative. He didn't want his brother to be seen as the chosen one by the outside world. He wanted Charles to live an ordinary life. So, he decided to recount the events truthfully, strategically omitting his own role. He decided to credit the miraculous survival and the defeat of Voldemort to his grandmother's actions and the mysterious runes she had drawn. He liked the idea of his powerful Grandma being seen as a hero by the wizarding world.
With a quivering voice, betraying the emotional toll of his narrative, Harry began. "Grandma was telling us a story with dragons when suddenly Grandpa stood up and said the bad guy was here. He told Grandma to take us upstairs and protect us. Grandma took us to Charles's room and started drawing something on the floor. She kept doing that while I could hear shouting from downstairs and lots of things breaking." Harry recounted, his young voice faltering slightly.
"After some time, Grandma finished writing, and suddenly there was a thud and everything went quiet. Grandma started crying and placed me beside Charles's crib. She then took out her wand and stood in front of the door. A ghost-like monster opened the door and came in. He asked her to move away, but she didn't, and then a green light came out of the bad guy's wand and Grandma fell down." Harry continued, his eyes brimming with tears at the memory.
"Then the bad guy approached us. At that time, Grandma's drawings lit up the whole room and everything glowed. Suddenly there was a white dome around the crib of Charley which I could tell the bad guy couldn't see. When the bad guy tried to hurt us, the green light from his wand didn't work. It hit the dome and stopped. Then a golden light from the dome hit him, and he just disappeared. Then the whole room started shaking. That's all I remember," Harry concluded, his recounting leaving the room in a hushed, somber silence.
Lily, her heart aching for her son's witnessed horrors and her mother-in-law's sacrifice, hugged Harry closer. The room absorbed Harry's words, each person grappling with the weight of his testimony.
The room, steeped in the somber revelation of Harry's account, was enveloped in a reflective silence. His narrative, painting Euphemia as the night's unlikely hero, resonated more deeply with the assembly than Dumbledore's initial theory.
The concept of a pureblood witch defeating the most feared Dark Lord through sacrificial magic found a more receptive audience among the wizards and witches present, many of whom held deeply ingrained beliefs in blood supremacy, than a one-year-old half-blood child defeating the Dark Lord with unknown love magic.
It seemed, to Harry's relief, that his grandmother would be remembered as the hero of this tale, sparing Charles from an unwanted destiny. In his heart, he knew Grandma would approve of his actions.
The gathered crowd began to scrutinize the rune remnants, validating Harry's description. Skeptical and curious glances were cast towards Dumbledore, whose initial theory now appeared less convincing. Dumbledore, perceiving the subtle shift in the room's sentiment, remained outwardly unruffled, though inwardly he acknowledged the delicate predicament he now faced. The flow of events Harry described matched what Dumbledore had concluded upon first entering the room. He had ulterior motives for putting Charles in the forefront, but he knew he could salvage this later. For now, he conceded gracefully.