Chapter 225 – Dumbledore's Loss of Control
Harry couldn't help but think that Aunt Petunia would never have imagined her precious living room filled entirely with wizards instead of Muggles.
To be honest, he knew he should have felt surprised—or even ashamed—about the attack on the Dursleys. But thoughts didn't always obey reason. It was like when he was younger in primary school: he knew he was supposed to listen carefully in class, yet his mind would wander, imagining shoving Dudley's fat head into a toilet.
"Dumbledore, perhaps we should talk over a meal," Sirius suggested with a faint, almost awkward smile.
"Oh? I thought I wasn't exactly welcome here and would be left standing in the living room," Dumbledore replied mildly.
Then, with a sudden motion far quicker than one would expect from a wizard over a century old, he drew his wand. Before anyone could even blink, the furniture began to move. The dining table slid smoothly to the center of the room, the sofas retreated to the walls, and plates of food remained perfectly in place.
Another flick, and chairs appeared behind each of them, nudging everyone into seats at the table.
"We might as well be comfortable," Dumbledore said cheerfully, pocketing his wand.
At the table, Sirius, Arthur Weasley, and Lucius Malfoy all lowered their heads like schoolboys caught misbehaving, staring intently at Aunt Petunia's favorite floral rug.
"Can we eat now?" Ron asked, spoon already in hand.
"Ron—" Harry hissed in warning.
"You idiot," Draco muttered, pressing his palm to his forehead.
"Well… it is time for the children to eat," Arthur said warmly, trying to ease the tension.
"I'll make this brief," Sirius said at last, exhaling heavily and lifting his head.
"Black, you should have done that ages ago," Lucius Malfoy drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word.
"Do you have something private to discuss?" Dumbledore asked. "If necessary, you can use another room. I'll remain here to keep watch—you know, a wizard attacked this house not long ago."
"Ron, you may eat. Harry, Draco, you two as well," Dumbledore added kindly.
Ron didn't hesitate; he stuffed a piece of pie into his mouth.
"No, Dumbledore. I think this matter may involve you," Lucius said suddenly. His voice was firmer than before, though his tone betrayed unease.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly. "Does this concern Draco?"
"I believe so. But it also concerns Ron," Lucius admitted.
Arthur frowned. "Lucius, what exactly are you implying?"
Lucius's jaw tightened. "Unlike your brood of children, Weasley, I only have one son. I cannot afford to see his future endangered."
Sirius bristled. "And Harry is James's only son. If James were alive, he'd care only about Harry's happiness—nothing else."
"You're a disgrace to your family, Black!" Lucius snapped. "Narcissa has suffered enough because of your rebellion. Regulus died leaving the Blacks with nothing! You've never cared about duty—only yourself!"
Harry was startled—Lucius rarely dared raise his voice when Dumbledore was present. Yet here he was, practically shouting across the table.
"Lucius, are you saying this is somehow connected to me?" Dumbledore asked quietly, his expression unreadable.
"I… I believe these children are learning dangerous ideas from you," Lucius muttered, though his earlier fury had ebbed.
Sirius gave an exasperated sigh and finally pulled something from his cloak. "Enough riddles. Look at these."
He tossed a stack of photographs onto the table.
Before they could land, Dumbledore made a subtle gesture, and the photos stopped in midair, arranging themselves neatly before his eyes.
His blue gaze flickered over them. For a brief moment, his expression shifted—surprise, even a flicker of pain—but then it smoothed over again.
"Why not ask Harry and the others first?" Dumbledore said evenly. "The greatest mistake adults make is judging children's hearts by their own experiences. Things may not be as complicated as you fear."
"James loved Lily from the moment they met," Sirius countered.
"I was devoted to Narcissa before I even set foot in Hogwarts," Lucius added sharply.
"Molly and I grew close by third year," Arthur said, though he now sounded uncertain, as if questioning himself.
"I understand," Harry muttered, his voice strained.
"You can't honestly believe Rita Skeeter's rubbish!" Draco burst out, his pale cheeks flushing red.
Ron swallowed his water with a loud gulp and glared at the adults. "You're actually listening to her?"
Lucius gave his son a long look. "Draco, I must admit—you've finally learned how to lie like a true Slytherin. But this… this isn't what I wanted for you." He sighed and pulled out another set of photographs, angling them so the children could see.
Harry, Draco, and Ron gasped.
"How did Rita Skeeter—?"
"How were we discovered—?"
"They only care about me!" Draco, Harry, and Ron blurted at the same time, trying to defend themselves.
Dumbledore, however, lingered on the images, his face shadowed. "It seems," he murmured, his voice unusually heavy, "that they care a great deal about you, Harry."
The room fell silent.
(End of this chapter)
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