Three voices stuttered in unison. “D-D-Dumbledore?”

“None other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,” said the old man serenely as he struggled to crawl into view. His long, white beard was a little more tangled than usual, and his half-moon glasses were perched rather lopsidedly on his crooked nose, but he looked otherwise like his usual self. “Were you expecting somebody else from under the bed this morning?”

“No,” faltered Harry, as he stared at Dumbledore in disbelief. “It’s just that, well, I thought you were dead.”

“Dead? What a funny fancy!” chuckled Dumbledore as he got to his feet.

“Does this mean you’re staying at Hogwarts?” gasped Ron.

“Of course,” said Dumbledore good-naturedly. “What did you think I was going to do with myself, go off to become the Minister of Magic?”

“But I saw Snape murder you,” said Harry, who still couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Dumbledore corrected him. “But I must say, I do enjoy your sense of humor. And now, let us talk seriously.” He sat on the bed and spread out his hands in front of him so that the tips of his fingers were touching. “I have been rather overly busy in the last several weeks. Tell me honestly: were you worried about me not keeping in touch with you all this time?”

“How could I have been worried? You were dead! Everybody knows it!”

“Of course that’s what everybody else thought, but I would have assumed that someone with your ingenuity knew better,” said Dumbledore patiently. “Did you not put together the clues?”

“What clues?”

“Quite clearly, Peter Pettigrew, who had recently come back to our side, was posted at the top of the astronomy tower disguised as me with Polyjuice Potion. After I got up there with you, he quickly replaced me as I became invisible, which I told you I could do without an Invisibility Cloak back in your first year, did I not? The clues were there, as I said… So poor Professor Snape mistakenly believed that he was murdering me, when actually, he was giving Wormtail the death that he had so narrowly escaped from some fifteen years previously. Meanwhile, I lurked in the shadows, jumped down to the ground, and performed a complex charm on the dead body to make it remain permanently in the form of yours truly.”

“But you weren’t very well, were you, Professor?” said Hermione. “Not after having recently drunk that potion of Voldemort’s.”

“I must admit, I was definitely not up to my usual level of vigor for the remainder of that evening,” said Dumbledore. “However, a few square meals afterwards did the trick. Anyway, enough about me. Have your holidays been satisfactory so far?”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked at each other.

“Well, given that Voldemort is still on the loose and I’ve still come no closer to destroying any more of his Horcruxes, I suppose things could be worse,” said Harry finally. “And yours, sir?”

“Not so spectacular. I’m afraid that I have rather a lot on my mind these days,” said Dumbledore gravely. “Apart from anything else, I once again need to find a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It’s a shame that the Ministry is trying to arrest Professor Snape and that I can’t let him back in to teach.”

“Wait a minute,” said Harry suddenly. “You’re not telling me that you still think Snape’s on our side? Sir?” he added quickly.

“Alas, poor Severus,” sighed Dumbledore. “I see what you’re getting at, Harry. Obviously, after having seen him attempt to kill me, you think that he is no longer trustworthy. But you see, it turns out that it was all a big misunderstanding. Professor Snape and I had agreed on a secret body signal that would indicate that I had a way to block the Avada Kedavra curse and that it was okay for him to attempt to use it on me to keep his cover in front of the Death Eaters. The problem is that there was no time to inform Wormtail of the signal. And so when Wormtail, in my body, inadvertently allowed his left foot to move forward three inches at a thirty degree angle from the perpendicular, Professor Snape interpreted it as the signal and felt that he had no choice but to aim the killing curse at him. Professor Snape explained everything to me yesterday and apologized, and then I decided it was a good idea to come visit here and see how you three were getting on.”

He beamed at Harry, Ron, and Hermione as though he wanted nothing more in life than to see them all standing there with their mouths open in front of him.

“And now, I had better make my presence known to Arthur and Molly. I will see you at Hogwarts on September first. And don’t forget, if you run across any object that appears to have a sliver of Voldemort’s soul in it, make sure to send me an owl as soon as you can.” He straightened his robes and swept from the room.

The news that Dumbledore was alive spread quickly throughout the wizarding world. Most people greeted it with happiness, although there were a few notable exceptions. Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic, was caught in public muttering under his breath about how he had “thought we were finally rid of that bothersome, stubborn, old codger,” and raised somewhat of an uproar with this remark. Several judges interviewed him in the Wizengamot, and the scandal was only resolved when Scrimgeour managed to convince them that he had meant it in the kindest way possible.

Soon it was Harry’s birthday, the day when he would turn seventeen and finally become of age in the wizarding world. On the morning of his birthday, Mrs. Weasley asked him what he would like to do that day.

“I dunno,” Harry mused, poking his fork in his bacon. Then he was struck by a brilliant idea.

“I know what I want to do today!” he said. “I want to visit the Dursleys!”

“What was that, dear?” said Mrs. Weasley.

“I want to go to Privet Drive and visit the Dursleys,” Harry said clearly.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked at each other.

“Are you sure you feel all right this morning, Harry?” said Mr. Weasley nervously. “Maybe you want to go back to bed and get some rest?”

“I know it, it’s my fault, I should have known that all that treacle pudding last night would be bad for him,” fretted Mrs. Weasley. “Maybe we should check him into St. Mungo’s quickly?”

“I’m serious,” said Harry. “I can legally do magic outside of school now, can’t I? So I want to visit the Dursleys and show them a few tricks.”

He looked at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley expectantly. Mrs. Weasley looked doubtful, but a slow grin was unfurling on Mr. Weasley’s face.

“Excellent idea, Harry!” beamed Mr. Weasley. “I’ll go with you! I’ve been wanting to examine some more of those eckeltric appliances again.”

Mrs. Weasley frowned disapprovingly at both of them, but Mr. Weasley was already clutching Harry’s hand, saying, “We’d better do this by side-along Apparition, you know, since you’re not legal to Apparate yet.”

A few uncomfortable seconds later, Harry was once again standing in his bedroom at the Dursley’s, this time with Mr. Weasley holding onto him. He could see that the window had been replaced, but otherwise nothing had changed. There were voices coming from below.

“So I’m sure that you’ll be glad to be finally rid of the boy, Arabella,” Harry heard Aunt Petunia say as he crept downstairs, Mr. Weasley at his heels.

“Oh, no!” cried a voice Harry recognized as belonging to Mrs. Figg, the batty old neighbor who also happened to be a Squib. “I don’t know what I’ll be able to do in the summers when I can’t have Harry over for tea! I guess I’ll just keep on inviting myself to your place…”

Harry arrived on the scene to see the Dursleys looking uncomfortably at each other while Mrs. Figg, who clearly hadn’t thought to change out of her slippers that morning, grinned at them. Then suddenly, all three adults turned and saw Harry and Mr. Weasley.

“You!” roared Uncle Vernon. “What part of not wanting to see your disorderly-looking head in this house again didn’t you understand?”

Harry couldn’t stifle an enormous grin. “What you actually said was not to let you see me at your doorstep again, and I haven’t been on your doorstep.”

Mr. Weasley hitched an awkward grin onto his face as Uncle Vernon began to swell up in fury. “Er, don’t mind me,” he said timidly. “I’ll just go and have a look at, erm, your macrowave.” But nobody took any notice of him.

“I thought I taught you a lesson about getting smart with me!” shouted Uncle Vernon at Harry, and he leapt forward with his arm extended, as though preparing to throttle Harry, but Harry took his wand out and pointed it straight at him.

“Be very careful,” said Harry quietly. “I can use magic now because I’m seventeen.”

“I guess we should have tried harder to remember his birthday,” muttered Aunt Petunia.

Harry raised his wand and thought, “Levicorpus!” At once, Uncle Vernon was levitated several feet into the air, where he stayed, his face steadily turning the color of an overripe plum. Harry flicked his wand and wordlessly let him down again.

“Now apologize!” shouted Harry, “or I’ll do it again!”

Uncle Vernon’s face was still purple with a mixture of both fury and terror. He began to rip and tear at his bushy moustache, seemingly subconsciously. Finally, he said, in a trembling voice, “Apologize for what, may I ask?”

“Hmm… let’s start with how you treated me this summer.”

“I apologize,” said Uncle Vernon, breathing hard. “Will you go now?”

“Wait a minute, you think we’re already done?” laughed Harry. “Oh no, no, no! Next, I want you to apologize for how you treated me last summer!”

Uncle Vernon became more agitated, but after a few minutes of stuttering, he finally said, “All right, I apologize!”

“And the summer before!”

“Whatever you say,” moaned Uncle Vernon. “I’ll apologize for that, too! I’m sorry for all the summers, now just go away!”

“We’re only barely started,” said Harry. “Let’s get into how you treated me during all the school years that I had to live with you!”

“I’m sorry for those, too!” Uncle Vernon cried out. There was now a pile of pieces of moustache lying at his feet. “Just go, and I won’t bother you again!”

“Okay, now I want you to apologize for letting Aunt Marge’s dog chase me up that tree.”

“Now �“ now that’s going too far,” stammered Uncle Vernon, trying to wave a finger at him. “It was for your own �“ “

“Harry, no!” shrieked Mrs. Figg, but Harry paid no attention. He shot a spell at Uncle Vernon that forced him into the wall, clutching his neck.

“I’m s-s-sorry,” choked Uncle Vernon.

“You don’t sound like you mean it,” said Harry mercilessly.

“I mean it!” Uncle Vernon squeaked out.

“Good,” said Harry, letting him go.

Uncle Vernon collapsed at Harry’s feet as Harry turned to Aunt Petunia. “Now it’s your turn.”

Aunt Petunia looked at Harry seriously and said, “I suppose it’s time to explain a few things to you. You see, there’s more to me than you’ve ever been aware of.” And without any warning, she turned into an old, thin, dirty man with a long beard, the man who worked behind the bar at the Hog’s Head.

“I’ve never introduced myself to you properly,” said this personage, extending a grimy hand to a speechless Harry. “Aberforth Dumbledore. I am a little hurt that Albus informed you of his livelihood before coming to his own brother.”

Uncle Vernon, who was clearly having a very bad day, cried out, “P-P-Petunia! How could I not have known…?!”

Aberforth Dumbledore turned to Uncle Vernon with an angry expression on his face. “I worked every day during the day hours in Hogsmeade, but of course you spent so much time at work, ignoring your own wife, that you never realized I was gone. And you didn’t even notice me drinking the Polyjuice Potion every hour. If you wish to file for divorce, I will gladly cooperate.”

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth in an effort to speak and fell into a dead faint.

“I suppose it won’t be easy to tell Dudley,” grunted Aberforth to nobody in particular, as Harry heard two cracking noises behind him. He turned and found himself face-to-face with Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic, accompanied by his predecessor, Cornelius Fudge.

“Hello, Harry,” said Fudge, smiling at Harry in a fatherly, although awkward, manner and taking off his green bowler hat. “Er, nice day?”

“So,” said Scrimgeour, leaning on his staff and looking sternly at Harry. “You may be of age now, but are you aware that there are still laws against performing magic in front of Muggles?”

Harry felt like banging his head against the wall. How could he have forgotten?

“So let’s see,” said Scrimgeour, thinking to himself. “This will mean that you are expelled from Hogwarts and must attend another hearing in order to determine how many months you should stay in Azkaban.”

“But it’s my birthday,” pleaded Harry. “Can’t I be given a break, Minister?”

“Wait a minute,” said Fudge, turning to Scrimgeour and fidgeting with his bowler hat. “Do you think that, er, maybe we should give young Harry a chance to get out of this, er, rather severe punishment? He is the Chosen One, after all…”

“All right,” said Scrimgeour after thinking for a moment. “Potter, I will drop all charges against you if you… let’s see… if you will retract your claim of being ‘Dumbledore’s man through and through’.”

Harry thought for a moment.

“Okay, I’m not Dumbledore’s man through and through,” said Harry to a look of triumph on the Minister’s battle-scarred face. Luckily, nobody could see that he had his fingers crossed behind him.

“Very well,” said Scrimgeour smoothly. “You are once again cleared of all charges. Now, I can perform further services for you if you’ll just release a public statement saying that you approve of my leadership…”

“Wait, I don’t feel ready to go that far yet,” said Harry nervously.

“Very well,” said Scrimgeour again, although he was clearly having trouble containing his frustration. “Cornelius, I think we had better be going now to deal with that rally of the Deathly Hallows over in Oxford.”

“Excuse me,” began Harry, “but what exactly are �““

But Scrimgeour and Fudge Disapparated just as Mr. Weasley entered the room holding a lightbulb.

“I finally figured out how to remove it!” he said triumphantly. Then his eyes fell upon Mrs. Figg and Aberforth Dumbledore, who were staring stupidly down at the lifeless form of Uncle Vernon. “Er, did I miss something?”

Harry smiled at the look of confusion on Mr. Weasley’s face and said, “No, nothing much.”