"Thank you. Those socks saved my life."
Not long after Harry Potter was discharged from the hospital wing, he sought out Albert and thanked him.
He knew that although the socks had been a gift from Sirius, Harry was well aware that Sirius did not have the brains or ability to rescue him from right under Voldemort's nose. Only Albert, with his gift of foresight, could have timed the activation of the Portkey so precisely.
Especially after Hermione and Ron had told him roughly what had happened, Harry became even more certain. Otherwise, why would The Weasley Family have insisted on staying at the Quidditch Pitch to wait for him?
"Here's a piece of well-meaning advice." As though he had not heard Harry Potter's thanks, Albert gazed calmly out the window. "People do not want to accept the truth."
"You want me to keep quiet, like Fudge does?"
Harry raised an eyebrow, recalling certain unpleasant things.
On the night he was brought back, Fudge had come to visit him, but it had not been a pleasant meeting. They had fallen out.
For the first time, Harry had seen Fudge's other face—ugly, twisted, revolting.
"Can't you smell the fear?"
Albert gestured for Harry to look at the students who were avoiding them, then reminded him, "Those who bring change usually do not die well, because they offend too many people."
"You think I should lie." Harry looked rather angry. He had come to thank Albert, not to listen to a lecture.
Just as Harry turned to leave, he heard Albert continue, "Looks like the lesson you got a few days ago was not enough."
"What do you mean?"
Harry stopped and forced himself to turn back.
He really wanted to walk away, but... sometimes it was better to stop and listen