Prologue

The dark wizard Grindelwald's stronghold in the caves of Southern Germany

1947

"The Muggles think it's a weather balloon, my Lord!" Ephemus Cackle gleefully laughed as Lombard Talbot, finished relating the results of his efforts.

"No, idiot!" sneered Grindelwald, as his minion shrank, "The Muggle population thinks it is a weather balloon! But, someone knows part of the truth -the Muggle Air Force. Yet, the plan worked! They know about the aliens, but have no clue about the involvement or existence of wizards. The longer we keep it that way, the better off we shall be."

"Yes," Talbot agreed. "So far, all the Muggle soldiers know is that it is an alien craft. What they are not aware of is who the aliens are or our part in the 'accident'!" Talbot accented the word "accident" with snide amusement. "So, now we wait?" he asked, looking at his master with impatience.

"Yes, Talbot, we wait." Grindelwald stood quickly from his chair. "Our main mission now is to keep Albus Dumbledore from knowing our plans with Kivar. If we can insure our secrecy, then we can finish the task, eventually…though it will take years. The Royal Four will need time to grow into their knowledge of who they are…and until we can find the pods or know who they are as humans, we can do nothing. Grindelwald paused, and, turning, gave his servants a disturbing smile. "But, our patience will pay off. If it works, true pureblood wizards will have an unfailing ally!"

Chapter 1

London: 12 Grimmauld Place

Present day

Albus Dumbledore paced the living room. His white beard shivered with concentration as his friend, Arthur Weasley, leaned against the fire place, waiting patiently.

"I am deeply disturbed by what I see. I know these youngsters are not part of the wizarding world, and therefore, should be no business of mine, but, I have spent years looking into the connection between Grindelwald and Roswell, New Mexico. I have had bad leads in the past, but recently I heard through my Muggle contacts that the FBI Special Unit tried to murder these youngsters at their high school graduation. I have this feeling it's all related somehow."

Dumbledore stopped his pacing and sat down hard in the nearest purple cushy armchair, which protested loudly with an emphatic "oomph!" Ignoring the chair, Dumbledore began rubbing his forehead in deep thought.

"Dumbledore… I know you want to help these children and find out what they know, but we have our own world to think about. How do we know we're not letting in trouble, especially without Ministry approval? And what's a high school...is there a low school? " Dumbledore responded slightly by chuckling under his breath.

Arthur jerked suddenly and quickly sat in the adjacent armchair and added, "Unless…"

Dumbledore, ending his silent reverie, looked up interestedly at the younger man.

"What is it, Arthur?"

"Well, what if we find out, not by bringing them here and exposing ourselves, but by using spies placed in strategic places…members of the order watching over them? At least until we know it's safer."

Dumbledore looked slightly less worried at this suggestion.

"Well, of course we must ask them, first. This mission would involve them traveling to America…they have never been required to do that before…and of course it is the only time the Order would not been used to fight Voldemort or protect Harry." Dumbledore stopped, and sniffing the air, he rose from his chair (which now let out a very relieved "ahhhhh!") and turned to Arthur, who had shivered slightly at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, looking jolly once more.

"Let us ask them over a plate of Molly's delicious stew, shall we?"

In a currently blue van somewhere in Georgia

"Hey, Michael, can we pull over soon?" Liz Parker-Evans jumped up and down like a little girl in the back seat. "I really have to make it to a bathroom."

"What is it with girls on road trips?" Michael Guerin said to himself sarcastically. He was in a terrible mood. He had been at the wheel for four hours now. When was someone else going to drive? Kyle hadn't had a turn since the morning before, the useless human S.O.B.

He looked over to the passenger side. His friend and fellow alien, Max, was busy pondering over a map of the United States. O.K.-no conversation there. It was aggravating traveling with Max Evans. When he wasn't being moody and serious, he was snogging his new wife, Liz, in that soppy I-only-have-eyes-for-you soul mate kinda way. He guessed it came with the territory with an ex-King of Antar. The guy always took everyone else as his responsibility and always felt guilty, as if it was his fault that the three humans in the car were in this mess.

Michael looked in the rear view mirror. His girlfriend, Maria DeLuca, seemed to be in another world entirely, eyes closed, mouth moving wordlessly as she listened to whatever was on the headphones. Liz was sitting next to Maria, writing in her journal. Max's sister and the only female alien in the group, Isabel Ramirez was sleeping on Kyle Valenti's lap while he snored with his mouth open and drooling.

Michael felt the kindest towards Isabel. She was the only one in the van who had to leave a significant other behind. Jesse, her husband, was the only one of them that the Special Unit didn't suspect as an alien, though their were really only three aliens in the group, so he had gone to Boston to take a new job and wait for the day he and Isabel could be together again. She didn't know it, but Michael had heard her crying every night.

Kyle Valenti was just a pain in the ass. Kyle was the Sheriff's son and the sheriff had been a good friend and a helpful ally. Michael felt bad that Kyle may never see his dad again, but then again, most of the group (except him) was in that position. But, Kyle was way too upbeat and if he started spewing any more Buddhist philosophy, Michael would not be responsible for what he'd do to him.

"Michael!" Liz whined, pausing in her writing. "Come on…I really have to go!"

"All right! There's an exit coming up in about a mile. Isabel...Kyle! Wake up! Somebody get Maria's attention." Michael reached behind the seat to slap Kyle hard on the knee, which induced a loud "owww! Jesus, Michael!"

Michael took the next exit and stopped at the nearest gas station. Everyone got out and stretched. Liz, Maria, and Isabel made their way to the bathroom, while Michael, Kyle, and Max went to fuel the van and stock up on junk food.

As they entered the store, Max whispered, "Michael, we shouldn't hang out too long…I mean, it was only two days ago that we had to lose the Special Unit…AGAIN. They're probably hot on our trail."

"Max, be realistic. You really can't expect us all to stay in that van forever. We have to stop at some point! You didn't seem all bothered when we stopped at that little church so you could marry Liz. Besides, I changed the color of the van again…they still think it's purple! We're fine." Michael gave his good friend an exasperated look.

Somewhere on the chip aisle of the convenience store, Max grabbed Michael's arm and turned his ex-second-in-command towards him.

"Not if you keep using your powers like an idiot!" He looked around quickly to make sure no one overheard.

"How else are we supposed to cover our tracks, Maximillian?" Michael liked to use that nickname for Max when he was being exasperatingly royal. "Maybe you still like to pretend you're totally human…but, personally, I like to take advantage of what we can do to stay alive." Kyle appeared suddenly, his arms full of beverages, and looked back and forth from Michael to Max.

"You'd feel a little different if you had dreams of being back in that White Room. I go through it every night, Michael. I can tell you…you'd be a little more reluctant to show off." Max said, ignoring Kyle. Max thought that Michael didn't take things seriously enough. Michael was the sort of person who acted now and asked questions later. Of course Michael thought that Max was too secretive and definitely too comfortable with ignoring his alien side, especially since his rescue from the White Room, where he had been interrogated and tortured physically and emotionally. Plus, he had a tendency to take every problem totally onto himself. Needless to say, this was not their first argument.

"What are we talking about, Gentlemen?" Kyle asked lightly, trying to change the tense atmosphere.

"Nothing." Michael stormed out of the store, his mood now worse.

"Is it just me or does he always do that after a conversation with you, Max?" Kyle chided his friend good-naturedly. "Here…have a Yahoo."

"Yahoo?" Max reluctantly took the chocolate drink.

"Yeah…you know, on this planet, we like chocolate." Kyle grabbed Max's shoulder and steered him toward the counter. "I think the girls have made it back alive, so let's get going, huh?"

The girls were standing outside by the store entrance when Kyle and Max walked out.

"Hey, you two. We'll be there in a sec. This lady just needs some directions." Maria smiled sweetly at a very odd woman, while Max gave her a warning look. He definitely thought this lady was strange. I mean, for one thing, she certainly did NOT know how to dress. She looked to be about eighty years old. She was wearing a coat in 90 degree weather and was holding a ratty carpet bag, out of which he could hear what sounded like the scratching and mewing of a cat. Her boots came up to her knees and her violently pink skirt certainly didn't match the violently chartreuse shirt with stars on it. Looking at her was like looking at a drunken kaleidoscope. But, the thing that really bothered him was the fact that she kept looking every one of them over sharply, as if memorizing them for use later.

"Oh my…I really don't mean to be a bother, but I'm not from around here. My! Aren't you the handsome prince!" She gave Max a little wink and a pinch on the cheek. Her speech was very British. "I'll let you youngsters get going…you seem to be in such a hurry. Shame, too! This young lady is so pleasant!" The lady patted Maria on the cheek. "You children stay safe, and mind you look after the ladies!" She said this last part seriously, looking knowingly into Max's eyes.

The old woman scooted off, talking to her bag. "Oh…he'll be so pleased, Deary, yes he will. Oh, I suppose I should find somewhere to rest these rickety bones of mine for a while, don't you think so, Dear Heart?"

Michael honked the horn impatiently as the rest of the group watched the strange old lady slowly hobble her way around the corner. Everyone looked at each other, not knowing what to say. Michael honked on the horn again...longer this time. Isabel opened her mouth, about to say something, but Max grabbed her arm and pointed her towards the now violently honking van.

"Not here, Is."

The group walked back to the van in silence, but once everyone was inside, the vehicle erupted with a lot of people talking at once.

"What?" Maria said defensively.

"Maria—when someone asks you directions, especially if they look like that—keep your trap shut and walk off!" Michael shouted at his girlfriend over the front seat.

"Don't talk to me like that, Spaceboy, and –FYI- sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." Maria shouted back. "Not everybody is going to be the boogeyman—especially an old lady who can barely walk!" Everyone else was rolled their eyes and groaned. They could have been talking about the weather and Michael and Maria would be at each others' throat. Shouting was a constant around Michael and Maria.

"I understand where you're coming from, Maria." Max spoke in his usual calm manner, trying to soothe everyone down. "But, she did call me a prince….And she kept looking at me as though she was charging me with some kind of mission. Why would she tell me to protect you girls, but not tell Kyle to? I'm telling you, Michael may not be far off here. But, the only thing is, she acted like she cared—like she was on our side."

Everyone got quiet, mulling over both sides of the debate. Isabel felt conflicted. She knew that Max was usually right, mainly because he understood the psychology of people somehow and took the time to investigate situations. But he had been wrong before. Michael on the other hand tended to trust no one and reacted to every situation as if it was a personal attack. This was definitely one of those times where she'd feel caught in between, not knowing who to follow. She was definitely sick of following. Finally, she decided.

"O.K. Sorry, Michael, but I'm going to go with Max on this one here." She dug into her purse and pulled out a makeup compact, looked at herself quickly and put it back. "I mean she really did seem to care. And if she was FBI, where was her backup while we were all in one spot?" Isabel reached into her purse again.

"Oh, my God!" Everyone turned to her, alarmed.

"What!" they all said in unison.

"This piece of paper…it's not mine! It's funny looking, kinda like parchment paper." Isabel opened the paper and read,

Southern Peach Hotel

Lobby

"I think she left this for us! She must have slipped it into my purse!" Isabel exclaimed. "Weird handwriting, though. Is that, like, ink? As in quills and stuff? Should we go there?"

"Well, maybe it is a trap." Liz finally decided to join the conversation. "I mean, why would we go somewhere on the advice of some cryptic message. I think maybe Michael's right."

This split everyone into camps again: Those who thought the old lady was an enemy and those who thought that she was just a kind octogenarian. This time, the yelling rocked the van.

Kyle suddenly piped up. Sitting up on the edge of his seat, he held his hands out.

"O.K. Look! Look! Everybody just calm down!" It was now his turn to talk. "Before we go getting all excited here…don't you think maybe we should find out where this 'Southern Peach' place is? For all we know, we're nowhere near it. Or we passed it or something. It's probably in Georgia, because it's got 'peach' in the name and this the 'peach state', so why don't we just find somewhere to stay before dark and think about it in the morning. Okay?"

Everyone nodded in agreement. It would be a long night for each of them, but especially for Max and Liz. Of all the Roswellians, they were the ones who had to deal with the most pain at the hands of the FBI. One wrong move…trust the wrong person…and Max could end up back in that White Room again, doomed to torture and death with no one there to help this time. Liz wasn't ready to just trust anyone without some hard evidence first.

By the time the sun was gone, the van was parked at a cheap roadside motel. It was unkempt and ratty, but it had beds and a shower. As usual, they camped out in one room, with the girls taking the bed. Somehow, they felt safer that way. Everyone remained together and the guys took two hour watches each night, looking out for government vehicles, so they could make a mad dash for the exit if they needed to.

Michael went outside to change the color of the van again. He put his hand on the side of the van and concentrated, but not before looking around quickly to make sure he didn't have an audience. The color spread out from his hand until the whole van was a deep maroon color. When he finished, he decided to go for a walk around the property. He wasn't used to having so much company in such close quarters for long periods of time. He needed to clear his head.

He walked around the corner and found the snack machines. He examined the contents, but he had no money. Powers were good for things like this. He didn't feel guilty about that in the least. Michael held the general opinion that society owed him-first, because of his years of abuse from his foster father (while Max and his sister Isabel lived in a Donna Reed kind of situation) and secondly, because he was being forced to live like a homeless vagabond. He was about to put his hand on one of the machines when he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Quickly, with his palm up, he turned around and faced one of the largest, blackest men he'd ever seen.

"Good Evening, Sir." Said the man kindly, ignoring Michael's alarm. He was dressed as if he was planning to go to church. "Nice weather tonight, isn't it?" The man said amiably, trying to strike a conversation. This was the second time in one day that one of his group had ended up talking to someone with a British accent. Weird.

"Uh…sure. Look, um, I gotta get back…" Michael stammered.

"Without your snack?" the man asked.

"I didn't realize it, but I don't have any change with me."

"Oh..is that all?" the man looked slightly amused. "Well, here you are, then. I don't think it would cost much more than this, right?" He said, holding out a one dollar bill, asking as if he really didn't know how much vending machines cost.

"Uh…you don't have to do that, Mr., really. I'll just go back to my room, now, and get something there." Michael was getting nervous. The man looked as though he had no intention of letting him go. Michael hated those kinds of people-the ones that didn't know how to take a hint and shut up. And of course he shouldn't be putting everyone else at risk by being outside at night with a strange man in a suit. He definitely looked like FBI material-like the top of his class, actually.

"Oh, I don't mind, son. I just had my supper, so you need this more than I do." The man thrust the bill into Michael's hand, and without letting go, he said, "Well, you have a wonderful evening, my boy, and stay safe." He tipped his hat, let go of Michael's hand and walked away. Michael was stunned. Two English people in the middle of rural Georgia telling them to stay safe? And he said it as if he was trying to tell him something. Michael looked at the dollar and did a double take. On the face of George Washington, in sprawling green letters was the same cryptic phrase, "Southern Peach Hotel, Lobby". He started running. He had to alert the others.

Still in the dingy roadside motel

After Michael finished relating his story, he lay down on the bed with his hands in his hair and groaned.

"What are we going to do? This is getting weirder. These people seem to know who we are. What if they are FBI, but they're the good ones. Like Miss.Topolsky." said Liz, trying to look at their mystery positively.

"This is what I say." said Max. "I say we just keep going on as if nothing is wrong. If one of us meets another stranger who seems to know who we are and tells us to be safe, ask them what they mean or who they are. Anything at all so we can try to get some more information."

With a plan in place, everyone quieted down and either went to sleep or quietly occupied themselves, while Max took the first watch. The next morning, after quick showers and something for breakfast, the group loaded into the van for yet another day of travel. This time, Max took the drivers seat.

About midday, they stopped at a rest area to stretch and eat. As usual, everyone stayed relatively close to the van so as to make a quick getaway if they needed to. Liz and Max sat at the picnic table they had used to fix sandwiches, trying to get some alone time in.

"Maybe when we stop tonight we could get our own room?" Liz asked with a wicked grin on her face. "We haven't exactly, you know, sealed our marriage or anything." Max's face lit up and he drew her close to him. He looked at her tenderly and kissed her gently on the lips.

"Soon, Liz. Hopefully soon we'll be able to relax and actually have a normal marriage. Maybe we could sneak out to the van one night, though…" Just then, a man with violently red hair walked up to their table.

"I'm terribly sorry. Do you mind if I use some of your bread? I seem to have forgotten to bring mine along." The man smiled kindly at them. Max and Liz looked at each other. Another person with a British accent. With a thank you and a promise to return the rest of the bread in a few minutes, the man went back to his own table. Max went to get the others so that when the man returned, everyone would be around to hear what he had to say. Shortly, the red-headed stranger returned.

"Thank you so much. I'll just be getting back to my lunch now. I hear interstates can be quite dangerous sometimes, especially at night, so you lot keep it safe, now, hear?" Every one in the group gave a start. The man turned to go, but Max stopped him.

"Is there a convention going on around here?" Max asked. The man looked slightly amused.

"No, not that I know of. Why do you ask?" The stranger inquired.

"We were just wondering. You are the third person we've met in two days that speaks with a British accent and tells us to stay safe. I was just wondering if there is a connection." While Max was speaking, Liz had examined the loaf of bread. Just as expected, the bag contained, other than bread, a note with the words "Southern Peach Hotel. Lobby." written on it.

"And another note. The other two left as notes that say the same thing. Who are you?" Liz asked, though she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Somehow, confronting the problem seemed to be just like letting it right in.

"Oh, Arthur Weasley is my name. You don't have to worry. I am not here to harm anyone. What were the names of the other two Brits you met?" Mr. Weasley pushed the mustard aside and sat down on the table as if all they were talking about was sports.

"They never said." Michael sounded accusatory. "Why wouldn't they tell us like you did?"

"We aren't supposed to use our names unless asked. It's the rules we set up for this mission. Well what did they look like, then?" Mr. Weasley asked kindly in the face of Michael's rudeness.

"One was on old lady and I think she had a cat. The other one was large, black man dressed in his Sunday best." Everyone looked at Mr. Weasley expectantly and it seemed that nobody breathed.

"Oh, gracious!" Mr. Weasley laughed. "I see you've met Arabella Figg and Kingsley Shacklebolt! They are harmless…you don't need to worry about them. Look, I can't tell you much, because our lot has a secret, too, that we can't just sit out in the open and discuss. But, I can tell you this: You are being watched by another group of people besides the FBI Special Unit. We've been placed in strategic places along your trip just to watch over you and keep you safe. If the FBI were to catch up to you, one of us is always nearby to help."

"Like we're supposed to believe this! You're probably just another trick cooked up by the Special Unit. Those names you gave us sound like fairy tale names. Plus, we're supposed to believe that if the Special Unit swoops down on us, only one of your group is supposed to do us any good?" Michael looked like he was about to pounce on the poor man, who just sat on the table looking sympathetic. "And this place all of you seem to want us to go to…like we'd be stupid enough to do that! Go to one place and wait for you to come in and capture us all!"

"Young man, calm down!" Mr. Weasley put his hand up to explain some more. "If I wanted to capture you, I'd have done it already, since you are all standing right here together, wouldn't I? I can't expect you to trust me on the off, right after we just met. And I'm glad that you're distrustful of anyone you see. That's probably a brilliant idea. But, look, I do have to get on now. Try to make it to that hotel if you can. It's not required, of course, but it's a place you can go to for safety should you ever feel you need to hide fast, allright? It's about two miles north of here. There are others waiting there to help you. Have a pleasant afternoon and maybe I'll see you again soon!"

Mr. Weasley walked backed to his table, picked up his lunch and disappeared from view around the bathroom building, waving as he turned the corner. The Roswellians spent the next hour at the rest area discussing Mr. Weasley. Michael still didn't trust Mr. Weasley, but he seemed to be the only one. Everyone else seemed to think Mr. Weasley was their best idea of a kind uncle. As the vote now seemed five to one, with Michael left as the sore loser, they decided that they should make their way toward this Southern Peach Hotel and see what was there. If they needed to, Max, Michael, and Isabel could go in first and use their powers if they were ambushed. Then the humans would know to make a run for it.

Liz didn't like that idea much, since it's the aliens who were in the most danger, but no one else seemed to think it was a bad idea, so she didn't say anything. But, if Max did get ambushed, Liz certainly wasn't going to run away. She'd go in there and try to save Max.

The same thing was going on in Maria's head. But, since she trusted Mr. Weasley, though she really couldn't explain how she knew he was a friend, she didn't worry as much as Liz. But, in case she was wrong, she'd be damned if she let Michael go in that hotel without her.