**Agnes's Cottage, Scottish Highlands**
**January 20th, 1982 - 10:23 AM**
Wanda stood at the kitchen window, watching snow fall over the frozen garden. Four days since the confrontation with Dumbledore. Four days of waiting for retaliation that hadn't come. Four days of Harry manifesting his crimson magic at increasingly random moments—floating toys, making his food glow, accidentally turning his bath water into something that sparkled like liquid starlight.
Four days of feeling like they were living on borrowed time.
Behind her, Agnes was teaching Harry to stack wooden blocks while Sirius read the Daily Prophet at the table, his expression growing progressively darker with each page.
"They're calling you a radical," he said finally. "The Prophet. There's an editorial suggesting you're a dangerous foreign influence who's manipulated your way into custody of 'Britain's Boy Hero.'"
"Charming," Wanda said without turning. "Who wrote it?"
"Someone named Rita Skeeter. Apparently she's a gossip columnist with a reputation for... creative interpretation of facts."
"Let me guess. Dumbledore gave an interview about his concerns for Harry's welfare?"
"Close. He gave a statement expressing 'hope that young Harry Potter is receiving appropriate guidance during this difficult time' and 'concern about unregulated foreign magic being used on British children.'" Sirius set down the paper. "It's not directly accusatory, but the implications are clear."
Wanda finally turned from the window. "He's building a case. Making me look dangerous in the court of public opinion before he makes any legal moves."
"Aye, an' it's workin'," Agnes said, not looking up from where she was helping Harry balance a particularly wobbly block. "I was in the village yesterday. Folk are talkin'. Askin' questions about the foreign witch who took the Boy Who Lived. Wonderin' if ye've got him under some kind o' spell."
"Of course they are." Wanda moved to the table and sat heavily. "Dumbledore is Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, beloved hero who defeated Grindelwald. I'm nobody. A woman from nowhere with power nobody understands. Why would they believe me over him?"
"Because you're the one who actually saved Harry," Sirius said firmly. "And because the truth matters."
"Does it?" Wanda gestured at the paper. "In my world, I learned that truth is less important than narrative. People believe what makes sense to them, what fits their existing understanding. A mysterious foreigner with dangerous power kidnapping Britain's savior—that's a story they understand. The alternative—that their beloved Dumbledore was planning to manipulate a child—that's too uncomfortable."
"So what do we do?" Sirius asked.
Wanda was quiet for a moment, watching Harry successfully stack another block and crow with delight. "We leave," she said finally.
The room went still.
"Leave?" Agnes repeated. "Ye mean—"
"Britain," Wanda confirmed. "We take Harry somewhere Dumbledore doesn't have political power. Somewhere the Prophet can't influence public opinion. Somewhere we can raise him in peace without constantly looking over our shoulders."
Sirius set down his tea carefully. "You want to run."
"I want to protect Harry," Wanda corrected. "There's a difference. Running implies fear. This is strategic relocation."
"Sounds like runnin' tae me," Agnes said quietly.
"Because it is," Wanda admitted. "I'm not going to pretend otherwise. But sometimes running is the smart choice. I've fought enough battles to know which ones are worth fighting and which ones just destroy everything you're trying to protect."
"And you think this is the second kind?" Sirius's voice was carefully neutral.
"I think Dumbledore has the home field advantage here," Wanda said. "He has political connections, public support, decades of goodwill built up. We have power, yes, but power without legitimacy just makes us look like the villains. If we stay, if we fight this in the British magical courts—we might win. But Harry would be caught in the middle of a war that would define his entire childhood."
"Whereas if we leave—"
"We give him a chance at normal," Wanda finished. "Well, as normal as possible for the Boy Who Lived being raised by a witch from another universe and a recently pardoned convict."
"Hey, I prefer 'wrongly imprisoned hero,'" Sirius protested, but there was no heat in it. He was thinking, his expression troubled. "Where would we even go? America?"
"That was my first thought," Wanda said. "The Magical Congress of the United States has no jurisdiction overlap with Britain. Dumbledore's reputation wouldn't carry the same weight. We could settle somewhere quiet, establish new identities, raise Harry in relative obscurity."
"Until someone recognizes him," Sirius pointed out. "That scar is pretty distinctive. And the moment anyone realizes we have Harry Potter—"
"Then we move again," Wanda said. "As many times as we need to. I can open portals anywhere in the world, Sirius. We're not limited by geography or travel restrictions. If we need to disappear, we can disappear."
"That's no life fer a bairn," Agnes said. Her hands had stilled on the blocks, and she was looking at Wanda with something like disappointment. "Always movin', never settlin', constantly hidin'. Harry needs roots. Needs tae ken where home is."
"Home is us," Wanda said. "Wherever we are, that's home. As long as he has family who love him—"
"As long as he has family who *stay*," Agnes interrupted. "Who dinnae run the moment things get difficult. Who stand an' fight fer the life they're tryin' tae build."
"I'm not running from difficulty," Wanda said, her voice harder now. "I'm running from a system designed to take Harry from us. From a man who thinks he knows better than we do what Harry needs. From a public that's already decided I'm the villain because I don't fit their narrative."
"So ye prove them wrong," Agnes said simply. "Ye stay. Ye show them Harry is happy an' healthy. Ye let folk see that ye're a guid mother, that Sirius is a guid father, that this bairn is loved an' cared fer better than he would've been anywhere else."
"And when Dumbledore uses his political power to get custody anyway?" Wanda challenged. "When the Ministry decides that foreign witches shouldn't be raising British heroes? What then?"
"Then we fight," Sirius said quietly. "In court, in public, however we need to. But we fight here, where Harry was born, where his parents lived and died. We don't let Dumbledore chase us out of the country."
Wanda stared at him. "I thought you'd agree with me. You're the one who was thrown in Azkaban without a trial. You know how corrupt this system is."
"I do," Sirius agreed. "But I also know that running away from that corruption means leaving it in place to hurt other people. If we leave, if we take Harry to America or Australia or wherever—Dumbledore wins. He gets to control the narrative completely. Gets to tell everyone that you were dangerous, that you fled because you knew you couldn't stand up to proper scrutiny."
"I don't care what people think—"
"But Harry will," Sirius said. "Eventually. When he's old enough to understand that his childhood was defined by running from his own country. When he asks why we left, why we didn't fight to stay. What do we tell him? That we were afraid? That we didn't think he was worth the trouble of standing our ground?"
"That's not fair—"
"Maybe not," Sirius said. "But it's true. Harry is British, Wanda. His parents were British. His godmother, his friends—they're here. If we take him away from that, if we raise him cut off from his culture and heritage..." He paused. "I spent my childhood trying to escape being a Black. Trying to prove I was different from my family, better than them. And you know what I learned? That running from who you are doesn't actually change anything. It just makes you lonely."
Wanda felt her magic stirring, responding to her frustration. The temperature in the kitchen dropped slightly, and Agnes shot her a warning look.
"I'm trying to protect him," Wanda said, forcing her power back down. "That's all I'm trying to do. Protect my son from people who would use him."
"I know," Sirius said gently. "But protection can become a cage if you're not careful. If we spend Harry's whole childhood running, hiding, never letting him put down roots—we'll protect his body but damage his soul. He'll grow up thinking the world is dangerous, that he can't trust anyone outside our little family, that he's so special he has to be hidden away."
"Better that than being Dumbledore's weapon," Wanda muttered.
"Those aren't the only two options," Agnes said. She'd abandoned the blocks now and was facing Wanda directly. "Ye can stay an' fight fer the life ye want. Ye can establish yerselves properly here, let folk get tae know ye, show them ye're just people tryin' tae raise a bairn. Will it be hard? Aye. Will Dumbledore make it difficult? Absolutely. But it's better than spendin' the next seventeen years lookin' over yer shoulder."
Wanda wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that leaving was the smart choice, the strategic choice, the choice that would keep Harry safest. But looking at Harry—currently trying to balance a block on his head while Agnes pretended to be impressed—she couldn't quite make herself believe it.
"I don't know if I can do this," she admitted quietly. "Stay and fight a political battle against someone who has all the advantages. I'm good at fighting physical threats, magical threats. But this? Public opinion, legal maneuvering, playing nice with a system that's already decided I'm dangerous? I don't know how to win that fight."
"You don't have to do it alone," Sirius said. He reached across the table and took her hand. "We'll figure it out together. You, me, Agnes—we're a team. And we have allies. Moody seemed sympathetic after the meeting. Remus looked like he was rethinking his loyalty to Dumbledore. The Longbottoms are grateful for what you did for them."
"That's not exactly a political powerhouse coalition," Wanda pointed out.
"Not yet," Sirius agreed. "But it's a start. And more importantly, we have the truth on our side. Harry is thriving with us. He's happy, healthy, developing normally—well, except for the bits where he accidentally makes things float, but that's honestly pretty normal for magical children."
"It's really not," Wanda said. "Normal magical children don't manifest controlled magic at sixteen months."
"Fine. It's normal for Harry," Sirius amended. "The point is, we're not hurting him. We're not using him. We're just raising him the best we can. And if we let people see that—really see it, not filtered through Dumbledore's concerns or the Prophet's sensationalism—they'll understand."
"Ye've got more faith in folk than I dae," Agnes said. "But he's no' wrong. If ye run now, ye'll always be runnin'. Better tae stand yer ground, make a home here, let the bairn grow up kennin' where he belongs."
Wanda looked between them—Sirius with his earnest grey eyes, Agnes with her practical wisdom, Harry with his tower of blocks that was definitely defying gravity in ways wood shouldn't. Her family. Such as it was.
"Fine," she said finally. "We stay. For now. But if this goes badly—if the Ministry tries to take Harry, if Dumbledore succeeds in painting me as dangerous—I'm opening a portal and we're gone. No hesitation, no second chances."
"Fair enough," Sirius said. "Emergency escape plan it is." He squeezed her hand. "But I think you'll be surprised. People aren't as easily manipulated as you think. Especially not when they can see Harry for themselves—see how much he loves his mama, how happy he is."
"God, I hope you're right," Wanda muttered.
"Tower!" Harry announced, pointing at his definitely-gravity-defying block structure. "Big tower!"
"Very big," Agnes agreed, though she was eyeing the floating blocks with concern. "Maybe we should—"
The tower collapsed spectacularly, blocks flying in all directions. One sailed toward the window, and Wanda caught it with a casual wave of her hand, her chaos magic stopping it mid-flight.
"Or maybe we should get the wee lad some toys that cannae break things," Agnes finished dryly.
"I'll add it to the list," Wanda said. "Right after 'figure out how to win a political battle against the most powerful wizard in Britain.'"
"One problem at a time," Sirius said cheerfully. "First, let's teach Harry that gravity is not a suggestion. Then we can worry about Dumbledore."
"Gravity is absolutely a suggestion," Wanda muttered, but she was smiling slightly.
Maybe Sirius was right. Maybe staying and fighting was the better choice. Maybe Harry deserved to grow up in his parents' country, connected to his heritage, instead of constantly running from it.
She just hoped they'd survive long enough to find out.
---
**12 Grimmauld Place, London**
**January 20th, 1982 - 2:47 PM**
Remus Lupin stood outside the townhouse that had been the Black family's London residence for generations, staring at the door and working up the courage to knock.
He'd been here a handful of times during their school days. It had been one of the few places he'd felt like he belonged, despite the dark magic practically oozing from the walls.
But that was before. Before Sirius's arrest, before the war ended, before everything went to hell.
Now the house was empty—or should be. Sirius certainly wasn't living here. But Remus had checked his old cabin, sent owls that went unanswered, even tried using their old Marauder communication methods.
Nothing.
Sirius either didn't know about the attempts to reach him or—more likely—was deliberately avoiding contact.
Which, fair enough. Remus had believed he was guilty. Had stood by while his best friend's brother was thrown into Azkaban without a trial. Had done nothing—*nothing*—to help.
He'd been a coward.
But he was here now, trying to make amends. Trying to at least apologize, explain, maybe start rebuilding what they'd lost.
Except Sirius wasn't here to apologize to.
Remus sighed and pulled out his wand. "Alohomora."
The door didn't budge. Blood wards, probably. Only Blacks could enter without permission.
Time for Plan B, then.
Remus transfigured a piece of parchment into a small mouse and sent it scurrying under the door. A moment later, he heard indignant squeaking from inside—the house-elf, probably, offended by the intrusion.
The door flew open to reveal Kreacher, ancient and wrinkled and absolutely furious.
"Filthy half-breed comes to Master's house uninvited!" the elf shrieked. "Kreacher will not allow—"
"Hello, Kreacher," Remus said tiredly. "I'm looking for Sirius. Do you know where he is?"
"Kreacher does not speak to blood traitors and half-breeds—"
"I'm not asking you to have a conversation. I'm asking if you know where Sirius is staying." Remus crouched down to be closer to eye level. "Please. It's important. I need to talk to him."
Kreacher's bulbous eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why does the werewolf want Master Sirius? To hurt him? To betray him like before?"
The words stung because they were accurate. "To apologize," Remus said quietly. "I was wrong about him. I should have known he couldn't be the traitor, should have demanded a trial, should have done *something*. I failed him, and I want to try to make it right."
Kreacher studied him for a long moment. "Master Sirius does not live here. Master Sirius lives with the foreign witch and the Potter baby."
"I know. But where? I've tried to reach him, but he's not responding to owls—"
"Because Master Sirius is hiding," Kreacher said. "The foreign witch put protections on their home. Even Kreacher cannot find it unless Master Sirius wants to be found."
"There has to be some way to contact him," Remus insisted. "Some emergency method, some signal—"
Kreacher's expression turned crafty. "There is one way. The old way. The Marauder way."
"What?"
"Master Sirius told Kreacher about the Marauders. About their pranks and their signals. About how Master James and Master Sirius would always answer when their brothers called." Kreacher's smile was not pleasant. "If the werewolf truly wishes to reach Master Sirius, he should call like a Marauder. See if Master Sirius still answers."
Then the elf snapped his fingers and vanished, leaving Remus standing alone on the doorstep.
"Call like a Marauder," he muttered.
But even as he said it, understanding dawned. A slow smile spread across his face—the first genuine smile he'd managed in months.
Oh.
*Oh.*
If Sirius wanted a Marauder-style summons, then that's exactly what he'd get.
---
**Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement**
**January 21st, 1982 - 11:52 AM**
"Moody! Moody, you need to see this!"
Alastor Moody looked up from the report he was reviewing to find Kingsley Shacklebolt—a promising young Auror—standing in his doorway looking simultaneously amused and baffled.
"See what?" Moody growled.
"Just... come look." Kingsley was trying not to smile. "It's in the Atrium."
Moody followed him out of his office, through the corridors, down to the main Atrium. As they got closer, he could hear laughter—lots of it. Not the polite chuckles of people being professional, but genuine belly laughs.
They emerged into the Atrium to find a crowd gathered around the central fountain. And floating above it, spelled in enormous glowing letters that rotated slowly for maximum visibility:
**PADFOOT:**
**YOUR PRESENCE IS REQUIRED AT**
**THE SHRIEKING SHACK, HOGSMEADE**
**JANUARY 22ND, 8 PM**
**FAILURE TO APPEAR WILL RESULT IN**
**INCREASINGLY EMBARRASSING PUBLIC DECLARATIONS**
**ABOUT YOUR TEENAGE YEARS**
**SIGNED,**
**MOONY**
"Merlin's beard," Moody breathed.
"It appeared an hour ago," Kingsley said, still fighting laughter. "Nothing we've tried can remove it. Every spell just makes it glow brighter. And it's spreading—the same message is appearing in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, even on the Hogwarts grounds apparently."
"Who's Padfoot?" one of the younger Aurors asked.
"Sirius Black," Moody said. "It's his Animagus name from his school days. And Moony..." He looked at the message again, a smile tugging at his scarred face despite himself. "Moony would be Remus Lupin. One of the Marauders."
"The Marauders?"
"Student pranksters at Hogwarts, years ago." Moody shook his head. "James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew. They were infamous. Made the Prewett twins look tame by comparison."
"And now one of them is publicly summoning another to a meeting using magical graffiti that won't go away," Kingsley said. "That's..."
"Brilliant," Moody finished. "That's brilliant." He studied the message again. "Lupin's calling in old debts. Reminding Black that they were brothers once, that some bonds shouldn't be broken by mere suspicion of murder."
"Do you think Black will show up?" another Auror asked.
"If he's got any sense of honor left?" Moody's magical eye fixed on the message. "Absolutely. You don't ignore a Marauder summons. It's against the code."
"There's a code?"
"Apparently."
The message flared brighter, as if to emphasize the point. Several people in the crowd applauded.
"Should we... do something about this?" Kingsley asked. "It's technically vandalism of Ministry property—"
"It's also the most entertainment we've had in months," Moody said. "Let it run its course. If Black shows up tomorrow at the Shrieking Shack, we'll hear about it. If he doesn't..." He shrugged. "Then at least Lupin tried."
"You're not going to investigate?"
"What, crash a private meeting between two war veterans trying to repair their friendship?" Moody's expression was sardonic. "I may be paranoid, Shacklebolt, but I'm not that much of a bastard."
He turned to leave, then paused. "Though maybe keep an eye on Hogsmeade tomorrow night. Just in case things go badly and someone needs medical attention."
"Sir."
Moody headed back to his office, his mood considerably lighter than it had been in days. Whatever else Remus Lupin was—werewolf, former professor, reformed Death Eater sympathizer—the man had style.
And if this ridiculous public stunt managed to reconnect two members of the Marauders?
Well. The magical world could use a few more people who remembered what brotherhood meant.
---
**Agnes's Cottage, Scottish Highlands**
**January 21st, 1982 - 3:15 PM**
Sirius stood in the garden, staring at a copy of the Daily Planet.
And then he'd laughed so hard he nearly fell over.
"What's so funny?" Wanda asked, emerging from the cottage with a cup of tea. "I could hear you from inside."
"Remus," Sirius managed between chuckles. "Remus Lupin just... oh God, you have to see this."
He pulled out the copy of the Daily Prophet he'd received via owl that morning. The front page featured a photograph of the Ministry Atrium with the glowing message clearly visible in the background of a shot about some routine administrative announcement.
Wanda read the message, her eyebrows climbing. "Moony and Padfoot?"
"Marauder names," Sirius explained, still grinning. "Animagus names, actually. Moony for Remus—werewolf, full moon connection. Padfoot for me—I'm a dog. James was Prongs because he was a stag. And Peter was Wormtail because he's a rat, though that turned out to be more literal than we intended."
"And your friend just publicly challenged you to a meeting using magical graffiti?"
"Not challenged. Summoned. There's a difference." Sirius was still smiling, but his expression had grown more complex. "Marauder summons can't be ignored. It's the code. When one of us called, the others answered. No matter what."
"Even after he thought you were a murderer?"
"Even after." Sirius's smile faded slightly. "That's what makes it a summons instead of a request. Remus is calling in old debts. Reminding me that we were brothers first, that some things are more important than hurt feelings or betrayed trust."
Wanda was quiet for a moment, studying him. "Are you going to go?"
"I have to," Sirius said. "It's the code. And..." He paused. "And I want to. Remus and I—we've been friends since we were eleven. He was the first person besides James who ever looked at me and saw someone worth knowing instead of just another Black. I can't just throw that away because he made a mistake."
"He thought you were guilty," Wanda pointed out. "Didn't fight for you, didn't demand a trial. How is that just a mistake?"
"Because he was grieving," Sirius said quietly. "Because he'd lost James and Lily and Peter—or so he thought—all in one night. Because the evidence pointed to me and he was too destroyed to question it. I'm not saying it was right, Wanda. But I understand it."
"You're more forgiving than I would be."
"Maybe." Sirius folded the paper. "Or maybe I just know what it's like to make mistakes when you're drowning in grief. To not think clearly, to accept the easiest explanation because looking deeper hurts too much."
Wanda's expression shifted slightly. She understood that too well.
"When is this meeting?" she asked.
"Tomorrow night. Eight PM at the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade." Sirius paused. "I should probably go alone. This is between Remus and me—"
"Absolutely not," Wanda said immediately. "You're not walking into a meeting with someone who could still potentially be working with Dumbledore without backup. I'm coming."
"Remus wouldn't—"
"Humor me," Wanda interrupted. "I'll stay hidden. But I'll be close enough to intervene if things go wrong. Non-negotiable."
Sirius wanted to argue, but looking at her expression—protective, determined, already planning the tactical approach—he recognized a losing battle.
"Fine," he said. "You can come as backup. But stay hidden unless there's actual danger. This is meant to be a private conversation."
"Hidden," Wanda agreed. "Silent. Invisible. You won't even know I'm there."
"I'll absolutely know you're there," Sirius said. "Your magic has a presence, Wanda. It's like standing next to a bonfire—hard to miss."
"I'll suppress it, then."
"Can you do that?"
"I'm about to find out," Wanda said. "Now come on. Let's tell Agnes we'll need her to watch Harry tomorrow night. And then you can teach me everything you know about these Marauder codes and signals, just in case Remus tries something clever."
"He won't," Sirius said. "Remus is the most straightforward of us. If he wanted to trap me or hurt me, he wouldn't use a Marauder summons to do it. That would be..." He searched for the word. "Unthinkable. It would break something fundamental between us."
"I hope you're right," Wanda said. "Because if you're wrong—if this is some kind of setup—"
"Then you can blast him through a wall," Sirius finished. "I know. You're very protective. It's terrifying and endearing in equal measure."
"Just endearing would be fine too," Wanda muttered.
"Where's the fun in that?"
They headed inside together, Sirius still grinning at the absurdity of Remus's public summons, Wanda already planning contingencies and backup plans.
Tomorrow night would tell them whether old friendships could be repaired or whether some betrayals were too deep to forgive.
But either way, they'd face it together.
That's what family did.
---
**Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office**
**January 21st, 1982 - 7:34 AM**
Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, the morning's Daily Prophet spread before him, and allowed himself a moment of uncharacteristic frustration.
The glowing message mocked him from the front page—not intentionally, of course. The Marauders had never cared about his plans or his carefully constructed arrangements. They'd operated by their own rules, their own codes, answering to nothing but each other.
And now Remus Lupin was calling that old bond back into being.
*Clever,* Albus thought, though the word tasted bitter. *Very clever.*
By making the summons so public, so visible, Lupin had done several things simultaneously. He'd demonstrated that Sirius wasn't isolated—that he had allies willing to make grand gestures on his behalf. He'd reminded the magical world that Sirius Black had once been someone people loved, trusted, fought beside. And most importantly, he'd created a situation where Dumbledore couldn't easily interfere.
If Aurors showed up at the Shrieking Shack tomorrow night, it would look like harassment. If Dumbledore himself appeared, it would seem like he was stalking Sirius, refusing to let him have private conversations with old friends. The optics would be terrible.
"Fawkes," Albus said quietly, not looking up from the paper. "What do you think? Am I being outmaneuvered by pranking schoolboys turned adults?"
The phoenix trilled something that might have been sympathy or might have been amusement. With Fawkes, it was often hard to tell.
Dumbledore set down the paper and moved to his window, looking out over the snow-covered grounds. Students were trickling back from the holiday break, their laughter and chatter drifting up from below. Normal children having normal concerns—essays and examinations and who liked whom.
Harry should have been normal too. Should have grown up ordinary, unremarkable except for his scar and his history. Should have come to Hogwarts at eleven knowing nothing about his fame, ready to be guided carefully toward his destiny.
Instead, he was hidden away with an interdimensional witch who'd rewritten his magical core, a godfather who should have been in Azkaban, and a muggle woman who'd somehow become part of their strange family. Protected by magic Dumbledore didn't understand, raised according to plans he had no input on.
Completely beyond his control.
"I was trying to protect him," Albus said to the empty office. The portraits pretended not to listen, but he knew they were paying attention. They always did. "Everything I planned—it was to keep him safe. To prepare him."
"For death?" Phineas Nigellus Black drawled from his frame. "Because that's what it sounded like to me. All your talk of prophecies and necessary sacrifices."
"The prophecy was clear—"
"The prophecy is void," Phineas interrupted. "According to your own account of that disastrous meeting, the Maximoff woman destroyed all the Horcruxes. Your Dark Lord is permanently dead. The prophecy cannot be fulfilled."
"Which should make me relieved," Dumbledore said quietly. "And yet..."
"And yet you're frustrated that your grand plan has been rendered irrelevant," another portrait—Armando Dippet—observed. "That someone else solved the Voldemort problem without consulting you. Without needing your wisdom or your guidance."
"That's not—" Dumbledore stopped. Was that it? Was he truly so prideful that he resented being unnecessary?
No. That wasn't it. Or at least, not entirely.
"I'm frustrated because I don't know what comes next," he admitted. "For fifteen years, I've known exactly what needed to happen. Train Harry, prepare him, hope that when the time came he'd be strong enough and brave enough to face Voldemort. Everything I did was in service of that goal."
"And now that goal is gone," Phineas said. "Leaving you without purpose. Poor Albus."
The sarcasm was thick enough to cut, but Dumbledore couldn't entirely argue with it.
He'd built his entire post-Grindelwald life around defeating Dark Lords and protecting the innocent. Around making hard choices for the greater good, even when those choices cost him personally. Around being the one who saw the full picture, who made the plans no one else could make.
What was he supposed to do when someone else had already won the war?
"You could try letting the boy live in peace," suggested Dilys Derwent from her frame. "Accept that Ms. Maximoff and Mr. Black are doing an adequate job of raising him. Move on to other concerns."
"She altered his magical core," Dumbledore said. "Fundamentally changed who he is on a level most wizards couldn't even perceive, let alone affect. How is that 'adequate'?"
"She protected him from a Horcrux that would have poisoned his mind," Dilys countered. "Destroyed the last remnants of the darkest wizard in a century. Gave him advantages he'll need to survive whatever challenges come next. That sounds rather more than adequate to me."
"But we don't know what she did," Dumbledore insisted. He turned from the window to face the portraits. "We don't know what combining her magic with Lily's protection will do to Harry's development. Don't know if he'll be stable, safe, or if she's created something dangerous."
"So you want to study him," Phineas said flatly. "Observe him like one of your projects. Make sure he develops according to your specifications."
"I want to ensure he's safe—"
"You want to ensure he's controllable," Phineas interrupted. "There's a difference, Dumbledore. One you've never quite grasped."
The accusation stung because it contained truth. Dumbledore had always believed that protection and control were two sides of the same coin. That keeping people safe sometimes meant making choices for them, restricting their options, guiding them toward outcomes they couldn't see coming.
It had worked with Tom Riddle.
No—wait. It had *failed* with Tom. Spectacularly.
"Perhaps," Albus said slowly, the realization uncomfortable, "perhaps I've been approaching this wrong."
"Finally," muttered several portraits simultaneously.
"The question isn't whether I approve of Ms. Maximoff's methods," Dumbledore continued, thinking it through. "The question is whether Harry is better off with her than he would be with the alternatives. And the alternatives were..." He paused. "The Dursleys, who would have broken him. Ministry custody, which would have made him a political pawn. Various pureblood families who would have used him for their own agendas."
"Or with you," Phineas added. "Kept at Hogwarts, raised under your thumb, molded into whatever you thought the prophecy required."
Dumbledore wanted to protest that he would never have done that. But looking honestly at his plans—at the calculated placement with the Dursleys to humble him, the intended isolation from the magical world to make Hogwarts seem like salvation, the careful management of information and relationships—he couldn't quite claim innocence.
He'd been planning to shape Harry Potter from birth. Just more subtly than most would have recognized.
"So what do I do now?" he asked the portraits. "Accept defeat? Let them raise Harry however they like, with magic I don't understand and methods I can't predict?"
"You could try trusting them," Dilys suggested. "Radical concept, I know. But Mr. Black loves that boy—anyone with eyes could see it at your meeting. And Ms. Maximoff is fiercely protective. Those aren't traits of people who would harm a child."
"But her power—"
"Is hers to wield," Phineas said firmly. "Not yours to regulate or restrict. She hasn't broken any laws, hasn't hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, and from all accounts has been an excellent mother to young Harry."
"How can you possibly know that?" Dumbledore demanded. "None of us have seen them since the meeting. We don't know what their home life is like, how Harry is being treated—"
"Then perhaps you should ask them," Dilys said. "Rather than making assumptions. Rather than building cases in the Prophet and mobilizing political allies against them. Perhaps you should approach as an ally rather than an opponent."
"They stole from me," Dumbledore said quietly. "The Invisibility Cloak. The Elder Wand. She took them right in front of me and I couldn't stop her."
"Because she was stronger," Phineas said bluntly. "Accept it, Dumbledore. You've finally met someone whose power exceeds your own. It was bound to happen eventually."
"That's not—" Dumbledore stopped. He'd been about to say "that's not the point," but it absolutely was the point. He'd spent decades as the most powerful wizard in Britain, possibly the world. The defeater of Grindelwald, the leader of the resistance against Voldemort, the man everyone looked to for answers.
And Wanda Maximoff had disarmed him like he was a first-year.
"Pride," he said finally. "That's what this is. I'm frustrated because someone solved problems I couldn't solve, achieved things I couldn't achieve, and did it all without my permission or guidance."
"Progress," Phineas said dryly. "There may be hope for you yet."
Dumbledore returned to his desk and picked up the Prophet again, studying the glowing message. Tomorrow night, Remus and Sirius would meet. Old friends reuniting, old bonds being tested. And Dumbledore had no right to interfere.
"I still think she's dangerous," he said quietly. "Power like hers—it corrupts. Makes people believe they can rewrite the world to suit themselves."
"Then watch," Dilys said. "Watch from a distance. See if she proves your fears right or wrong. But don't interfere unless you have evidence of actual harm. Give them the chance to succeed or fail on their own merits."
"And if they fail? If Harry is hurt?"
"Then you act," Phineas said. "But not before. You've spent sixty years making preemptive strikes against potential problems, Dumbledore. Perhaps it's time to wait and see what actually happens."
Dumbledore looked at the Marauder summons one more time, then carefully folded the Prophet and set it aside.
"Very well," he said. "I'll wait. I'll watch. But I won't abandon my responsibility to protect Harry, even if that means protecting him from his guardians."
"Of course not," Phineas said. "You wouldn't be Albus Dumbledore if you did."
Whether that was meant as compliment or criticism, Dumbledore couldn't tell. And perhaps that uncertainty was the point.
He had some thinking to do about who he'd become in service of the greater good. And whether that person was someone he still wanted to be.
But for now, he would wait.
And watch.
And hope—however reluctantly—that Wanda Maximoff proved him wrong.
---
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