Harry Potter: Returning from Azeroth

"Well then," Dumbledore nodded slightly, "It's precisely because of that magic that young Harry must live with his blood relatives—you know, many who escaped judgment might seek vengeance, and no one knows what they're capable of doing."

"Besides, we have no right to criticize the Dursleys, do we? I hope you won't interfere in private... especially concerning Petunia," Dumbledore fixed his gaze on Snape's face. "We placed a child in their care without asking for permission, without warning them of the dangers it might bring—and, Severus, perhaps you don't know since you've never raised a child, but caring for one from infancy to adulthood is quite a troublesome affair."

"Enough!" Snape snapped with a dark expression. "As far as I know, neither have you."

"Oh, certainly not," Dumbledore shrugged. "But I've lived many more years than you, and I've seen my share. Will you promise me?"

Snape took a deep breath.

"…Fine."

I can only say that word was forced out between gritted teeth.

"So, what did you see this time?" Snape snorted as if trying to change the subject. "That Potter... just like his father—arrogant, lawless, flaunting his powers as he pleases."

"Oh? That wasn't how you sounded a moment ago, Severus," Dumbledore chuckled. "You were rather concerned about young Harry's living conditions, even suggesting—ah, alright, I won't say it—could you just add a little more sugar to my evening potion?"

Dumbledore's words faltered under Snape's icy glare, colder than a winter storm.

One should never anger a Potions Master... especially when said master controls your daily sugar intake.

"Actually, Harry is in far better condition than I imagined—mentally, I mean," Dumbledore recalled, ignoring Snape's muttered "I'm not concerned about him." "To be honest, when Cornelius relayed that Harry Potter had become an Obscurial, I was truly startled."

"Ah, always seeking attention like his father," Snape sneered. "So, how did he cast that magic? It didn't seem like Transfiguration. Even that Skeeter woman was right about one thing—most adult wizards can't manage something like that."

"I don't know, Severus," Dumbledore admitted candidly. "It was magic I've never seen before, certainly not Transfiguration. It was strange, wonderfully strange—it's hard to imagine a young wizard unleashing such power under pressure."

"You expect me to believe that?" Snape scoffed impatiently. "Stop pretending, Dumbledore. How could there possibly be magic unknown to you?"

"Oh, Severus, you give me far too much credit. I'm just an old wizard who's lived long enough," Dumbledore waved dismissively before suddenly laughing. "At least young Harry's tales of mushroom men and fungi folk are things I've never imagined—what a curious world, wouldn't you agree?"

"You actually believe that nonsense?" Snape mocked. "If he's not hallucinating from poison, he's just lost in Muggle storybooks."

"Why not believe it?" Dumbledore countered. "As I said, Harry is in better shape than I expected."

"There was no fear or panic even after the incident. His calm wasn't an act; it came from deep within," Dumbledore reflected earnestly. "He's even thinking about compensating his aunt and uncle for the trouble caused—a consideration rare for a child."

"Cool-headed, logical, consistent in his reasoning, and most importantly, possessing extraordinary talent—remarkable, truly remarkable talent," Dumbledore emphasized.

"At first, I treated Harry like a typical child, but his behavior quickly made me abandon that notion," Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "It felt more like conversing with a mature soul—I'm attuned to such subtle changes."

"…Anyone listening would think you were talking about the Dark Lord," Snape remarked after a pause.

"Of course not. Harry still cares deeply for his family, concerned not only for their physical safety but their emotional well-being," Dumbledore chuckled.

This time, Snape was rendered speechless, frozen in place.

Because, to his astonishment, he realized Dumbledore had genuinely compared Harry Potter to that man and concluded Harry was better.

"…By the way, Severus," Dumbledore continued casually, ignoring Snape's daze, "Have you ever seen a minotaur?"

Snape: "?"

For some reason, those three words exuded an inexplicable malice, sending a chill down Snape's spine.

"…Is that another of Potter's delusions?" Snape gritted his teeth after searching his memory. "If you haven't lost your mind, I assure you, such magical creatures don't exist—don't indulge his madness, or are you finally seeking fellow lunatics?"

"Yes," Dumbledore mused, his gaze flickering. "Given Harry's rational demeanor, it doesn't add up... Why is that?"

"Do you need a mental clarity potion, Dumbledore?" Snape taunted. "No matter your high regard, he's just an eleven-year-old raised by Muggles. Fantasizing is hardly surprising for a child."

"…Perhaps," Dumbledore murmured, shaking his head. "Interested in guiding him into the magical world, Severus?"

Without a word, Snape whirled, black robes billowing, leaving only one statement behind:

"I have no interest in escorting a little lunatic... Don't bother me with this nonsense, Dumbledore."

As the office door slammed shut, Dumbledore was left alone.

With a flick of his wand, he vanished the fallen sugar pudding and pulled out another bag of sweets, cheerfully popping one into his mouth.

"…Ah, such unyielding children," Dumbledore muttered, gazing toward the door. "Don't you think so, Fawkes?"

A soft trill from the phoenix answered him, though Fawkes managed to roll his eyes before burying his head under a wing.

Some things needed no words.

****

When Harry finished his morning run and was wiping away sweat while hydrating, a knock on the door caught his attention.

"Go answer the door, boy! And if it's a salesman, tell them we don't need anything and to stop bothering us!" came Uncle Vernon's shout from the living room.

"Got it," Harry replied, walking toward the door.

Upon opening it, he instinctively took a quick step back, his right hand reaching toward his side as if to grab a hammer, only to find nothing there—his other hand reflexively moved behind him to grab for a shield but similarly came up empty.

Right. His weapons hadn't returned with him.

"...Who are you?" Harry asked warily, staring at the towering figure before him.

He resisted the urge to slam the door shut and pretend the person outside didn't exist. Judging by the size of this visitor, breaking down the door would only take a single punch.

Harry's caution was warranted—the figure standing at the door was definitely not human. No human could have such massive bone structure or be this broad.

Standing nearly four meters tall, the figure looked even larger than an ogre from Harry's memories. The being's height alone placed him closer to the category of giants or a giant subspecies, making Harry, who barely came up to the figure's knees, seem minuscule in comparison.

In Harry's experience, ogres and giants were rarely associated with intelligence or kindness; they were more often known for their brutality and savagery.

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