Chapter 484: Two-Faced
Daphne got to her feet and crossed over to Astoria, crouching slightly so they were eye-level.
"Well? Was it actually gone?"
Astoria flexed her fingers , then looked to Harry.
He gave a shrug. "We will know for sure tomorrow, but unless I’ve completely misread it, yeah, it is gone."
That seemed to settle it for her. Daphne squeezed her sister’s shoulder and moved back toward the couch.
Harry reached into thin air and pulled a long, narrow box. He turned to Petunia, holding it out.
"This is for you."
She raised an eyebrow at him but stepped forward to take it. "What on earth have you done now?"
"Open it and find out."
The lid came off with a quiet snap. Inside, nestled in deep green velvet, lay a wand—smooth yew wood, its handle set with three tiny inlaid opals that caught the light. A fine spiral of silver ran down its length, thin enough to seem part of the grain until it caught the glow of the lamps.
Petunia’s breath caught, her hand hovering as though afraid it might vanish if she touched it. "Harry..." The rest of the sentence broke apart on her tongue. She lifted the wand with care, as if it might burn or disappear.
The moment her fingers closed around it, the air around her flared with colour, thin ribbons of blue and gold light spun from the tip, curling up and around like smoke before fading into sparks.
"Core’s phoenix feather and unicorn hair, braided together. Works well with plant magic, especially brewing. Made it to fit you, not the other way round."
Petunia’s grip tightened slightly. She blinked a few times too quickly, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.
Harry gave Petunia’s back a light pat as she pulled away, her eyes still bright. "Thank you," she said quietly.
"Of course," he replied, a small smile tugging at his mouth.
Around the room, the others were staring. Even for this lot, who’d seen him pull off ridiculous things before, waking magic in a Squib was something else entirely.
"Blimey," Tracey muttered, leaning forward. "You actually did it."
"Don’t sound so surprised," Harry said, sliding the box lid shut and tucking it under his arm.
Luna had been unusually quiet, sitting cross-legged on the floor. She tilted her head and said, "Petunia’s magic smells like crushed rosemary now."
Petunia glanced down at her. "...Is that good?"
"Depends," Luna replied. "On whether you like rosemary."
Hermione was still looking at the wand, clearly itching to ask for a try. "What spells are you going to start her on?"
"Basic charms first," Harry said. "Stuff that won’t blow the windows out if it goes wrong. Once she’s got the feel for it, we’ll move to brewing. She’s already halfway there with the plants."
***
Harry sat at a small table by the window, the clink of cups and low chatter of the cafe filling the air. He stirred his coffee without much thought, glancing out onto the high street where a few shoppers hurried past with bags and umbrellas.
The door opened with a jingle, and in stepped Dumbledore, though Harry almost didn’t recognize him. The bright robes were gone, replaced by what appeared to be muggle clothes, assembled with the same logic one might use to solve a crossword puzzle without seeing the clues. A tweed jacket two sizes too small strained politely over a violently green turtleneck, while his pinstriped trousers were tucked neatly into mismatched socks, one patterned with dancing badgers, the other a vivid shade of orange, both proudly visible above gleaming patent-leather dress shoes.
The chatter in the café faltered. A man mid-sip of coffee froze. A mother paused, spoon suspended halfway to her toddler’s mouth. Someone in the corner coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Dumbledore, entirely oblivious to the ripple of bewilderment spreading through the room, scanned the cafe and soon spotted Harry, and made his way over with the confidence of someone who had absolutely no idea he looked like the result of a laundry mishap.
"Harry," Dumbledore greeted, setting his hat on the empty chair before sitting. "It’s been far too long."
Harry sipped his coffee. "It has. Life kept me busy."
"I have no doubt," Dumbledore said, smiling faintly. "Busy with what, if I may ask?"
Harry smiled softly. "Private things."
One of the waitresses came by, and Dumbledore ordered tea, black, two sugars. They sat in a comfortable silence until the drink arrived.
"Enjoying your freedom, then?" Dumbledore asked.
"I wouldn’t call it freedom if you are still asking where I’ve been," Harry replied, taking another sip.
They spoke about small things for a few minutes, Quidditch scores, how awful the coffee in Hogsmeade had been last winter, the new enchanter in Diagon Alley charging double for everything. It was easy talk, nothing sharp.
Then Dumbledore’s tone shifted. "I would ask a favour, Harry. Or perhaps offer some advice, depending on how you take it."
Harry arched a brow. "Let’s hear it."
"Do not trust Nicholas Flamel."
Harry chuckled. "You’re a bit late with that one, aren’t you? He and I have been on speaking terms for years."
Dumbledore didn’t flinch. "Then you know why I say it."
Harry tilted his head, "Indulge me. You two were his student, after all. Why warn me about your own teacher?"
Dumbledore’s eyes didn’t waver. "Because Nicholas Flamel is not the man you think he is. He has lived far too long and has made choices that, while impressive, are not in anyone’s best interest but his own."
Harry leaned back in his chair, tapping the spoon lightly against the rim of his cup. "That is a very polite way of saying he is dangerous."
"He is," Dumbledore said simply. "Dangerous in the way one becomes after centuries of survival. There are few lines left to cross when you’ve already stepped over most of them."
Harry smirked. "That sounds almost like admiration."
"I do not deny his brilliance," Dumbledore admitted. "But brilliance without restraint can be the sharpest blade."
Harry grinned. "You want the same thing, don’t you? You even went and turned yourself into this. For the sake of it, you-"
Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened, a quick change that would have been easy to miss if Harry hadn’t been looking for it.
"Careful with assumptions, boy," Dumbledore said, voice flatter. "The roads we walk may cross, but not all destinations are the same."
Harry’s smile pulled a little wider. "Finally decided to show yourself, Grindelwald."
The old man’s eyes narrowed. "How long have you known?"
Harry tapped his chain with his finger. "A good while. You know the Hogwarts map, don’t you?"
Old Man’s brow lifted faintly. "You have it?"
Harry shrugged. "For ages. But that is not what gave you away. You were the Headmaster, you could hide from the school’s wards whenever you fancied. No, it was when you decided to have a bit of fun and left me a message in my magical book. Remember?"
The old man’s gaze sharpened.
Harry leaned an elbow on the table. "HELLO HARRY. That was you spelling it, yes? Not really your fault. I made sure the books I crafted couldn’t be separated from their owners. Yours, though... it would keep cutting out and reconnecting. Took me a bit to work out why."
"I see."
Harry grinned faintly. "I doubt you do."
The Old Man reached for his tea, took a slow sip, and set it back down. "You’ve grown quite the habit of meddling in other people’s affairs."
"Only when they meddle in mine first," Harry replied, leaning back. "You’ve been playing at this for decades. Wasn’t hard to spot the pattern once I knew what to look for."
The old man’s expression eased. "You’ve grown a great deal."
Harry almost laughed, catching himself before it got too loud. "Cheers. I have. Anyway, let’s get to the point. You are after ascension. Don’t know how, don’t know which seat, and I can’t say I care. If Nicholas couldn’t manage it, I doubt you will. And I also know Voldemort and I factored into whatever long game you had. Shame, really. You didn’t get your way. That little sacrificial pawn you wanted to mould never signed up for your play."
He stood, pushing the chair back. "Goodbye, Albus. Next time we cross paths, it is probably not going to be for tea."
Dumbledore’s, Grindelwald’s, eyes followed him until Harry stepped past the table. He didn’t call him back.
Harry left the cafe without looking over his shoulder, stepping straight into the narrow lane beside the post office. The moment he was out of sight, the air folded, and he was gone.