Harry Potter: Returning from Azeroth

Ignoring James Potter's taunts, the grim-faced man—let's just call him Snape—hurried forward eagerly at the sound of Lily Potter's call. So eager was he that he failed to notice the garden fence of the Dursley residence and walked straight into it.

Snape frowned at the offending fence in irritation before performing a short-range Apparition—just half a meter—right into the garden.

"... Is it really you?" Snape's lips moved as though he had countless things to say, but he ultimately pressed them into a tight line, suppressing his emotions.

Harry observed Snape's eyes. They seemed hollow, unfathomably deep, as though they were voids consuming all light.

Meanwhile, James Potter's spectral form zipped back and forth through Snape's body, his actions clearly intended to punish the man for his unwavering fixation on Lily.

Unfortunately, it wasn't working.

Snape ignored both James's ghostly presence and the icy sensations of his spectral form, keeping his focus entirely on Lily's spirit. This disregard only deepened James's frustration. Furious, James flew through Snape's body at an even faster pace.

The scene was so absurdly comical that it dispelled the earlier somber atmosphere, allowing Harry to exhale a small sigh of relief.

Harry glanced at Mrs. Figg in the distance. He recalled her as the odd old woman who had often babysat him when the Dursleys needed to leave him behind. Her house always smelled strongly of cabbage.

Now, it seemed Mrs. Figg was connected to the wizarding world somehow. Was she stationed nearby to monitor him—or protect him?

Probably protect, Harry thought. What about his younger self could possibly need monitoring?

Giving Mrs. Figg a polite nod, Harry turned back to the awkward tableau of Snape and the two ghosts. "Why don't we go inside and talk?" he suggested thoughtfully. "This is far too conspicuous."

After all, translucent spirits weren't exactly everyday sights for Muggles.

If Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia came home to find their living room hosting a wizard and two ghosts, they'd likely faint on the spot. Luckily, they were out for the day.

Inside the House

The energy shifted as soon as they entered the Dursleys' living room. Once they settled—though the ghosts floated rather than sat—the chaotic scene outside seemed to evaporate.

At Lily's gentle urging, Snape began to recount everything that had transpired in the years since her and James's deaths.

To say Snape was a poor storyteller would be an understatement. It seemed that articulating his feelings about these events was excruciating for him.

"... That's about it," Snape concluded, his tone dry and his gaze hollow. "After the Dark Lord vanished, things settled down. Over the years, I... followed Dumbledore's orders and became the Potions Master at Hogwarts."

"Ha!" James sneered. "The Dark Lord? Only someone like you would call him that. Why on earth would Dumbledore let you teach? Who knows what you might do to the students!"

"James!" Lily's tone was sharp, her maternal instincts evident as she tried to maintain some semblance of decorum for Harry's sake.

James, naturally exuberant and quick to anger, couldn't maintain the facade for long.

"No matter what I am," Snape retorted coldly, "I'm still better than someone who failed to protect his own wife and child. If you couldn't even do that, then—" He stopped himself abruptly, his fists clenching beneath his robes. Taking a deep breath, he regained his composure.

A heavy silence descended. Even James was left speechless, for Snape had struck a nerve. It was the truth James most regretted and could never undo.

"We... I... I trusted the wrong person," James finally admitted, his voice hoarse.

"Indeed. Gryffindor loyalty," Snape sneered. "Sirius Black. He betrayed Slytherin, and in the end, he betrayed you too."

"It wasn't Padfoot!!" James's shout reverberated. Through gritted teeth, he growled, "The real traitor was Wormtail! Peter!"

"... What?" Snape's breath caught.

This was why supernatural powers rendered detective work meaningless. When the dead themselves could name their killer, all investigations and deductions became moot.

"Sirius wasn't the traitor," James said mournfully. "Lupin... well, you know how he is. At the time, neither Sirius nor I felt we could fully trust him. Everyone believed Sirius was our Secret-Keeper. Then one day, Sirius came to me with a plan: to switch to someone no one would ever suspect."

"... Peter?" Snape's voice trembled with barely restrained fury.

"Then why did that idiot Black spend all those years in Azkaban? Why didn't he say a word?!" Snape demanded, his anger erupting. "After you died, he blew up a street and all they found of Peter was a finger! He's a war hero who even received the Order of Merlin!"

"Maybe... it was guilt," Lily said softly, tears glistening in her spectral eyes.

Everyone present understood. The hardest burden to bear was often one's own guilt.

"Can I interrupt for a second?" Harry tilted his head. "Who are you even talking about?"

"Oh, my boy, it's all in the past. You don't need to worry about it," James said, forcing a smile as he looked at Harry. "I just realized... if all goes well, you might not have to stay here anymore."

James's gaze swept over the modest surroundings.

"If Sirius were still alive, he'd be your godfather—and we all know he was innocent!" James's expression grew feverishly intense as he turned to Snape, sending a shiver up the man's spine.

"Snape?" James's tone was sweet—almost sickeningly so. "Severus? The greatest Slytherin of them all?"

"Enough. Shut up," Snape snarled, spitting the words through gritted teeth. "That idiot... the idiot of all idiots!"

After finally uncovering what had truly transpired behind the scenes all those years ago, Snape could barely mention the name of that man—who thought himself so clever—without feeling like he might explode.

So it was—so it was!!!

"In the entire wizarding world, it seems we were the only ones who believed he was innocent," Snape said impassively. "What they need is evidence, not just my word for it."

"But you'll help, won't you, Severus?" Lily said softly. "Look at this child—so frail. Petunia hasn't raised him well at all. He deserves a better home… Severus."

The Dursleys' mantel was crowded with photographs, yet not a single one of Harry. In stark contrast, the pictures of Dudley depicted a robust, well-fed boy—a glaring difference from the frail child sitting here.

"… I will," Snape solemnly promised as he gazed at Lily's soul.

"Pardon me?" Harry interjected. "I don't really know the full history between you all, but from my perspective, I don't need someone suddenly stepping into my life, acting like a guardian and meddling in my business—I've got my own plans."

"Oh, Harry, of course, of course," James said with a sorrowful look at his son. "Sirius is a good man; you won't see him as some overbearing adult figure."

"Right, more like an energetic, foolish dog," Snape added snidely. "Always bounding around—such a typical Gryffindor."

"Anyway, you definitely shouldn't stay here," James said, choosing to ignore Snape's remark given the current circumstances. He placed an imaginary arm around Harry's shoulder. "You ought to live in the Potter family's ancestral home! Trust me, Harry, all the good stuff's there. Without bloodline verification, no one else could access our vaults. You didn't think we'd leave the truly valuable items at Gringotts, did you? Goblins!"

"Got it," Harry nodded. "That does sound pretty great."

An ancient family inheritance, coupled with answers to some of Harry's lingering questions about goblins.

"And perhaps we should factor in the Black family fortune too," Snape said, glancing at Lily. "If that foolish dog does manage to get out, he'll surely spoil this child rotten."

"It's alright, Severus," Lily said gently, looking at her childhood friend. "You'll still be here, won't you?"

"… You must have been through so much all these years…"

Her words, so tender, warmed Snape's heart like sunlight breaking through winter's chill. He held his breath instinctively.

He looked at Lily, and Lily gazed back at him with a look full of compassion. For a moment, Snape felt as if he had been transported back decades—to that afternoon. The sunlight bathed her face as she turned to look at him, her lips moving as if speaking words he could no longer hear.

"I will, Lily," Snape rasped, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I swear it."

A knock came at the door.

Harry got up to answer it. To no one's great surprise, Albus Dumbledore stood outside.

"Good afternoon, my boy. If I said 'long time no see,' would that be too abrupt?" Dumbledore said cheerfully, just as lively as when they'd first met days ago.

"Good afternoon, Headmaster Dumbledore. Please, come in," Harry stepped aside.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said with a nod as he stepped inside, speaking as he walked. "Apologies for our unexpected visit, but you've likely realized by now that Mrs. Figg has been quietly protecting you all these years. I hope you don't hold it against her—your safety is a matter of great importance to the entire wizarding world."

"Of course, it was Mrs. Figg who alerted us after noticing you performing a mysterious magical ritual earlier today and detecting its effects. Honestly, I should have come myself, but the Ministry summoned me for urgent matters. I had no choice but to send our Potions Master in my place—oh?"

Dumbledore stopped mid-sentence, stunned.

"Well… this is… quite the unexpected reunion, isn't it?" As he walked through the corridor and caught sight of the scene in the living room, understanding dawned on him. He glanced at Harry and winked. "It seems I've uncovered why our Potions Master has been slow to respond, haven't I?"

"Long time no see, James, Lily," Dumbledore said with delight. "At last, I can properly use that phrase. It seems you've had a marvelous adventure unbeknownst to us?"

"Indeed, Professor Dumbledore," James replied with a grin. "It's been the most wonderful adventure."

Shared experiences often lead to endless conversations after a long separation. There was so much for everyone to catch up on.

Meanwhile, Harry quietly listened, piecing together the events of the past from the fragments of information.

His father had three friends he treated as brothers, but the four of them had clashed with Professor Snape—largely because of his mother.

Harry decided to ignore the romantic entanglements of the previous generation. As someone with experience from another world, he was all too familiar with such things—even the Blood Elf Prince Kael'thas had once challenged him to a duel over similar issues.

Ultimately, his father had emerged victorious, and Harry, the child born from that union, had no complaints.

His family had been targeted by Voldemort because his father trusted the wrong person. One of those trusted brothers betrayed him, leading directly to their deaths.

Of the remaining two, one had wandered for years due to special circumstances, while the other, consumed by guilt, had punished himself by staying in prison—most astonishingly, the latter was Harry's godfather.

What could he say?

Harry could only reflect that behind every tale of suffering lies a story full of twists and turns.

"So that's how it was," Dumbledore murmured, deep in thought. "The events back then… now it all makes sense…"

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