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HRA# CHAPTER 203
🕑 Added 2025-07-31 16:22:00 +0000 UTC“I’ll help you forge a new pair of weapons, reasonably priced,” Harry said, clapping Draco on the shoulder before turning to Ronan. “Looks like your views on humans have changed a bit?”
The centaur named Ronan was, in truth, something of an anti-human advocate. He often kept company with the hot-tempered Bane, and since centaurs with such views were rare, Triton had once taken the time to explain this to Harry, worried that Ronan’s words or actions might provoke him.
From past experiences, the Savior of the Wizarding World wasn’t exactly known for his patience when dealing with centaurs.
“The fates of centaurs and wizards are now intertwined,” Ronan said, his face clouded with melancholy. “This is the will of the elements, and I must obey.”
“...Remember, balance is what matters most,” Harry replied, catching the implication in Ronan’s words that he placed himself beneath the elements. Harry gave him a pointed look, offering the reminder.
Whether Ronan would take it to heart was his own business.
Harry’s apprentices were growing steadily. Compared to the other students in the castle, they no longer froze in a blank panic when faced with sudden events.
When hit with a prank spell, they now knew to counter with a spell of their own, rather than tossing their wands aside and throwing a punch at their opponent.
Not that Harry entirely disapproved of the latter.
When Harry arrived at Professor McGonagall’s office, he was surprised to find Dumbledore there, despite having been away from the castle for some time. It seemed he was discussing something with McGonagall.
“In principle, I have no objections to this kind of celebration,” McGonagall said after hearing Harry’s Halloween plan, pausing to consider. “But you must ensure the students face no unexpected dangers, and nothing causes physical harm or lasting effects. Where are you planning to hold it?”
“How about the Black Lake?” Harry suggested. “If it’s on land, it might be harder to control. Have them carve pumpkins into warships and battle on the lake, aiming to sink each other’s boats. The abundant water element and that giant squid in the lake will keep the students safe... Well, the biggest risk might be catching a cold from falling in. It’s November, after all, and the water’s chilly.”
“That’s not a problem,” Dumbledore interjected eagerly. “Madam Pomfrey can prepare batches of Pepperup Potion in advance. After the event, every student can have a bottle.”
“Wait, Dumbledore,” McGonagall said, frowning. “You’ve already agreed?”
“Why not?” Dumbledore shrugged. “It sounds like fun, doesn’t it? I think the children will love it... Perhaps years from now, they’ll still remember this day.”
Though the Hogwarts professors sometimes joked in private that McGonagall, the deputy headmistress, acted more like the headmaster than the often hands-off Dumbledore, when Dumbledore made a decision, McGonagall didn’t oppose him.
And so, the matter was settled. Time was tight, but with magic’s help, giving the students half a day to prepare wasn’t too late. They needed to be informed quickly.
“You look... like everything went well?” Harry said, studying Dumbledore’s demeanor as they left McGonagall’s office. “Your spirit feels light, vibrant even, and your body looks like it’s shed a few years.”
“Oh, Harry, you’re cheating,” Dumbledore said, feigning indignation. “Peering into someone’s soul through the astral plane and drawing conclusions is a bit too direct.”
“But I’m not wrong, am I?” Harry said with a smile. “I’m glad to see you stepping out from the shadows of the past.”
“...You know, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a mock grumble, “you make me feel like you’re the hundred-year-old wizard here.”
“You’re sounding livelier too,” Harry said thoughtfully. “What’s going on? Did you actually take my advice and find a partner? Are you planning to retire and officially hand the school over to McGonagall?”
Dumbledore stopped in his tracks, turned, and looked at Harry without speaking. Harry met his gaze, studying him carefully.
In that moment, Harry realized he might have unintentionally hit a nerve, pinpointing something significant.
“Er, sorry, am I interrupting?” a voice broke the silence. Harry turned to see Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, poking half his body through the wall, speaking cautiously.
He could sense the tension in the air.
“Not at all, Nick. What’s the matter?” Harry asked.
“Well, it’s like this,” Nick said, visibly nervous. “This Halloween marks my five-hundredth deathday.”
“Deathday?”
“Death anniversary,” Dumbledore clarified casually.
“Exactly,” Nick said quickly. “Anyway, I’m planning a party in one of the spacious dungeon classrooms. Friends from all over the country will come to celebrate—I mean—would you like to join, Professor Potter? It’d be an honor. Er, and of course, Headmaster Dumbledore, if you’re willing—though I suppose you’d rather attend the school feast, wouldn’t you?”
“I’d be delighted to attend your deathday party,” Dumbledore replied without hesitation. “But regrettably, Nicholas, as Hogwarts’ headmaster, I must oversee the school’s feast.”
“Oh, well, all right,” Nick said, his expression crestfallen. He turned to Harry.
“I don’t see why not,” Harry said after a moment’s thought. “A ghost party in this world? Sounds intriguing.”
Harry thought of the ghostly banquets in Karazhan, where, under Medivh’s dark magic, the spirits feasted and reveled as they did in life.
Dumbledore didn’t approve.
But he didn’t say so.
“Really? That’s fantastic!” Nick was so thrilled he nearly did a somersault in midair. “The famous Harry Potter at my deathday party? That’s brilliant!”
Muttering excitedly, Nick vanished through the wall, only pausing to call back, “See you tomorrow night!”
“...I’m not sure you’ve made a wise choice, Harry,” Dumbledore said after a few seconds of silence. “Ghostly parties are often more than the living can handle—though if you’re looking to broaden your horizons, it’s fine.”
To Dumbledore’s words, Harry responded with a single word.
“Partner?”
Dumbledore fell silent again.
“Why so secretive?” Harry pressed, sensing something off. “There’s nothing shameful about it. If people found out, they’d only congratulate you for finding someone to spend your life with. Why hide it? Does your partner have some secret?”
“Enough, Harry,” Dumbledore said, finally exasperated. He sighed. “You’re too perceptive... Let’s talk about Ariana instead.”
“The one you’ve felt guilty about for decades, the one you hesitated to face even when given the chance to see her again?”
“...Yes,” Dumbledore said softly. “You know about Grindelwald?”
“I do,” Harry nodded. “The wizarding world’s true Dark Lord. Voldemort’s just a small-time terrorist stirring trouble in Britain compared to him. Other Ministries of Magic don’t even recognize Voldemort as a Dark Lord.”
“I didn’t expect you to rate him so highly,” Dumbledore said with a self-deprecating smile. “Since you know... well, Ariana’s story begins when we were young. Grindelwald and I were both young then…”
In an empty classroom, Dumbledore’s expression grew distant. He didn’t tell a polished story, but rather spoke as thoughts came to him, with startling honesty.
He spoke openly of his youthful arrogance and pride, even admitting that he once despised Muggle existence. Grindelwald’s ideals—overturning the Statute of Secrecy and establishing a wizard-ruled world—had once been his own. The two of them had dreamed of a world where wizards dominated Muggles.
Frankly, if these secrets were to leak, they would throw the wizarding world into chaos. To many, Dumbledore was the white wizard who stood against Grindelwald, dedicating his life to fighting dark magic.
But before Harry now, Dumbledore admitted for the first time that his knowledge of dark magic rivaled his mastery of white magic—a fact he’d previously downplayed, often claiming ignorance of the dark arts.
He spoke of his youthful ideals, his reckless actions, and the reasons he and Grindelwald parted ways. He revealed everything, even the bond they shared, the blood pact, with such candor that Harry wondered if this was truly Dumbledore or an imposter.
“...You’ve changed a lot, Dumbledore,” Harry said, moved, after hearing the full story. “I thought you’d never share these things with anyone, that you’d just play the fool and dodge questions.”
“Oh, Harry, I know how Severus describes me to you,” Dumbledore said with a humorous glint. “A sugar-obsessed, doddering old bee?”
“You knew?” Harry said, surprised.
“Of course,” Dumbledore laughed heartily. “My Potions professor has said it to my face more than once.”
“Your sweet tooth is a bit alarming for a man your age,” Harry teased. “But that’s your business. So, you’re this... open now because Ariana’s soul forgave you both?”
“Yes,” Dumbledore said, his smile fading as he sighed deeply, his expression wistful. “My sister, Ariana... my angel... she’s still so kind…”
“You can’t imagine the look on Aberforth’s face when I brought Ariana’s soul to him,” he continued. “Before that, every time I walked into his pub, he looked ready to shove that filthy, unwashed rag of his in my mouth... Ha…”
“But that day, Aberforth made a proper meal. No lazily rinsing vegetables and meat before tossing them in a pot, no deliberately making the food repulsive. It was all so... normal. Like an ordinary family dinner, no different from any other household.”
Dumbledore’s thoughts seemed to drift back to that day, a memory so precious that merely recalling it misted his blue eyes.
“A family dinner like that... you didn’t bring your partner along?” Harry asked abruptly.
“...Gellert is still imprisoned, bound by the magical contract we made,” Dumbledore said, caught off guard and half-laughing, half-exasperated. “And I doubt Gellert himself would be willing.”
Harry nodded.
“Thank you for taking the time to listen to an old man ramble about his past, Harry,” Dumbledore said, wiping the corner of his eye. “This is what I wanted to tell you—never, never forget your purpose, or where your heart lies. Those are the most beautiful parts of being human. Many things we only learn to cherish after they’re gone, but by then, it’s often too late to reclaim them.”
“...I understand,” Harry said quietly.
He suddenly realized why Dumbledore was sharing this. The old man was still worried Harry might stray down a dark path and was using his own past as a cautionary tale—not to lecture, but to guide.
November in Britain had grown cold. The trees shed their leaves, the morning breeze chilled the air, and even the noonday sun’s warmth felt precious.
Harry’s proposal had been announced to the four houses. On the day the notice went out, students were already teaming up, rushing to Hagrid to claim their giant pumpkins.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
