"Sitting alone at home? Facing a cold, empty fireplace? Eating reheated leftovers? Staring at an unoccupied chair?" Harry said offhandedly.
Then he saw the smile on Dumbledore's face quickly fade away.
"If you replace 'home' with 'Headmaster's office,' then you'd be entirely correct." Dumbledore sighed. "I'm starting to suspect that you've been monitoring my life, Harry."
"That sounds like something a Daily Prophet reporter would do." Harry shrugged. "I have no interest in observing the daily routine of an elderly human male."
"Ah, that does sound like something they would do," Dumbledore chuckled. "Many people already think I'm just a mad old fool, wandering around aimlessly, lost in my own eccentricities."
"You indulge them too much," Harry shook his head. "I've read about your accomplishments. No matter what, a hero like you should not be insulted. If those with ill intent aren't reprimanded, then ignorant common folk will be manipulated for their own gain."
"A hero?" Dumbledore fell silent for a moment. "I never expected you to see me that way."
"Why wouldn't I?" Harry tilted his head. "You defeated the first Dark Lord and protected countless Muggles. Even under Voldemort's shadow, you safeguarded the British wizarding world, allowing Muggle-borns and half-blood wizards to survive."
"I don't know why you think you're not a hero, Dumbledore." Harry's tone was calm. "Maybe you believe you've made mistakes, perhaps even irreparable ones, but that doesn't change the contributions you've made to the wizarding world."
"Heroes aren't saints. Heroes make mistakes, they experience doubt, they act on impulse, they falter, and they even retreat in fear—but so what?" Meeting Dumbledore's gaze, Harry spoke earnestly. "I get angry, I argue with those around me, and I've made mistakes. I'd never claim that everything I've done is right—no one is always right."
"But despite it all, I still see myself as a hero." Harry reflected on his past experiences. "A hero possesses the power to protect others. When the world faces crisis, they stand at the forefront, shielding those behind them and leading the way forward. That is what it means to be a hero."
"I don't understand why you hide away at Hogwarts as a mere headmaster. Logically, you should be in a position where you can wield greater influence—say, as Minister for Magic." Harry shook his head. "Certainly not here, where you allow yourself to be slandered by the Daily Prophet, have your history twisted, and even be restrained by the Board of Governors—not to mention the Ministry itself."
"But whatever." Harry shrugged. "I'm not you. I haven't lived your life. But I firmly believe that those with power must step forward and lead, because only then can the ordinary people know where to go. Guiding them is both my duty and my responsibility. It is the very essence of a hero's glory."
This was not advice, nor was it a suggestion or a plea. Harry was simply voicing his own perspective to Dumbledore. He had no expectation that the man would change his ways because of it. Every accomplished individual holds steadfast to their own beliefs—how could they be so easily swayed?
Harry was merely sharing his thoughts. Whether Dumbledore would agree, or if he would even stand in opposition to Harry in the future… it didn't matter.
Whatever happens, happens. Friends will naturally gravitate toward each other, and enemies—well, even if forced, they could never truly be friends.
Harry continued tending to his carefully prepared feast. He was roasting an entire pig on the side and had to periodically brush oil onto it, lest it become too dry.
Meanwhile, Dumbledore sat in a nearby chair, lost in thought—or perhaps reminiscing.
After a long silence…
"You know, Harry," Dumbledore said hoarsely, "your ideals… they remind me of a friend I had many years ago."
"'Those with power should stand up and lead others,'" Dumbledore chuckled softly. "But how can you be sure that those in power are truly walking the right path?"
"I don't know what you define as the 'right path,' because everyone envisions an ideal world differently," Harry answered without hesitation. "But if something can bring a genuine smile to the majority of people, then it's probably not wrong."
"Of course, the world I wish to build may one day be undone by someone stronger than me. That's just the nature of reality—without power, nothing can be achieved." Harry suddenly laughed. "But regardless, I refuse to shrink back and hand the world over to those who twist the truth and tarnish the deeds of heroes."
"Perhaps, Harry," Dumbledore said dryly, "perhaps. But mastering the beast within oneself is often the greatest challenge."
They would have to agree to disagree.
"So, what dish is this?" Choosing to change the subject, Dumbledore returned to his usual jovial demeanor. "I don't believe I've ever encountered a dish like this before. Also—did you use potions in it?"
His expression was somewhat dubious.
"Wait… are those Alioth leaves?" Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly as he pointed at the floating leaves in the pot. "No, no, Harry, even if you pick them out now, I've already seen them."
Alioth was a magical tree, also known as the Hyena Tree. Its leaves could induce hysteria and uncontrollable laughter.
"They're just for seasoning; they'd turn bitter if cooked too long," Harry said casually. "Don't worry, Dumbledore, I'm not brewing a potion. I only need the herbs' flavors—otherwise, this dish wouldn't taste the way I remember."
Dumbledore's mouth twitched slightly. He wanted to say something but didn't quite know where to begin.
At first, he had only smelled the aroma without examining the ingredients. But now, among the bubbling stew, he spotted not just Alioth leaves (which had a sour tang), but also valerian root (which had a musky odor and sedative properties) and masterwort (which resembled celery, could cause brain inflammation, and made people irritable and reckless)…
In short, Dumbledore recognized an intricate balance of counteractive properties. Many of these herbs were inherently toxic, yet within this simmering pot, they had somehow achieved a bizarre harmony.
Logically speaking, if Harry had measured the herbs correctly, then this 'potion'—no, Dumbledore could hardly bring himself to call it food—this stew should indeed be safe to eat.
"Your Potions professor would be proud," Dumbledore remarked dryly. "Especially your mother—she would be delighted to see you inheriting her talents."
"Can't be helped, Dumbledore… alright, just 'Dumbledore,'" Harry corrected himself at Dumbledore's prompting. He put down the ladle and sighed helplessly. "Ideally, I should be using a special cheese for this dish, but I couldn't find anything that matched the flavor I remember, so I had to improvise."
This dish was considered the greatest delicacy among the Tauren. Not a single Tauren—not even the notoriously unapproachable Grimtotem—could resist its allure.
Well, to be fair, the Grimtotem weren't particularly sociable even within their own tribe… but that was beside the point!
All in all, the fact that even the Tauren of the Grimtotem Tribe couldn't resist this delicacy spoke volumes about just how delicious it truly was. Harry felt that using this dish as an introduction to Tauren cuisine for his friends—and leaving them with a good impression—was the perfect way to start.
The recipe called for eagle eggs, goat meat, and a special cheese crafted by the kobolds of the Stonetalon Mountains. It was this last ingredient that stumped Harry, forcing him to experiment with various herbs to try and recreate its unique flavor.
There was no other way—no one knew how kobold cheese was made, and only the kobolds of the Stonetalon Mountains possessed that particular skill. But Harry was on Earth now.
Well, he supposed this was a magical version of "technology and dark arts"—or rather, "magic and dark arts."
"Honestly, Harry," Dumbledore suddenly chuckled, joking, "the way you're picking through those herbs makes you look like a murderer brewing a pot of poison, carefully erasing traces to ensure the victim doesn't suspect a thing—I believe I've read a similar story somewhere before."
"Then rest assured," Harry replied in kind. "I'll be eating it along with all of you, Dumbledore."
With the fire extinguished and the meal ready, Harry called everyone to the table.
A long wooden table, conjured on the spot with Transfiguration, stood in the center. Though this was supposed to be a casual gathering among friends, Ron, Hermione, and Neville instinctively squeezed in beside Harry when choosing their seats. Dumbledore took his place at the head of the table, with Professor McGonagall and Hagrid sitting to his left and right. As for Snape—he had somehow ended up quite close to Harry.
Because Lily Potter sat as close to her child as possible.
This was particularly unfortunate for Ron, who didn't dare breathe too loudly. Under Snape's impassive gaze from across the table, he sat stiffly, looking as if he might topple over at any moment.
Several baskets sat atop the table, filled with Thunder Bluff-style spiced bread that Harry had baked himself—these loaves were packed with pine nuts, giving them a unique and fragrant taste.
There were also corn tortillas, as corn was a staple in every Tauren household.
Then, of course, there was the roasted suckling pig, its entire body glazed to a deep, glossy red. When the knife sliced through, the crisp, golden skin crackled, making everyone's mouths water.
Harry had also prepared several platters of stir-fried crawfish—one of Thunder Bluff's most beloved delicacies, favored by food lovers far and wide.
But the true centerpiece of the feast was the dish that no Tauren could ever refuse.
"Don't stand on ceremony, just eat as you like," Harry said cheerfully, playing the role of host. "Try some of our Tauren specialty cuisine—I hope you'll enjoy it."
"I never knew you had such talent, Harry!" James's voice rang out the moment Harry finished speaking. Unable to contain his excitement, he dove headfirst into one of the bowls—despite being a ghost. He inhaled deeply, as if he could still smell the food. "That's my kid!!"
"James!!"
To be honest, seeing a ghost flitting through the dishes was… not the most appetizing sight. Lily, clearly exasperated, grabbed her shameless husband and dragged him aside. "Are you talking about your 'cooking skills'—the same ones that can burn even a simple roast?!"
"Heh, well, that's what you were there for! And now, we have Harry too," James grinned, even as Lily twisted his ear. He shot Harry a wink—then, for good measure, did the same to Snape.
Snape tightened his grip on his knife and fork.
Hermione, Ron, and Neville hurriedly lowered their heads and focused on eating. None of them dared to reveal whatever expressions they were currently wearing.
Honestly, even if nothing else came of tonight, just seeing Snape getting flustered made the entire event worth it—especially for Ron.
Some things simply couldn't be hidden, especially given James Potter's personality. It had taken him less than five minutes to completely destroy the solemn image of a tragic war hero that had been built around him over the past eleven years.
Ron and the others had, of course, heard stories about Harry's parents—mostly from Hagrid. In his tales, Harry's mother had always been gentle, kind, and virtuous, while his father was brave, just, and friendly.
Looking at it now… well, there was certainly nothing wrong on his mother's side, but when it came to his father… Uh, though it might not be very polite to say this, Harry's father was basically just a supersized version of Fred or George.
He simply couldn't stay still for even a second.
"Hey! Gre—Snape! You're scaring the kids!"
Sure enough, the moment James managed to escape from his wife's grip on his ear, he immediately floated over to the group of children, looking thoroughly displeased as he confronted Snape. "We're in the middle of a meal! What's with that sour face of yours?!"
Ron and the others instantly lowered their heads even further… Snape might not be able to do anything to a ghost, but he could certainly make their lives miserable.
Joking around was fine, messing around was fine—but Ron's suffering was no laughing matter.
No student at Hogwarts would ever want to spend their days being relentlessly hounded by Snape, losing House points left and right and getting sentenced to endless detentions. That would be a nightmare they could never wake up from.
But James? James wasn't done yet.
"Don't be scared, little lady!" He placed his hands just above Hermione's shoulders—he couldn't actually touch her, of course, but he pretended he could—then gave her a warm smile. "There's nothing to be afraid of when it comes to Snape! Cheer up, eat more—try that dish in the center! Harry told me all about it; apparently, it's his specialty."
Hermione—Hermione didn't even dare to lift her head!
She turned slightly, casting Harry a pleading look, looking utterly helpless.
And Harry… well, as soon as he turned his head, he saw James waggling his eyebrows at him. Over and over again. Completely unabashed.
Letting out a silent sigh, Harry thought to himself that his old man might just be a little too lively.
It was hard to imagine what his godfather—who was still stuck in prison—might be like.
If he and James were cut from the same cloth… Well, honestly, Harry felt like he could probably turn the tables and act as their godfather instead. If you really counted by the years they'd actually lived, he was technically older than both of them now.
Ever since James had been summoned back and noticed Hermione's presence, he'd been flashing Harry these knowing, teasing smiles. And when it came to Hermione, his treatment of her was noticeably different from how he treated Ron or Neville. He kept finding opportunities to drop little compliments about Harry—so many, in fact, that Harry had no idea where James was even coming up with them.
Some of them were so outrageously exaggerated that even the Tauren couldn't stand to listen anymore.
"Do you want to head back to the Veil for a bit, Father?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.
In the very next second, James straightened up, gave a mock salute, and then ran his hand across his lips—just like zipping up an invisible zipper—before floating off to the side.
"Sorry, Hermione, my father doesn't mean any harm… he's just, uh, a little too playful," Harry said helplessly.
"…It's fine, Harry." Hermione shook her head slightly, her face a little flushed—though whether that was due to the nearby fire, no one could say.
" Tsk, tsk, tsk." Snape slowly shook his head, making a disdainful sound as if savoring something particularly distasteful. " 'A little too playful' … I find it difficult to imagine what a father must have done to make his own son describe him that way."
"What did you just say?!"
James immediately charged over, shoving his ghostly face right into Snape's head and letting out a series of bizarre howls, as if trying to shake Snape's brain from the inside out with pure sound waves.
In an instant, the entire scene around Harry became lively. Ron, unable to hold it in, burst into laughter—and within seconds, his barely suppressed chuckles turned into outright guffaws.
Even if it meant Snape would torment him twice as much starting tomorrow, tonight, Ron was going to laugh his heart out!
No one could stop him! Ronald had declared it himself!
"Oh, I must say, it's delightful to see our Potions professor finally showing a bit of… liveliness," Dumbledore mused as he ladled himself a bowl of soup, watching the chaos unfold across the table. "Truly a rare sight."
"It's because Lily is here, isn't it? The two of them have been talking almost the entire evening—I've never seen Snape like this before," Professor McGonagall added with a sigh. "To think that magic capable of summoning departed souls back to this world actually exists…"
"Quite fascinating, isn't it?" Dumbledore winked playfully. "I daresay you might want to look forward to Harry's first lesson this weekend… Our dear Professor Potter."
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