windkaze
patreon
HRA# CHAPTER 201
🕑 Added 2025-07-29 16:51:54 +0000 UTC“Tell me more!” For the first time since their meeting began, a trace of seriousness crossed Gellert Grindelwald’s face.
Only in moments like this could one faintly glimpse the charisma and commanding presence of his youth in the wrinkled, prison-garbed old man—the aura of a true leader.
Dumbledore, however, wasn’t angered. If anything, seeing Grindelwald like this stirred a hint of nostalgia in his expression.
“It’s exactly as you heard. It allows the living to see the souls of the departed once more,” Dumbledore said, his tone turning grave.
“You’re certain?” Grindelwald’s brows furrowed tightly. “You haven’t forgotten the legends about the Resurrection Stone, have you? We both know those tales are true… Or have you lost your mind to longing and guilt?”
“Calm down, Gellert,” Dumbledore said, waving a hand. “I haven’t forgotten the lessons of the Resurrection Stone. The souls it recalls belong neither to the world of the living nor the dead. They exist, but they cannot be touched or linger long—don’t you remember how we tried it ourselves in our youth? It only brought greater pain.”
“I’m glad you still have your wits about you, Albus, and haven’t been swept away by that new boy of yours,” Grindelwald said with a cold snort. “Every day those souls linger in the living world is torment for them. That’s why they grow sadder, more anguished, until they drag the living down to ruin with them.”
“Thank you, Gellert,” Dumbledore said with a faint smile. “Your reminder nearly slipped my mind.”
“So you came to me knowing all this?” Grindelwald’s voice was low, ignoring Dumbledore’s lighthearted tone.
“I’ve witnessed it myself more than once,” Dumbledore replied firmly. “I’m certain the souls Harry summons retain clear minds. They aren’t sorrowful, nor overly joyful—they’re just as they were in life. Most importantly, they cannot stay in this world for long. When the totem’s duration ends, they return naturally to the realm of the dead.”
Recalling James Potter’s soul, Dumbledore was certain his former student seemed freer in death than he had been in life—a stark contrast to the tormented souls summoned by the Resurrection Stone.
“Totem?” Grindelwald echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds like a family visit.”
“You could say that,” Dumbledore nodded. “I would never harm Ariana’s soul.”
“Prove it,” Grindelwald said calmly. “But if I sense anything amiss, I hope you won’t blame me, Albus.”
“That’s precisely why I’m here, Gellert,” Dumbledore said softly, lowering his gaze. “We both need to make peace with the past.”
The room fell silent, save for the sound of Dumbledore’s wand carving into a stone pillar—a piece he’d taken from the next room. Grindelwald didn’t seem to mind.
Harry had taught him quickly, and Dumbledore learned just as fast. When the final rune was etched, Dumbledore directed the totem into the floor.
Unlike Harry’s castings, no dazzling blue glow appeared—Dumbledore had no need for flashy effects. In a faint shimmer of light, a young girl’s soul materialized before them.
Ariana, who had died at just fourteen, looked so very young. Her youth only deepened Dumbledore’s pain.
There was little confusion on her face. When the totem was placed, Dumbledore’s consciousness had ventured into the Twisting Nether, where he found Ariana and gently guided her back by the hand.
“…Albus?” Ariana stared in disbelief at the two white-bearded old men before her. Even though Dumbledore had given her a brief explanation in the Nether, accepting that her handsome, vibrant brother was now a wrinkled old man was no small feat.
What shocked her even more was the man sitting beside the one claiming to be her brother—Gellert Grindelwald, a far cry from the dashing figure of her memories.
“Ariana,” Dumbledore croaked, his throat tight. Unnoticed, tears welled in his eyes as he rasped her name.
“It’s really you…” Ariana’s expression was a tangle of emotions.
For a moment, the three fell silent. There was so much to say, yet none knew where to begin.
But for the aged Dumbledore, this day was already unforgettable.
Sleepless.
Human lives are brief and finite, filled with regrets and remorse. For most, the deepest pain comes from realizing their mistakes only after loved ones are gone—too little time spent together, or words too harsh.
In a time when the Daily Prophet had practically become a chronicle of Harry Potter’s deeds, the news that even the Ministry of Magic couldn’t deny—that Harry could summon the souls of the departed to bear witness—drew countless people to him. They begged him to call back their loved ones’ spirits.
Students did this. Ordinary witches and wizards did too. Soon, Hogsmeade’s inns were overflowing again, far beyond the crowds of Squibs from before. Wizards pitched tents all the way to the edges of Hogwarts’ protective barriers, forcing Professor McGonagall to request Ministry intervention to maintain order and drive some away.
Even McGonagall hesitated when facing Harry during this time, her expression conflicted. But she said nothing, and Harry didn’t press. He knew she’d been married once, widowed young, and had since devoted herself entirely to teaching.
“…Remember, the living belong to their world, and the dead to theirs. The line between them is clear—don’t get lost in it,” Harry warned sternly, looking into his apprentice’s red-rimmed eyes. “We seek only the wisdom of our ancestors, Luna, without crossing that boundary.”
“I understand, Mentor,” Luna said, her voice still tinged with tears, though her emotions had mostly settled. “I just… felt a bit overwhelmed.”
When Luna was young, her mother died in a magical accident. Her father, Xenophilius Lovegood, raised her alone. Upon learning her mentor could summon spirits, she sought Harry’s help.
“I’ve never doubted your wisdom, Luna,” Harry said gently. “You’re a unique child. You see the world differently, which means you follow different rules. Don’t lose sight of your heart.”
Harry felt he was starting to sound like the tribal elders of the Horde, especially when imparting life lessons to young calves.
“I will, Mentor,” Luna said with a faint smile. “If my father wants to see my mother’s soul…”
“That’s your decision,” Harry said, smiling back. “I trust you.”
Nodding, Luna said no more and left his office.
As the door closed, a mocking voice drifted down from the second floor.
“‘Don’t lose sight of your heart’… Merlin’s beard, Harry! If I didn’t know you were born on July 31, 1980, I’d swear that was some ancient, white-haired wizard talking.”
Sirius Black descended the stairs with exaggerated flair, his tone dripping with theatrical sarcasm.
“Talking about Dumbledore?” Harry asked without looking up.
“Dumbledore… Hmm, now that you mention it, he’s the only one I know who talks like that,” Sirius mused, briefly derailed. Then he grew animated again. “No, wait! That’s not the point!”
“Listen to yourself, Harry! I can’t believe you’re twelve!” Sirius flailed dramatically. “You called her child? Merlin’s pants, you’re practically the same age! Who calls their peer a child?”
“Luna is my apprentice. She’s gifted and will become a great shaman,” Harry said, sidestepping Sirius to return to his desk.
“You’re insane!” Sirius shouted. “Apprentice? Merlin’s knickers, Harry, I’d rather hear you call her your girlfriend or something—anything but apprentice! Can’t you act like a normal kid?”
“Hmm, wait—maybe that Hermione lass?” Sirius’s thoughts jumped wildly, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “She’s a bit bossy, but she’s soft around you. Cares about you, too. Tough choice, eh, Har—ow!”
Sirius yelped as Harry flung a magical orb of icy water at him. The spell didn’t just drench him—it eased the heaviness in his body and sharpened his senses, though the chill might’ve helped with that.
“Stop doing weird things, Sirius,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “Your reputation for being unreliable has spread through the castle. I don’t want McGonagall showing up one day saying you’ve caused trouble or corrupted students and can’t stay at Hogwarts.”
“Unreliable? I’m perfectly reliable!” Sirius protested. “It’s those sneaky Slytherins smearing my name. The Gryffindor kids adore me—they even bring me snacks!”
“So you taught them at least ten prank spells?” Harry said, unimpressed, staring at the man who seemed proud of the chaos. “Thanks to you, the castle’s been a mess this week, and my apprentice Filch has extra work.”
“Speaking of which, I can’t believe you took Filch as an apprentice,” Sirius said with a grimace. “But since he’s so respectful to you, I’ll let it slide. The real issue is you, Harry! You can’t do this to me!”
“What’s your problem now?” Harry asked, setting down his quill with a blank expression.
If this was what raising a kid felt like, he’d had enough. It was far more exhausting than mentoring apprentices.
Why couldn’t Sirius be calm and sensible like Luna?
Normally, someone who’d endured Azkaban would be grim, depressed, or even self-destructive. Harry had considered finding a Muggle therapist for Sirius. But now? He’d scrapped that idea. Sirius didn’t need it.
He was as lively as his Animagus form, just missing a wagging tail.
“I know you’re powerful—even Dumbledore gives you respect,” Sirius said, pulling a chair to sit across from Harry, his tone mock-solemn. “You’re a professor, you’ve got your own career, your own fans. You don’t need anyone to look after you—you handle yourself just fine. You’re doing too well, Harry.”
“So well that I, your godfather, feel useless! I’ve got no role to play!”
“And?” Harry said, unmoved. He’d fallen for Sirius’s theatrics before and wasn’t about to again.
“So, as your godfather, I need to offer you some help.”
The earnest passion on Sirius’s face vanished, replaced by a sly, almost sleazy grin that Harry reluctantly admitted fit him perfectly.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
