Thursday. At the first hint of dawn, Harry climbed out of bed. After yawning, he dragged himself to the bathroom, exchanged a perfunctory greeting with Uncle Vernon, who was getting up early for work, and went inside.
Ten minutes later, Harry stepped out of the Dursley Residence.
As expected, a light drizzle was falling today. Harry smoothed back his hair, warmed up along the garden path, then began his morning run.
This had become part of his daily routine. A healthy, strong body was one of the marks of an outstanding wizard.
There were few people on the streets of Little Whinging. As a middle-class residential area, its security was considerably better. There were no young thugs staying out all night, nor any drunks wandering about at midnight.
Only the occasional birdcall broke the silence, making the place seem tranquil and peaceful.
But today, as Harry ran around a corner, he spotted an unfamiliar figure, who instantly caught his attention.
It was an elderly man dressed in layered silver-gray robes. Though his face was aged, he looked vigorous and alert, his back straight and his height well over six feet.
He wore a small purple cap, and his long silver hair and beard reached his waist. Yet they were not unkempt; it was clear that he groomed them regularly.
"A wizard!"
Harry recognized at a glance from the man's clothes that he was no ordinary person.
Sure enough, when the old man saw him, he gave him a warm, slight nod.
Harry returned it with a smile.
He must have noticed my scar, Harry thought. Without stopping, he adjusted his breathing and sped up slightly as he ran down the street.
"No, that's not right..."
His steps gradually slowed. He looked back at the empty street, yet the old man's appearance continued to linger in his mind.
"That man... I've seen him before..."
"Albus Dumbledore?!"
Harry finally remembered where he had seen him: on Chocolate Frog cards, and in the moving photographs in History of Modern Magic.
At once, everything Harry knew about Albus began surfacing in his mind.
Headmaster of Hogwarts, the greatest wizard, the one who had discovered the twelve uses of dragon's blood with Nicolas Flamel...
What was someone with such honors doing here?!
Elsewhere, Dumbledore watched Harry's retreating figure disappear, his mind heavy with thoughts. Then he turned and continued toward Privet Drive.
Before long, he arrived at the Dursley Residence. At that moment, Vernon Dursley, neatly dressed, stood outside the garage beside the house, about to start his beloved little red car.
He had clearly seen Dumbledore too, and quickly lowered his head, muttering irritably under his breath.
To him, seeing "that sort of person" so early in the morning was an omen of bad luck for the day.
Fortunately, that old man was not headed for his house.
After walking past another two houses, Dumbledore soon stopped in front of Number 6, Privet Drive.
Across the street stood the Number 13, Privet Drive written on the envelope!
At the same time, a neatly dressed man opened the front door and stepped out of the house.
He noticed Dumbledore as well.
In an instant, time itself seemed to slow. Their minds began racing, each displaying a long-dormant vitality and restlessness!
Vernon started his little car. On that drizzly morning, its round headlights shone toward them. Then the car drove between the two men.
The rolling tires splashed up water.
Within a single droplet, the two men's reflections crossed—
In an instant, blade after blade carrying incomparable force shot from Muen's side toward Dumbledore.
They were as fast as lightning.
Yet Dumbledore merely stood there. The space around him twisted without him appearing to move at all, and those blades had their trajectories warped, slashing toward the space behind him.
Houses shattered. Stones burst apart. A thunderous explosion rang through all of Little Whinging like lightning in broad daylight.
A wand appeared in Muen's hand, and he lightly tapped the ground twice.
The next moment, waves surged up from beneath him, spreading outward like a tsunami.
Dumbledore lowered his arm. Then the Elder Wand dropped into his hand. With a gentle wave, boundless flames swept around him, swirling and taking the form of a phoenix.
A constant crackling filled the air as the tsunami swept past.
The raging torrent crashed against the fire phoenix at tremendous speed, neither giving an inch!
The two of them were no longer standing on Privet Drive. They were clearly in an abyss beneath the sea, fighting an indescribable battle.
Then a yellow blur appeared in Dumbledore's hand. With a flick, he sent it flying. Unaffected in the slightest by the raging waters, it shot straight toward Muen.
Muen raised his brow, delight appearing on his face.
Finally, he's going to attack...
Then he watched as the object drew closer and closer, its speed steadily slowing.
Until, in the end, it became a letter and fell before Muen.
Muen raised a hand lightly. Water curled into the shape of an arm and gently picked up the envelope. A moment later, disappointment appeared on his face—
Pop.
The tiny, nearly imperceptible droplet that had reflected the two men burst like a firework.
Vernon drove his rumbling little red car away into the distance.
"Have you been number one for so long that you've lost even the most basic respect for other people?" Muen looked at him with a faint, mocking smile.
Dumbledore looked apologetic. Smiling, he nodded. "My sincerest apologies. I hope you can forgive an old man for the embarrassment of gradually losing control of his own thoughts."
"Heh. You don't look out of control to me. And casually invading someone else's mind hardly seems like something the greatest wizard of this century, as described in the books, would do." Muen sneered.
In that instant just now, the old man had intended to invade his mind.
It must have been the Legilimency recorded in the books.
Of course, Muen's mind was not defenseless. He had immediately pushed back with his own mental force and clashed with Dumbledore.
Dumbledore shook his head. "It was only a misunderstanding. You know, I was merely concerned for that child."
"If he'd heard you say that at any point during the first ten years of his life, I imagine he'd have been overjoyed." Muen smiled disdainfully.
At that, Dumbledore's expression darkened somewhat. He shook his head heavily. "You know, there are many things in this world that are inherently contradictory and cannot be reconciled. If he were not at the Dursley Residence, no one could protect him."
"Not even Hogwarts?" Muen looked somewhat surprised. Then he said, "Of course, I'm not saying it's your obligation. I'm simply curious. Is Voldemort really that capable?"
Dumbledore nodded somewhat despondently. "Even when Voldemort was still at school, he did many things behind my back. He was very clever, and he would stop at nothing.
"Even if that child had lived at Hogwarts from a young age, under my protection, he would not have been safe."
As he spoke, he looked at Muen. "Thank you. You are one of the few people who do not think so highly of me.
"I do not mean my magic, but myself."
"I feel the same pity for every person the world calls 'great,' because they are not allowed to make any mistakes," Muen said casually.
"Yes. But who can truly understand old men like us?" Dumbledore sighed in agreement.
Muen looked coldly at Dumbledore. "But don't hypocritically claim that you care about him. If you truly cared that much, you wouldn't only be meeting me now!!"
Of course, what angered him even more was Dumbledore's final remark.
Who's an old man with one foot already in the grave like you?
Before you continue