**The Leaky Cauldron, Private Room**
**January 16th, 1982 - 2:47 PM**
Wanda turned the Elder Wand over in her hands, feeling its power thrum against her skin. Ancient magic, death magic, victory written into every fiber of its being. It recognized her—recognized strength, recognized dominance, recognized someone worthy of wielding it.
She looked up at Dumbledore, who stood frozen, his expression caught somewhere between shock and fury.
"Thank you," she said, and her voice was perfectly sincere. "For keeping this safe all these years. For not using it the way Grindelwald did. For being a better guardian than most would have been." She tucked both the wand and the Invisibility Cloak carefully into her jacket. "But Harry needs them more than you do. The Cloak is his by blood. And the Wand..." She smiled slightly. "Well. I've just won it from you fairly. That's how it works, isn't it? Victory in a duel transfers mastery?"
"You can't—" Dumbledore's voice was hoarse. "That wand is too dangerous. In the wrong hands—"
"In *my* hands," Wanda corrected. "And I assure you, Professor, I have no intention of conquering the wizarding world or building an empire. I just need to make sure no one else can use it against my son. Three Deathly Hallows, united, make the Master of Death. And Harry is going to need every advantage I can give him."
"The prophecy is void!" Dumbledore protested. "You said so yourself! Voldemort is gone, the Horcruxes destroyed—why does Harry need the Hallows?"
"Because prophecies aren't the only danger in this world," Wanda said quietly. "Because there are always people who will try to use him. Because I am not taking chances with his safety. Not ever."
She moved toward the door where Sirius waited. "Come on. We're done here."
"Wait," Moody said. His voice was strange—tight, controlled, dangerous. His magical eye had stopped spinning and was fixed on Dumbledore with an intensity that made even Wanda pause. "Before you go. Just one more question."
"Make it quick," Sirius said.
Moody didn't look at him. Didn't look at Wanda. His eyes—both of them—were locked on Dumbledore. "You said you'd contest Sirius's guardianship of Harry. That you'd argue Harry should be with family or someone from the magical world who could properly prepare him."
"I said I would consider it," Dumbledore said carefully. "Given the unusual circumstances—"
"But Sirius *is* family," Moody interrupted. "He's the godfather. James and Lily's chosen guardian. The will was filed and witnessed." His normal eye narrowed. "So why would you contest that? What legal grounds would you even have?"
Dumbledore was silent.
"Unless," Moody continued, his voice growing colder, "you weren't planning to use legal grounds. Unless you were planning to use your position as Chief Warlock to override the will. To declare Sirius unfit somehow—maybe claim his time in Azkaban made him mentally unstable. Maybe suggest that Ms. Maximoff is a dangerous influence. Maybe just... make it happen through pure political power."
"Alastor—" Dumbledore started.
"How long were you planning to leave him there?" Moody's voice cracked like a whip. "In Azkaban. Sirius Black, innocent man, war hero, member of the Order. How long would you have let him rot?"
"I didn't know he was innocent—"
"You didn't *ask*!" Moody slammed his hand on the table. "You're Albus fucking Dumbledore! Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, the most politically powerful wizard in Britain! You could have demanded a trial with a single word. Could have used Veritaserum, brought in Mind Healers, done *something*. But you didn't. You just let the Ministry throw him in Azkaban and moved on with your plans."
"I thought he was guilty," Dumbledore said. His voice was quiet, strained. "All the evidence pointed to—"
"You thought it was *convenient*," Moody snarled. "That's what you thought. With Sirius out of the way, you could control Harry's placement. Could put him with the Dursleys and their blood wards. Could shape his entire childhood without interference. Isn't that right?"
Remus was staring at Dumbledore now too, his amber eyes wide with dawning horror. "You knew," he whispered. "You knew what the Dursleys were like. Lily told you about her sister, about how much Petunia hated magic. And you left Harry there anyway."
"The blood protection—" Dumbledore tried.
"Would have worked anywhere with Lily's blood," Remus interrupted, his voice shaking. "Petunia could have visited Harry wherever he lived. Could have spent holidays with him, maintained the connection. The protection didn't require Harry to live with people who hated him."
"You wanted him weakened," Moody said. It wasn't a question. "Wanted him desperate for affection, eager to please, ready to see Hogwarts as salvation. Wanted him to see *you* as the benevolent grandfather figure who rescued him from misery."
"That's not—" Dumbledore's voice cracked. "I never wanted Harry to suffer. I wanted him safe, protected—"
"From love?" Sirius's voice was bitter from the doorway. "From family? From knowing he was wanted and valued? That's what you protected him from, Albus. Not Voldemort. Not Dark wizards. From having a real childhood."
"And you were going to contest my custody," Sirius continued, moving back into the room. His wand was gone—Wanda still had it—but he didn't need it. His fury was weapon enough. "Even now, even after everything, you were going to try to take Harry away from the people who actually love him. Why? What could you possibly gain?"
"Control," Wanda said softly. "He gains control. Over Harry's education, his influences, his entire worldview. If Harry grows up with us—if he learns that authority can be questioned, that prophecies don't have to be followed, that he has choices—then Dumbledore loses his perfect weapon."
"I never wanted a weapon," Dumbledore said. He sounded exhausted, ancient. "I wanted a hero. Someone who could face the darkness because he'd survived it. Someone who would choose to fight not because he was forced to, but because he understood what was at stake."
"By making him suffer first," Moody said flatly. "By ensuring he had trauma to overcome, hardship to forge him. That's not creating a hero, Albus. That's creating a victim with a hero complex."
"I did what I thought was necessary—"
"For the greater good?" Remus's voice was sharp. "That's always your excuse, isn't it? The greater good. Sacrifice the few to save the many. Let Sirius rot in Azkaban for the greater good. Let Harry grow up abused for the greater good. How many people have you hurt, Albus? How many lives have you destroyed in service of this greater good?"
Dumbledore looked at Remus—his former student, his Order member, his friend—and something crumbled in his expression. "I never meant—I only wanted—"
"You wanted to be the only one who knew best," Moody said. "The only one making the hard decisions. The only one with the full picture." His magical eye fixed on Dumbledore with cold intensity. "How many secrets are you keeping, Albus? How many other plans do you have running that we don't know about?"
"I keep secrets to protect people—"
"To protect your control," Moody corrected. "Information is power, and you've always hoarded both."
"This is ridiculous," Dumbledore said. Some of his usual composure was returning, his voice steadying. "You're allowing Ms. Maximoff's manipulations to turn you against me. Can't you see what she's doing? She wants you to distrust me so she can operate without oversight—"
"She saved Sirius," Remus said quietly. "She warned us about the attack on the Longbottoms. She apparently destroyed all of Voldemort's Horcruxes, ending the war permanently." He paused. "What have you done lately except try to control everyone around you?"
"I've been trying to prevent catastrophe—"
"By creating new ones," Moody interrupted. "Every plan you make, every secret you keep, every time you decide someone else's suffering is acceptable—you're creating the next disaster. Grindelwald rose because you were too blind to see what he was becoming. Voldemort rose because you underestimated Tom Riddle. What's next, Albus? Who's the next Dark Lord you'll inadvertently create?"
"That's not fair—"
"Isn't it?" Moody leaned forward. "You trained Tom Riddle. You recognized his brilliance and his darkness, and you let him study at Hogwarts anyway. You let him access the Restricted Section, learn about Horcruxes, gather followers. You thought you could control him, could guide him toward the light. How did that work out?"
Dumbledore flinched.
"And now you want to control Harry," Moody continued relentlessly. "Want to shape him into whatever you think the world needs. But Ms. Maximoff is right—Harry isn't a tool. He's a child. And children deserve better than to be weapons in someone else's war."
"I would never—" Dumbledore tried again.
"You already have," Remus said. His voice was soft but certain. "You've already sacrificed Sirius, already planned Harry's childhood, already decided what was best for everyone without asking. When does it stop, Albus? When do you let people make their own choices?"
Dumbledore looked between them—Moody's cold fury, Remus's quiet disappointment, Sirius's bitter satisfaction, Wanda's knowing smile. "You're making a mistake," he said finally. "All of you. That woman is dangerous. Her power is unprecedented and she's using it on a child who can't consent, can't understand the implications—"
"Unlike you?" Wanda said. "Who was planning Harry's entire life before he could walk? At least I'm honest about what I'm doing. I'm protecting my son with every tool I have. You were going to manipulate him into sacrificing himself and call it heroism."
"The prophecy—"
"Is meaningless now," Wanda said. "I've made it meaningless. Voldemort is gone, his Horcruxes destroyed. The prophecy that said 'either must die at the hand of the other' can't be fulfilled because one half is permanently dead. Harry is free."
"And that's what terrifies you, isn't it?" Sirius said. "Harry being free. Not bound by prophecy or destiny or your carefully laid plans. Just... free to be a normal boy who happens to have magic."
Dumbledore's silence was answer enough.
Wanda moved to the door again, and this time Sirius followed immediately. She paused just before leaving, her hand on the doorframe.
"A word of advice, Professor," she said. "Stop trying to control people. Stop keeping secrets for the greater good. Stop assuming you know better than everyone else." Her eyes flashed red. "Because the next time you try to interfere with my family, I won't just take your wand. I'll make sure you can never interfere with anyone again. Do you understand?"
It was a threat. Clear, unmistakable, and utterly serious.
Dumbledore met her gaze. "I understand."
"Good." Wanda handed Moody and Remus their wands back. "Gentlemen. Thank you for the... illuminating conversation. If you ever want to actually help Harry instead of control him, you know where to find us."
She opened a portal—casual, effortless, reality bending around her will—and stepped through with Sirius.
The scarlet mist dissipated, leaving three men standing in the private room.
Moody and Remus turned to Dumbledore.
And for the first time in decades, Albus Dumbledore had no idea what to say.
---
**Agnes's Cottage, Scottish Highlands**
**January 16th, 1982 - 3:15 PM**
They materialized in the garden in a swirl of scarlet mist. Sirius stumbled slightly—he still wasn't quite used to Wanda's portals—but caught himself against the garden fence.
"Well," he said after a moment. "That was..."
"Intense?" Wanda suggested. "Confrontational? Possibly inadvisable?"
"I was going to say 'fucking brilliant,' actually." Sirius started laughing. "Did you see his face? Did you see Dumbledore's face when you summoned the cloak right out of his office?"
"I saw it," Wanda said. But she wasn't smiling. "I may have pushed too hard."
"You pushed exactly hard enough." Sirius moved closer, his expression sobering. "Wanda, what he was planning—what he admitted to planning—that was horrifying. Contesting my custody, trying to take Harry, all while claiming it was for Harry's own good?" He shook his head. "You were right to take the Cloak. Right to take the Wand. Right to make it clear he doesn't control us."
"I stole from the Chief Warlock," Wanda pointed out. "Disarmed three people, one of them an Auror. Made threats. Revealed my power level in a way that will definitely have consequences."
"You protected Harry," Sirius corrected. "Everything else is details."
Wanda pulled out the Elder Wand, studying it in the afternoon light. The wand was simple, elegant—just pale wood with no ornamentation. But the power thrumming through it was unmistakable. This was the Deathbringer, the Wand of Destiny, the weapon that had won and lost a thousand duels.
"I can feel it," she said quietly. "The wand. It's testing me. Trying to understand what I am, what I can do. It's... curious."
"Can it do that? Be curious?"
"This one can." Wanda channeled a small amount of magic through the wand—just a spark, just enough to communicate. "It's been wielded by so many people over centuries. Each one left an impression. Collectively, those impressions created something almost like consciousness. Not sentient, exactly, but aware."
"And what does it think of you?"
"It thinks I'm interesting." Wanda smiled slightly. "It's never been wielded by someone who could rewrite reality before. Usually it enhances existing magic, makes spells more powerful. But with me..." She flicked the wand, and a flower bloomed in mid-air—not conjured, not transfigured. Simply *created*, brought into being from pure possibility. "It's not sure what to do with power that already breaks the rules."
"So you're confusing a legendary magical artifact," Sirius said. "That tracks, honestly."
"The question is what to do with it." Wanda dispelled the flower and tucked the wand away. "I took it to keep it safe, to keep it from being used against Harry. But I don't actually need it. My chaos magic works fine through my yew wand."
"Then keep it hidden," Sirius suggested. "Locked away somewhere safe. And when Harry's old enough, when he can understand what it means, we'll give him the choice. Use it or not. Keep it or destroy it. Let him decide."
"That's remarkably mature advice."
"I have my moments." Sirius grinned. "Now come on. Let's go inside and tell Agnes that we stole from Dumbledore, disarmed an Auror, and probably started a political incident. I'm sure she'll have thoughts."
"Many thoughts," Agnes's voice called from the kitchen window. "All of them involving the phrase 'are ye daft?' Now get inside afore someone sees ye lurkin' in the garden like criminals."
They headed inside to find Agnes at the stove, stirring something that smelled like stew. Harry was in his high chair, covered in what appeared to be mashed peas and looking extremely pleased with himself.
"Mama!" he called when he saw Wanda. "Paddy!"
"Hello, малыш," Wanda said, moving to kiss his forehead. She didn't even care that he immediately grabbed her face with pea-covered hands. "Did you have fun with Agnes?"
"He threw food at Malcolm," Agnes reported. "The pig has never been more offended."
"Good," Sirius said. "Serves him right for being a pig. Metaphorically and literally."
Wanda cleaned Harry's hands with a wave of her wand—the yew one, not the Elder Wand—and lifted him from his chair. "So. We may have made some enemies today."
"May have?" Agnes raised an eyebrow. "Ye stole from Dumbledore, didn't ye? I felt the portal open from inside Hogwarts. What did ye take?"
"These." Wanda pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and showed it to Agnes. The silvery fabric shimmered in the kitchen light, seeming to drink in the shadows. "It belonged to Harry's father. And his grandfather before that. The Peverell family heirloom."
"An invisibility cloak?" Agnes looked impressed. "Thought those were rare."
"This one's unique," Sirius said. "It's one of the Deathly Hallows. The three most powerful magical artifacts in existence. Cloak, Wand, and Stone. United, they supposedly make the Master of Death."
Agnes paled. "An' ye just... took it? From Dumbledore's office?"
"Summoned it, technically," Wanda said. "Right in front of him. While three wands were pointed at me. It was..." She paused. "It was perhaps not my most diplomatic moment."
"Ye think?" Agnes set down her spoon. "Wanda, the man is the Chief Warlock. The most powerful wizard in Britain. An' ye just humiliated him in front of witnesses."
"He was planning to contest my custody," Sirius said quietly. "Planning to take Harry away from us. To put him... I don't know where. The Dursleys, maybe, or some Ministry-approved foster situation. Somewhere he could control."
Agnes's expression hardened. "Then he got what he deserved. Ye don't take bairns from folk who love them. Not fer any reason."
"That's what I said," Wanda murmured. She sat at the table with Harry still in her arms. "But Agnes is right. I've made an enemy. Dumbledore won't forget this. Won't forgive it."
"So what do we do?" Sirius asked.
"We prepare," Wanda said. "We strengthen the wards around this cottage. We make plans for what happens if the Ministry comes for Harry. We figure out legal strategies, political strategies, every possible angle of attack."
"An' we raise Harry," Agnes added firmly. "We keep lovin' him, feedin' him, teachin' him. We dinnae let fear o' what might happen stop us from givin' him a guid life."
"Agnes is wise," Sirius said.
"Agnes is practical," Agnes corrected. "Now sit down, both o' ye. Ye've had a stressful day o' threatenin' powerful wizards. Have some stew an' tell me the whole story. Every detail."
So they did. Sat around the kitchen table—family, in every way that mattered—and recounted the confrontation. Wanda described Dumbledore's face when the Cloak flew through the portal. Sirius imitated Moody's growl when he turned on Dumbledore. Agnes laughed at all the right moments and gasped at others.
And Harry, oblivious to the political chaos his existence had caused, dozed against Wanda's shoulder and dreamed baby dreams of games and toys and people who loved him.
Outside, the first stars were emerging in the winter sky. The wards around the cottage pulsed with protective magic—not just the wards Wanda had created, but something older. Something that recognized love and family and defended them fiercely.
Magic always recognized what mattered.
And in that cottage, what mattered was clear: a woman who'd traveled across universes to save a child, a man who'd been saved himself in the process, a baby who deserved better than prophecy and manipulation, and a woman who'd found freedom in helping others find it.
Not a perfect family. Not a traditional one.
But family nonetheless.
And anyone who tried to break them would learn exactly why you didn't threaten a Scarlet Witch's child.
---
**The Leaky Cauldron, Private Room**
**January 16th, 1982 - 3:25 PM**
Silence had fallen after Wanda and Sirius left. Dumbledore stood by the window, staring out at Diagon Alley without really seeing it. His hand kept moving to his pocket, reaching for the wand that was no longer there.
The Elder Wand. Gone. Taken in a duel he hadn't even realized was happening until it was over.
He'd held that wand for decades. Won it from Grindelwald in their final confrontation, the duel that had ended a reign of terror and cost Albus everything he'd hoped for. He'd kept it secret, kept it safe, used it only when absolutely necessary.
And Wanda Maximoff had disarmed him as casually as if she were practicing first-year charms.
"Albus," Moody said. His voice was hard. "We need to talk."
"I don't think there's anything to discuss," Dumbledore said quietly. "You've made your positions quite clear."
"Oh, we're just getting started," Moody said. "Sit down."
It wasn't a request. After a moment, Dumbledore moved to the table and sat. Moody and Remus sat across from him, and for the first time in a very long time, Albus Dumbledore felt like he was the one being interrogated.
"How long?" Remus asked quietly. "How long have you been planning Harry's life?"
"I wasn't planning—"
"Don't lie to me, Albus." Remus's voice cracked. "Please. After everything—after losing James and Lily, after losing Peter to treachery and Sirius to imprisonment—don't lie to me about this. How long have you been manipulating Harry's future?"
Dumbledore was silent for a long moment. "Since the prophecy was made," he admitted finally. "Since Trelawney spoke the words that defined Harry's fate."
"Define or dictate?" Moody asked.
"Both. Neither." Dumbledore rubbed his temples. "The prophecy was clear: the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord would be born at the end of July, and either he or Voldemort would kill the other. I didn't create that fate. I only tried to prepare Harry for it."
"By leaving him with the Dursleys," Remus said. "By ensuring he'd grow up hating his life, desperate for escape. By making sure that when you offered him Hogwarts, magic, a place to belong—he'd be so grateful he'd do anything you asked."
"I left him with Lily's blood protection—"
"Which could have been maintained other ways," Moody interrupted. "Ms. Maximoff was right about that. The aunt didn't have to be Harry's primary caretaker. She could have visited, maintained the connection, while Harry lived somewhere he was actually wanted."
"The protection is strongest when—"
"When the child suffers," Remus finished bitterly. "When he's so miserable he can't wait to leave. That's the real reason, isn't it? You needed Harry desperate. Needed him to see you as salvation."
"I needed him strong," Dumbledore said. His voice was tired. "I needed him able to face darkness because he'd survived it. The prophecy was clear—one of them had to die. I was trying to give Harry every possible advantage."
"Except love," Moody said flatly. "Except family. Except a fucking childhood where he wasn't being groomed for sacrifice."
"I never wanted him to die—"
"But you thought he might have to," Remus said. "You looked at that prophecy, at the possibility that Harry would need to sacrifice himself to defeat Voldemort, and you decided that was acceptable. As long as Voldemort died too, as long as the greater good was served, Harry's death would be worth it."
Dumbledore wanted to deny it. Wanted to say that he'd always hoped for another way, always believed Harry could survive. But the words wouldn't come. Because Remus was right. He'd looked at that prophecy and accepted that Harry Potter might have to die to save the world.
"The greater good," Moody said. The words dripped with contempt. "How many times have I heard you use that phrase, Albus? How many times have you justified horror in its name?"
"I've made difficult choices—"
"You've made *easy* choices," Moody corrected. "Easy because you weren't the one suffering. You weren't the one in Azkaban or growing up abused or walking to your death. You just decided other people's suffering was acceptable and moved on with your plans."
"That's not fair—"
"Fair?" Remus's voice rose. "You left Sirius in Azkaban without a trial! You left Harry with abusive relatives! You were planning to contest guardianship so you could keep controlling a child who isn't even yours! Where's the fairness in any of that?"
"Sirius—"
"Is my best friend's brother in all but blood," Remus interrupted. "Is the man who would have died for James without hesitation. Is Harry's rightful guardian according to James and Lily's will. And you threw him away like garbage the moment it became convenient."
"I thought he was guilty—"
"You thought it was easier," Moody said. "Easier to believe he was guilty than to question the system. Easier to let him rot than to fight for justice. Easier to control Harry's placement than to honor his parents' wishes."
Dumbledore looked between them—two of his most trusted allies, two men who'd fought beside him in war—and saw only disappointment and anger.
"What would you have had me do?" he asked quietly. "The prophecy existed. Voldemort targeted Harry specifically. I had to prepare him, had to give him every advantage—"
"By breaking him first," Remus said. "That's what you were doing. Breaking him so you could rebuild him into your perfect weapon. Except now Ms. Maximoff has ruined your plans. She's destroyed the Horcruxes, killed Voldemort permanently, taken the Cloak and the Wand. She's made Harry safe without your help. And you can't forgive that."
"She's dangerous—"
"So are you," Moody said flatly. "Maybe more dangerous, because you convince yourself everything you do is for the greater good. At least Ms. Maximoff is honest about what she's doing. She's protecting her son. No manipulation, no grand schemes. Just a mother defending her child."
"He's not her son—"
"He is now," Remus said softly. "You heard him at Christmas, Albus. I heard it from Frank and Alice. Harry calls her Mama. He loves her. She's the mother he knows, the one who feeds him and plays with him and makes him feel safe. Biology doesn't change that."
"And Sirius is his father in every way that matters," Moody added. "The man who would have raised him if you hadn't interfered. The man who loves that boy more than his own life." He leaned forward. "They're his parents now. Really, truly. And you need to accept that."
"I can't," Dumbledore said. The words escaped before he could stop them. "I can't just accept that an unknown woman with unprecedented power has taken Harry Potter and hidden him away. That she's done things to his magic we can't even measure. That she's changed the entire future I was trying to navigate. How am I supposed to just... accept that?"
"By letting go," Remus said gently. "By accepting that you don't control everything. That sometimes people make their own choices, and those choices are valid even if they're not what you would have chosen."
"She destroyed all the Horcruxes," Dumbledore said. "Seven of them, scattered across Britain, each one hidden and protected. She destroyed them all in a single moment with magic I don't understand. What else can she do? What else has she already done that we don't know about?"
"Does it matter?" Moody asked. "The Horcruxes needed to be destroyed. The war needed to end. Harry needed to be safe. She accomplished all of that. Be grateful."
"I am grateful," Dumbledore said. "But I'm also terrified. Power like hers—reality warping, soul magic, the ability to simply declare something and have it be—that's beyond anything I've encountered. If she decides to change other things, if she starts rewriting reality to suit herself—"
"Then we'll deal with it," Moody said. "But right now, all she's done is protect a child and end a war. Until she gives us actual reason to believe she's a threat, we treat her like an ally."
"Even though she threatened me," Dumbledore said quietly. "Even though she said she'd 'make sure I could never interfere with anyone again' if I tried to help Harry."
"Help?" Remus's voice was sharp. "Is that what you're calling it? Help? Albus, you were planning to contest Sirius's custody. Planning to take Harry away from people who love him. That's not help. That's control."
"I was trying to protect him—"
"From what?" Remus stood abruptly. "From love? From family? From a chance at a normal childhood? The only thing you were protecting him from was the freedom to choose his own fate."
"The prophecy—"
"Is void," Moody said. "Ms. Maximoff made sure of that. Voldemort is dead. Permanently. Which means Harry doesn't have to face him. Doesn't have to make the choice the prophecy predicted. He's free."
"And that terrifies you," Remus said, understanding dawning. "Harry being free terrifies you because it means you can't shape him into what you need him to be. Can't use him as your weapon against the darkness. Can't continue the pattern you started with Tom Riddle and perfected with me, with Severus, with everyone you've ever 'guided.'"
"That's not—" Dumbledore's protest died. Because it was true, at least partially. He'd spent decades guiding talented young wizards, helping them channel their power, their pain, their potential into service of the greater good. And yes, sometimes that guidance had been... manipulative. But it had been necessary. Hadn't it?
"I think I'm done," Remus said quietly. "I think I'm done trusting you blindly, Albus. Done assuming you know best. Done letting you make decisions for all of us without question."
He moved to the door, then paused. "If you try to take Harry from Sirius and Wanda—if you make any move against them at all—I'll stand with them. Not you. Do you understand?"
Dumbledore nodded slowly.
"Good." Remus left, the door closing behind him with quiet finality.
Moody stood more slowly. "I'm not done with you," he said. "But I'm also not going to let you hurt that boy. Harry Potter deserves better than to be your next project. Your next weapon. Your next sacrifice for the greater good."
"What would you have me do?" Dumbledore asked. "Simply step aside? Let Ms. Maximoff raise him however she likes, with power I don't understand and methods I can't predict?"
"Yes," Moody said simply. "That's exactly what I'd have you do. Step aside. Let them be a family. And if you can't do that—if your need for control is so strong you can't let go even now—then at least have the decency to stay away. Don't make this a war. You'll lose, and Harry will be caught in the middle."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's advice. From someone who's watched you make mistakes for decades and stayed loyal anyway." Moody's magical eye fixed on Dumbledore with unnerving intensity. "I'm not loyal to your plans anymore, Albus. I'm loyal to doing what's right. And what's right is letting Harry Potter grow up loved and safe. Even if the woman providing that safety terrifies me."
He headed for the door, then paused like Remus had. "One more thing. The Elder Wand. You said it was too dangerous for the wrong hands. But you were wielding it for decades. Were your hands the right ones?"
Dumbledore had no answer.
Moody left.
And Albus Dumbledore sat alone in the private room, surrounded by empty chairs and shattered plans, wondering when exactly he'd become the villain of his own story.
---
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