A sharp creak echoed from the upper floor as a wooden door was pushed open. Heavy footsteps followed, thudding along the hallway above, accompanied by a slightly excited, unfamiliar voice.
"What happened?"
"Oh—Petunia!" Petunia Dursley reacted instantly.
She flung her arms outward as if shielding someone behind her, her body tense and defensive, terrified that Albert might suddenly lash out. At the same time, she shouted urgently toward the staircase, her voice sharp with panic.
"Go back, Dudley! Go back upstairs!"
Albert lifted his gaze.
At the end of the hallway stood a shirtless, chubby boy with a confused and irritated expression, his small eyes blinking sleepily under the harsh lighting.
"Long time no see," Albert said mildly, a faint smile curving his lips.
Dudley frowned immediately, his face scrunching up with obvious displeasure. "Why are you coming to our house?"
"Oh no! Dudley, go back—go back right now!" Vernon barked anxiously, his voice rising several octaves.
Albert couldn't help feeling a little helpless. Their expressions, their body language—everything about them screamed that they were treating him like some kind of violent criminal on the run.
"I wouldn't worry so much," Albert said calmly. "I don't harbor any ill intentions toward children."
He nodded slightly and walked forward under the unwavering aim of Vernon's gun. Without hesitation, he entered the living room, glanced around briefly, and chose a single-seater sofa near the window. He sat down comfortably, crossing one leg over the other.
"Well then," he said casually, "shall we talk?"
"Mom, what's going on?" Dudley asked again, clearly unhappy about being ignored.
Vernon's mustache twitched violently, the hairs bristling like angry caterpillars. Gritting his teeth, he snapped, "Go back and play your video games, Dudley. This is adult business."
"…Alright." Dudley sounded bored and dissatisfied, but after a moment, his footsteps retreated as he stomped back to his room.
Finally, the living room fell into a tense, uneasy silence.
Vernon still hadn't lowered the gun. The barrel remained fixed on Albert's chest as he growled, "Try anything funny, and you'll regret it."
Albert waved a hand dismissively. "Suit yourself. If you don't mind getting tired, feel free to keep holding it."
Seeing that neither Vernon nor Petunia had any intention of sitting down, Albert got straight to the point.
"At first, I considered approaching you in a more polite and cordial manner," he said evenly. "But I quickly realized that your prejudice against wizards is deeply ingrained. In that case, diplomacy would only be a waste of time."
Vernon snorted angrily, but Albert continued.
"I'm here primarily to discuss Harry. I heard Mr. Dursley just now say that he intends to forbid Harry from leaving the house again. I was wondering—doesn't that violate the agreement we made previously?"
Vernon's face flushed crimson. "I don't need to honor any agreement with a wizard living in some filthy garbage heap! We will never allow that little bastard to have anything more to do with magic or your kind!"
"I'm afraid your objection is invalid," Albert replied indifferently.
He genuinely didn't understand why the Dursley family harbored such intense hatred toward wizards. But understanding them wasn't necessary—nor did he care enough to try.
"At present," Albert continued calmly, "Harry is my employee. More specifically, he works as my handyman. It is my responsibility to ensure that he is able to fulfill his duties."
Vernon suddenly raised his gun again, his face twisted with fury. "And if we don't agree—then what?"
Albert smiled faintly.
"Then I will report you to the authorities for child abuse. If I recall correctly, the Children and Young Persons Act contains several relevant provisions concerning neglect, confinement, and mistreatment."
He paused, tilting his head slightly as he looked at Vernon.
"You don't seriously think I'd resort to magic, do you? You're overestimating yourselves. Frankly, your current behavior alone would make a judge lose his wig in outrage."
The effect was immediate.
Compared to magic—something vague and unreal—the law was far more tangible and terrifying to the Dursleys.
For years, one of the main reasons Harry had been dumped at Mrs. Figg's house whenever they went out was because there were laws preventing children from being locked inside unattended. They were acutely aware of how dangerous official scrutiny could be.
In their minds, magic might be countered with a gun.
But a lawsuit?
That could destroy them.
Vernon took deep, shuddering breaths, his chest heaving as he exchanged a long, silent look with Petunia.
Albert shifted his attention toward her.
"And Mrs. Dursley," he said softly, "your sister was a witch. Surely you understand that Harry is destined to attend a magic school sooner or later."
Petunia stiffened.
"Or do you believe," Albert continued, "that you alone can turn him into an ordinary person? That you can stop him from ever going to school?"
Invisible hands seemed to wrap around Petunia's throat.
A magic school.
Of course she knew. How could she not? Her cursed sister had gone to one—and ruined everything.
She remembered writing to Dumbledore as a child, begging to be accepted, only to be coldly rejected. That bitter memory had festered for decades.
Could she really stop Harry from learning magic?
Could she force him into normalcy by sheer will?
Her legs gave out.
Petunia collapsed onto the side sofa, her spine seeming to dissolve as she lowered her head weakly, unable to answer.
"Any further questions?" Albert asked after a long pause.
None came.
Satisfied, Albert rose from his seat. "Don't let him be late tomorrow."
He walked toward the entrance. As he put on his overcoat and picked up his hat, he turned back one last time.
"Fortunately, your house doesn't have any cats or dogs," he said calmly, a faint mockery in his tone. "Otherwise, the neighbors might notice that he lives worse than a pet."
He paused, his expression unreadable.
"To be honest, I never intended to interfere in your family affairs. You were forced to take him in, after all. Preaching without understanding hardship would make me no better than a hypocrite."
His gaze hardened slightly.
"But as his only living relatives, the least you can do is treat him like a human being."
With that, Albert opened the door and left.
Back at Moonlight Fortress, Albert lay sprawled across the red sofa. Moments later, Lucifer scurried out from the shadows, his golden eyes curious as he glanced around, clearly wondering where Albert had gone.
"It was just a coincidence," Albert explained lazily.
Ever since Harry had accidentally crushed the flowers outside the door, Albert had set up a monitoring array around the property. Earlier that night, he had sensed a sudden magical fluctuation—one originating from the Dursley household.
So he went to investigate.
At that time, Harry had been on the brink of a magical outburst.
"It's nothing," Albert said with a faint smile. "Just two adults venting the hatred and prejudice of a previous generation onto an innocent child."
Lucifer understood well enough. Human emotions bored him, and he soon curled back into the fireplace, tail flicking lazily.
Albert picked up his book once more and resumed reading with careful focus.
From Grindelwald and Dumbledore to Lord Voldemort, the last century of wizarding history unfolded before his eyes. Slowly, a vivid and complex wizarding world took shape in his mind.
Elsewhere, Harry lay awake in his narrow room, tossing and turning.
Vernon's words echoed relentlessly in his head.
Would he still be allowed to go to Moonlight Fortress?
Would he still be able to learn magic?
He knew, rationally, that Uncle Albert could handle Vernon. But fear had a way of amplifying doubts.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed him.
Early the next morning, loud banging jolted him awake.
When Harry opened the door, he froze.
Vernon was smiling.
It was stiff and unnatural, like a mask forcibly stretched across his face—but it was unmistakably a smile.
"Get up, Harry," Vernon said. "Your aunt and I have been thinking. You're growing up, and that cupboard is… well, a bit small."
Harry blinked in disbelief.
"So," Vernon continued through clenched teeth, "we've decided you can move into Dudley's spare bedroom."
"Why?" Harry asked cautiously.
"Don't ask questions!" Vernon roared. "Go to Number Thirteen, ask that damned wi—your boss for leave, then come back and move your things upstairs. Now!"
Harry nearly laughed with joy.
Though it was strange, it was good news—and that was enough.
He pulled on his oversized shirt, shoved his feet into his shoes, and ran toward Moonlight Fortress as fast as he could.
Albert glanced up from the sofa as Harry burst in, panting with excitement. Through the open door, morning sunlight streamed in.
Albert yawned.
"Suit yourself," he said flatly. "Go."
And for the first time in a long while, Harry smiled without fear.
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