[HP} Chapter 164-165

Chapter 164: A Different Way of Negotiating

[Your actions prevented Harry Potter’s situation from worsening.]

[Fate Disturbance Intensity: Very Weak ]

[You gained 1 Fate Point. Current total: 11 points.]

Vernon Dursley eventually closed his big deal, and the Masons were pleased with the addition of Mr. Wilson and his son to the dinner.

Mr. Wilson, in turn, was very satisfied with the Masons’ influence and connections. The evening ended with both hosts and guests content.

And Harry, thanks to the success of that business dinner, was spared punishment for dropping the pudding—no being locked away in his room this time.

More likely, it was because Louis had confiscated the Ministry’s warning letters, leaving the Dursleys unaware that Harry was forbidden from using magic outside school.

Thus, Harry avoided the miserable fate of three daily meals of canned vegetables.

In the original timeline, Harry endured nearly a week of it, even skimming off only the broth to leave the vegetables for Hedwig.

Not that Hedwig appreciated the gesture—Harry nearly starved to death.

If the Weasleys’ flying car hadn’t arrived in time, it was hard to imagine what would have become of him.

But though Harry’s situation hadn’t worsened, it hadn’t improved either.

Dobby continued tirelessly to intercept all letters addressed to Harry, and Harry could do nothing about it.

Even though Harry already knew the truth and wouldn’t be disappointed without receiving them, Dobby still carried on with his pointless mission.

Perhaps this was the common flaw of house-elves: once they set their mind on something, they couldn’t be swayed—stubborn, neurotic, bound only to their masters.

And so, the Weasleys’ “heroic rescue” unfolded naturally.

This was a nearly unchangeable event. Even if Harry had received his letters, he couldn’t have written back anyway—their arrival was inevitable.

---

August 20th. Night. Clear skies.

Louis, in the middle of analyzing the ingredients of Skiving Snackboxes, was interrupted by the rumbling roar of an engine.

It sounded exactly like an old diesel car wobbling precariously across a rooftop.

Which, in fact, it was.

Louis walked to the window just in time to see a battered flying car shudder up to the Dursleys’ second floor.

From it, a sneaky Ron Weasley climbed inside.

They had come to pick up Harry again—but since Harry wasn’t locked up this time, things weren’t quite as urgent.

Ron and one of the twins quietly helped Harry pack his trunk and slipped him out without a fuss.

The flying car was about to leave when it drifted up to Louis’s window.

“Louis, are you coming with us?” Fred and George shouted from inside.

Harry, sitting in the back seat, also looked over at Louis. He was grateful—if Louis hadn’t intercepted the Ministry’s warning letters, the Dursleys would have seen them and his life would have been unbearable.

“Me? No, I’ll pass. I’ll see you at Hogwarts.”

Louis didn’t even plan to go to Diagon Alley. He had already bought the books he needed in advance.

“All right, see you at Hogwarts then.”

Fred and George looked regretful, but respected his decision.

The car’s engine roared as it shot into the night sky.

Louis thought that was the end of it for the evening—until he glanced down and spotted a familiar figure.

Dumbledore.

The legendary wizard stood out clearly, even in the darkness.

It seemed the headmaster had witnessed Harry’s departure from beginning to end.

Busy man indeed—just recently he’d been preoccupied with finding someone to prophesy, and now he had shown up here.

If Louis didn’t have confidence in his own Eye of Fate Observation, he might have worried Dumbledore was here to catch him.

After a moment of thought, Louis decided to go down and see what the headmaster intended to do.

Before going downstairs, Louis picked up the two letters—something for Dumbledore to look over.

“Good evening, Headmaster,” Louis greeted as he stepped in front of him. “Were you here to see Harry?”

“In a way,” Dumbledore replied. “I heard from Professor McGonagall about what you said regarding Harry’s situation. I thought I should come and see for myself.”

“Oh, then you’ve come at the wrong time. They just left. And you missed quite a show.” Louis handed him the two letters. “But you can still read the aftermath and get a taste of the spectacle.”

Dumbledore took the letters and read them through, his brows furrowing.

“The Ministry’s tracers do fail from time to time,” he admitted. “But it’s nothing serious. I’ll see to it that this matter is handled. Tell me—what exactly happened?”

“Ask Harry for the details,” Louis shrugged. “I was only a guest. What I saw was a house-elf smashing a pudding. Then the letters came.”

A house-elf?

Dumbledore pondered that for a moment, deciding he would ask Harry later. Then he told Louis the reason he had come.

“I came here to investigate the mistreatment you mentioned Harry was suffering. But it seems I am too late—he’s already been taken away.”

“Too late, maybe, but the truth is still here. I doubt the Dursleys will care if you’re present or not,” Louis said. “And people fresh out of sleep tend to be a bit more… honest.”

“Quite right.” Dumbledore nodded approvingly, and together they walked toward the Dursleys’ house.

“How do you plan to deal with them, Headmaster? Politely, or by force?” Louis asked.

“Politely, of course. I’ve always believed persuasion works better than violence.”

“Suit yourself.” Louis shrugged, watching as Dumbledore knocked on the front door.

Disturbing someone’s sleep was bound to spark anger. Both Louis and Dumbledore heard Vernon Dursley upstairs, cursing and shouting Harry’s name.

“Harry! Go see who’s bloody knocking at the door in the middle of the night!”

Louis glanced at Dumbledore’s expression—it looked sour, though whether it was real or an act, he couldn’t tell.

Naturally, Vernon’s shouting got no response; Harry had long since run away.

And he’d done it without a shred of guilt—if not for having no other relatives, he’d never want to come back.

“Harry? Harry?”

Vernon’s voice grew more irate. There was the sound of a door slamming open upstairs.

“Damn it! Where did that boy run off to?”

The racket of drawers and boxes being overturned followed.

“Petunia! Petunia, wake up! Check if anything’s missing! That brat has run away!”

“I knew it! Freaks breed freaks! James Potter’s son is just as worthless!”

…

The voices were loud, and their meaning all too clear. Dumbledore’s expression hardened.

He was truly angry now. This wasn’t just about suffering—it was an assault on dignity.

Dumbledore might wish for Harry to grow up resilient, but he would never tolerate insults to his character, nor to his parents.

They had died for the wizarding world. They were heroes, not vermin to be spat upon!

“Step back, Mr. Wilson,” Dumbledore said sharply, raising the Elder Wand.

“I’ll need a different way of negotiating!”

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Chapter 165: Coercion and Temptation

A wizard’s magic grows stronger with age, peaking in adulthood before weakening again in old age.

The strength of that magic is the necessary foundation for powerful spells, and even basic charms become far stronger when fueled by greater magical power.

But Dumbledore was an exception. He seemed to have never weakened with age. A simple Impediment Jinx from him carried the destructive force of a Blasting Curse.

The Dursleys’ front door exploded off its hinges, crashing against the wall with a thunderous boom that instantly sobered Vernon Dursley out of his rage.

He stumbled downstairs in a panic, staring in shock at the ruined door.

Amidst the rising dust, an elderly man with long silver hair and beard, clad in strange robes, strode into the house.

“Vernon Dursley!” Dumbledore’s presence pressed down like a storm. The air itself trembled, his magic stirring the dust with a shimmering glow.

The display was terrifyingly majestic—but Louis couldn’t help thinking: Looks like I’ll be getting another warning letter from the Ministry for this. This time it’s Dumbledore dragging me into trouble…

Oh well. One more debt hardly mattered. With Dumbledore around, everything would be smoothed over anyway. Best just enjoy the show.

The Dursley family came rushing down, only to be cornered by Dumbledore at the foot of the stairs—unable to go up or down.

“Who… who are you?!”

Vernon Dursley puffed himself up, red-faced, barking like an angry hound.

But his trembling body betrayed his fear.

“I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.” The old wizard took a step forward; the floor cracked beneath his foot. “I’m here for a home visit.”

Home visit?

Louis glanced at him, thinking: With that kind of entrance, it sounds less like a home visit and more like wiping out a family line.

“H-home visit? We… we don’t need any home visits. Get out! Get out of our house!” Vernon shouted, his finger trembling as he pointed.

“That’s not for you to decide. I’ve heard Harry Potter’s life here has been far from pleasant. Is this how you treat your own blood?” Dumbledore’s voice thundered with anger.

“Headmaster, tone it down a little—you’ll scare them to death,” Louis muttered behind him, nudging him with an elbow.

Didn’t he see Dudley’s face already turning purple?

Dumbledore obliged, reining in his pressure. Now he looked like nothing more than an ordinary old man.

But Vernon still didn’t dare ignore him. He didn’t even dare approach. This man radiated the aura of someone who truly would use magic to harm, unlike Harry, who only used magic to bluff.

Harry had once thought waving a wand might cow Vernon into treating him better. But Vernon was a shrewd man—an executive skilled at reading people. He’d seen the hesitation and fear in Harry’s eyes and knew the boy couldn’t actually use magic outside school. That was why he dared to exploit and abuse him.

But now trouble had arrived—a real monster from the wizarding world.

“Blood relative? Don’t joke. If we had the choice, we wouldn’t want anything to do with him or your kind! We don’t want magic in this house. That boy doesn’t want to see us, and we don’t want to see him. You’d better make sure he never comes back!”

Somehow, Vernon had found the courage to shout his defiance at Dumbledore.

“Sorry, but that’s impossible,” Dumbledore replied coldly. “There is ancient magic tied to Harry’s bloodline. He must remain near family for the protection to hold.”

He had always explained to the Dursleys that Harry’s safety depended on kinship. But he clearly underestimated how little these people cared for reason when it came to Harry.

Dumbledore, for all his power, was not a man to bicker endlessly with villains. Even when he said he’d try “another way of negotiating,” he still defaulted to persuasion.

“May I say a word?” Louis interjected.

Dumbledore paused, turning toward him.

Only now did the Dursleys notice Louis standing behind the headmaster. They were stunned—never imagining their neighbor could be tied to such a fearsome wizard.

“W-Wilson?” Vernon and Petunia blurted, aghast. A week ago they had enjoyed a pleasant dinner party together; it left them with no venom to spit at him now.

Good heavens—Louis Wilson, the promising young gentleman praised by the Masons, a future star magician… was a wizard?!

They suddenly felt duped. His “magic tricks” were probably just wizardry all along!

As for Dudley, he couldn’t care less—he had already slumped over the stair rail, snoring.

“Headmaster Dumbledore may not fully understand how to speak to Muggles,” Louis said politely, still perfectly composed. But in truth, had the Dursleys uttered even one insult toward him just then, he would not have held back.

Fortunately, they kept their mouths shut.

“You hate Harry because you hate magic, is that right?” Louis asked evenly.

“Of course! This family should never have been touched by such nonsense!” Vernon barked.

“Then how much would it take to suppress that hatred?” Louis asked bluntly.

“Money?” Vernon sneered. “That boy? He doesn’t have a penny to his name!”

“Not Harry’s money,” Louis corrected smoothly. “His contributions to the wizarding world are more than enough to justify the Ministry footing the bill. And besides—the Potter family isn’t nearly as poor as you imagine.”

He glanced at Dumbledore, and seeing no objection, went on:

“The Potters are famous in the wizarding world—for their line of hair potions, among other things. They’re wealthy. And Harry Potter, as the sole heir, holds a sizable fortune.”

“Wizard’s gold? Hah.” Vernon scoffed.

“One Galleon exchanges for about five pounds sterling,” Louis continued calmly. “Every year, Muggle-born families deposit pounds into Gringotts. But the goblins despise them, since few wizards bother to exchange those notes.”

Dumbledore, curious now, confirmed: “That’s true. Most of the time, Hogwarts has to absorb the Muggle currency.”

“So,” Louis concluded, “if you name a price, I imagine Hogwarts—or the Ministry—would be quite willing to meet your demands.”

And without a doubt, Vernon Dursley’s heart began to waver.

This pompous, magic-hating man was tempted—Louis had struck a nerve.

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