Harry Potter: Returning from Azeroth

"Not a mage?"

"Yes, a wizard," Dumbledore chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Just like the wizards and witches in Muggle fairy tales. I assume you've heard some of those stories? Oh, and by the way, Muggle is our term for people who can't use magic."

"Maybe," Harry muttered noncommittally, glancing down at the envelope in his hands.

[To Mr. Harry Potter,

The Living Room by the Coffee Table,

4 Privet Drive,

Little Whinging,

Surrey.]

The letter pinpointed his exact location at this moment, which left Harry somewhat skeptical about the capabilities of this world's so-called wizards. After all, just a few minutes ago, 4 Privet Drive had no such thing as a coffee table in its living room.

He opened the letter.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

"'Await my owl?'" Harry looked up, puzzled. "That's how wizards send messages?"

"Oh, yes. Owls are remarkably intelligent creatures and have served as messengers for wizards for centuries," Dumbledore replied with a serene smile. "They rarely make mistakes. Perhaps you'll want one as a pet someday. For now, though, you can just tell me your answer directly."

"After all, I am the headmaster, am I not? Ha ha ha ha!" Dumbledore laughed heartily at his own joke, clearly amused.

"I thought you might use something more... magical for communication," Harry mused, recalling the messengers he'd seen back in Dalaran. Those ranged from spectral servants to arcane constructs—or even beings that flew on their own wings.

Compared to those, an owl delivering letters seemed far less magical and impressive.

"Such methods would indeed be more magical but far too conspicuous," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "As you might have noticed, the wizarding world is hidden. Breaking this secrecy would result in severe consequences under our laws."

"So, about today…" Harry began, recalling the commotion he'd caused earlier.

"Oh, you have nothing to worry about," Dumbledore reassured him with a smile. "You're just an untrained wizard, Harry. No one will punish a young wizard for instinctive magic. You're safe."

"Good to know," Harry nodded. "I'm eager to attend the school, but I do have a couple of questions first."

"Go ahead," Dumbledore encouraged, reaching for his teacup. "Though I might need a little more sugar for this."

"First, your school probably isn't free, is it? My aunt and uncle certainly wouldn't want to spend money on a magic school, as you can see." Harry gestured toward the unconscious Dursleys sprawled on the floor. "And they're not exactly fond of magic either."

Thinking back on Dudley's earlier behavior, Harry reconsidered. Dudley wasn't opposed to magic so much as he wasn't the one in control this time.

"Don't worry about that," Dumbledore said, waving off Harry's concern. "Hogwarts provides scholarships for Muggle-born wizards and those from disadvantaged families. But in your case, this won't be necessary."

Straightening up, Dumbledore locked eyes with Harry. "You have an inheritance—left by your parents. It's more than enough to cover all your expenses at Hogwarts and beyond."

"My parents' inheritance?" Harry's voice wavered, the unfamiliar yet familiar words striking a chord.

"Yes," Dumbledore affirmed, his tone gentle. "Your mother, Lily, and your aunt, Petunia, were sisters. Due to reasons I can't fully explain right now, your bond of blood is why you've lived here all these years."

"Forgive my secrecy, Harry," he added, seeing Harry's urge to ask further. "Some truths are not suited for a child to bear. Your parents' Gringotts vault key is in my keeping, and when the time comes, I'll ensure someone guides you into the magical world."

"For now," Dumbledore said with a mischievous grin, "let's keep a few mysteries intact, shall we? Discovery is part of the fun."

"Alright," Harry relented, aware that arguing about his maturity wasn't worth it. His eleven-year-old body didn't exactly help his case. "One more question—does Hogwarts accept non-human students?"

Dumbledore froze mid-sip.

"Pardon?" he asked cautiously, wondering if he'd misheard.

"Like werewolves, giants, vampires—or maybe mushroom people? Fungus folk?" Harry tilted his head. "Would they be discriminated against or outright banned?"

"...I'm not sure I understand," Dumbledore admitted, clearly puzzled. "Hogwarts wouldn't allow dark creatures like werewolves or vampires to enroll, of course."

"As for mushroom people… if they exist, we haven't found them yet."

"Ah, I see," Harry said, visibly disappointed. "In that case, I might not be able to attend after all."

Dumbledore: "?"

Even with over a century of life experience, Dumbledore found himself baffled.

"I'm fairly certain your parents were human, Harry," he said slowly, setting his teacup down. "Human wizards, to be precise."

"No, I'm a tauren," Harry declared firmly. "My horns haven't grown in yet, and I'm still a bit short on fur, but I'm definitely tauren."

Dumbledore: "..."

After a long pause, Dumbledore sighed, the weight of his teaching years settling on him. "Well then, rest assured, taurens are welcome at Hogwarts."

"That's a relief," Harry said, smiling for the first time.

Dumbledore didn't linger much longer. After handing over the admission letter and promising someone would guide Harry into the wizarding world, he left 4 Privet Drive. There were, as he explained, many matters to address after the day's events.

Harry understood. In a society bound by secrecy laws, the uproar he'd caused was likely a big deal.

But Dumbledore's words left much unanswered—particularly why those wizards at the start seemed to recognize him. Their astonishment and curiosity had been palpable, as if he were some extraordinary figure.

Yet Harry knew for certain he hadn't made a name for himself in this world.

He'd have to uncover the truth in due time.

Adding a log to the fireplace, Harry settled back by the coffee table, sipping tea. His nerves, taut from the day's encounters, finally began to ease.

Truthfully, he hadn't been around this many humans in years—not in private, at least. It was overwhelming.

Especially in his weakened state.

Harry Potter, shaman and seer of the Horde, was not human. He was tauren—a truth universally acknowledged within the Horde.

"You're awake, Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked, breaking the crackling silence. He glanced at the sofa, where his relatives lay. "How are you feeling?"

Petunia sat up slowly, clutching her head. Her face bore traces of a nightmare—visions of neighbors jeering, their house collapsing.

As her gaze swept the room, reality reassured her. Everything seemed normal.

Dreams were just dreams—until her eyes landed on the envelope by Harry's side, its crest unmistakable.

"No," she groaned, covering her eyes as though to block out the sight of the Hogwarts seal—a shield emblazoned with an 'H,' flanked by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.

"Can we talk, Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked softly. "About my mother."

Petunia stared blankly at the letter, then at Harry.

"...You too... I knew it... I knew it..."

Muttering under her breath, she sighed deeply after a long pause.

"Alright."

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