Outsmarting Dumbledore

Hermione spent the whole day with her parents, which they were incredibly happy about because they had grown used to seeing Hermione more with her books in her room than sitting at the same table with them. They talked, had tea, and talked some more about everything. Only by eight in the evening, when all topics had been exhausted, and her parents didn’t know how else to keep their daughter distracted, did Hermione remember that she needed to focus on more pressing issues, which had brought her here in the first place. She glanced at the clock and frowned, but confidently walked over to the telephone, opening the phone book. Hermione had never complained about her memory; she even suspected it might be photographic, but no one had ever been amazed by or admired it, so she had come to accept it as a given. Stopping at the correct name and number, Hermione dialed. The Dursleys had just finished dinner and were watching television when the phone on the table between the kitchen and the living room rang. The Dursleys exchanged puzzled glances, and Petunia hurried to answer the phone. “Who in their right mind would call at this hour?” she muttered to herself, picking up the receiver. “Petunia Dursley speaking.” On the other end of the line, a thin, girlish voice could be heard, and Vernon had already turned back to the television, convinced someone had dialed the wrong Dursleys. But Petunia pressed the receiver to her chest and took a deep breath, slowly turning towards the kitchen. “It’s… for you,” she reluctantly handed the phone to Harry, who quickly moved to the farthest corner of the kitchen with the phone, glancing at the Dursleys. “Harry! It’s you! I thought I had dialed the wrong Dursleys when your aunt stopped talking.” “Hermione!” Harry exclaimed with more volume than necessary, casting a sidelong glance at the Dursleys. “How glad I am to hear from you! I thought I was going mad, and it was all my imagination.” Hermione laughed, but then she spoke seriously, “I think it was a Time Reversal, well, I read about it in Sirius’s library.” “Time Reversal?” Harry frowned and spoke even more quietly, covering his mouth with his hand and turning away. “I don’t think Dumbledore is listening to telephone lines, but my parents and your relatives could hear something, and their thoughts are not protected from external intrusion, so we should talk about it later, privately… But just imagine, my parents are alive, can you believe it?” “That’s incredible, Hermione! It means we might be able to save Sirius, Fred, Tonks, Lupin…?” Harry began hopefully, but Hermione interrupted. “Yes, I think we can save them all, but first we need to find a way to meet up with George; I think he ended up here too. Can you sneak out of the house? Will they let you?” “I don’t know,” Harry glanced at the Dursleys again, and they were hanging on to every word he said. “My aunt and uncle, I…” he almost choked on the words, “We came to an understanding of sorts. In a way, so maybe we can arrange to meet.” Then he whispered, covering his mouth with his hand and turning away, “I have a feeling that something’s not right here. They’re acting strange. They’ve always been like that, but it’s even stranger now. I thought maybe Dumbledore did something to make them dislike me?” “I don’t know, Harry,” Hermione whispered after a minute. “In any case, we can check this. If Dumbledore left something in their home that has such an effect on them, then anything is possible. I think it should be an item he left with you.” “The Horcrux, you mean?” Harry rubbed his scar, where a part of Voldemort was once again residing. “Honestly, Hermione, I’m not thrilled about dying in the forest from Avada again, and then coming back.” “I understand, Harry,” Hermione’s voice warmed. “But it might be something else. After all, your relatives haven’t changed much in your absence. What else could Dumbledore have left when he brought you to the Dursleys?” Harry turned toward the living room, almost bumping his nose into Uncle Vernon’s stomach. All three of them were standing right in front of Harry, looking oddly at him. “Uhh, Hermione, wait a second,” Harry placed the receiver on the table and addressed his aunt. “Didn’t you happen to keep the letter that Dumbledore left along with me?” Now all of them were looking at Petunia, who slumped into the armrest of the chair, clutching her heart. “Don’t tell me you didn’t burn that nasty letter!” Vernon began to lose his temper, completely shifting his attention from Harry to his wife. She managed to regain her composure and lifted her chin proudly. “I kept it, and what of it?” While Vernon was struggling to find his words, Harry stepped forward. “Could you bring it, please?” Petunia frowned but nodded and left the room, returning a minute later with an envelope, placing it on the small table in front of Harry. He picked up the receiver again and put it to his ear. “Hermione, I think this is the letter Dumbledore wrote about my parents' death. I can feel magic, but I don’t have a wand to detect the spells.” “Don’t be silly, Harry,” Hermione began in a tone reminiscent of McGonagall’s, “even if you had a wand, your magical core is too weak to perform such magic. Otherwise, you might lose your magic forever. You can simply burn the letter and see what happens.” “Okay,” Harry put the receiver down again and turned to Vernon. “I think it’s better to burn it, as you wanted.” With a disdainful grin, Dursley took the letter by the edge and, as fast as a hawk, flew to the fireplace, tossing it into the flames. Petunia had just muttered something like, “It’s the last memory of her,” when the letter was already burning, disintegrating along with the magic placed on it. “Hermione, I didn’t feel anything different, it’s just like before,” Harry said. “Listen, if my relatives agree, maybe I could come to you tomorrow, so we can discuss everything.” “My parents won’t mind, and I’ll ask them to call your aunt and uncle tomorrow morning to request permission to pick you up,” she paused, and as a farewell, added, “I’m sorry if your relatives got upset when I called.” “No problem, everything’s fine. See you then!” Harry hung up the phone and sighed, turning to the Dursleys and bracing himself for their reprimand. To his surprise, they were looking at him rather peacefully. “What, have they started installing telephone lines in crazy people’s houses now?” Vernon said in a more amiable tone than usual, turning away from the boy. Harry was amazed as he watched the Dursleys settle back on the couch and resume watching television as if nothing had happened. “Something like that, Uncle. I finished washing the dishes, and I’m going upstairs,” Harry said, feeling like he was in some sort of satirical play. He headed towards the cupboard under the stairs, which would soon cease to be his bedroom. The Dursleys only nodded in response and returned their attention to the blue screen. “Well,” Harry thought, “whatever enchantment was placed on the letter, I definitely like its absence.” Meanwhile, somewhere above London, two barely distinguishable figures were flying on broomsticks towards the Granger household.