Sebastian Harlow barely made it through the automatic doors of the train. He had slid in just in time. He sighed with relief. Finally, the day had ended and he was on his way home. He was happy even if the house was going to be empty. He had not received any urgent distress calls from Lolita or her mother either so that was something to celebrate. He knew it was a foolish thought but Mr. Harlow wished in his deepest of hopes that they would enjoy their time together.

The train squirmed on through the infinite tunnels and spaces. Mr. Harlow took out his leather wallet where his pictures awaited him. Every day after work he would flip through the familiar images while his contemporaries on the train napped or read the depressing newspaper. First, Lolita's school picture smiled at him with his own grey eyes. He always liked that picture of her because her characteristic impatience shown through the generic pose and aesthetic. She was too much like him. Then there was the family portrait. He, his wife and their infant daughter all dressed in soft whites smiled devilishly happy at him. Lolita would often try to replace the picture but Mr. Harlow always found it tucked away in some corner of their home and would return it to his wallet. The last picture was that of his wife when they had been happy.

The picture showed his wife's body from the hips up. She reached for something beyond the camera with a pure smile on her face. She had been reaching for him, the photographer. Lolita did not hate this picture as much as the other, then again, who could hate a photograph of a beautiful woman. It was getting dull and faded though. He wished he could replace it. The train reached his destination and he gathered his things and slid the wallet back into his back pocket. It was a lazy evening and the sky was growing bright with stars. He lightened with the thought of having a nice hot bath as soon as he got home and ordering some cheap greasy food. Lolita never let him eat things like that, insisting that he eat her food only. It would be a silent and dull evening without her.

"Sir," a young man called, he was dressed in strange robes. At first, Mr. Harlow looked around, he was the only person on the platform, but as the man came closer uneasiness filled him. The young man was not threatening in any way, in fact Mr. Harlow was much bigger in stature and frame and could have easily taken him down, but it was the robes…why did that bother him so?

"Yes?" he answered.

"My name is Alexander Sweyn, sir. I have been asked to give you an urgent message."

All of a sudden Mr. Harlow knew what it was about the robes that bothered him.

"…I do not associate myself with your world, son. Whatever it is it would be best-"

"No, sir, you do not understand. Your daughter is in great peril."

Mr. Harlow had his hands around the young man's collar in seconds. He lifted him up to his eye level.

"What the hell are you talking about?! I told you people to stay away from my family."

"Sir," the young man said calmly, although when Mr. Harlow first put his hands on him he had grimaced, "I am here to help you. Let us go somewhere safer for such a conversation."

Mr. Harlow felt the tip of the man's wand gently push against his hip.

"Who do you work for?" Mr. Harlow asked.

"I am the apprentice to Maximillian Hotspur, the ministry of magic's greatest auror. He is on his way to aid your daughter but first-"

"Who is after my daughter?!" Mr. Harlow screamed.

"Sir!" the young man pulled himself out of Mr. Harlow's grip, "please, there is no time. This way, sir."

Mr. Harlow tried to breathe and calm himself but the thought of his daughter in danger because of these people kept him at the edge. He followed the young man into an unforeseen stair and down into a section of the station he had never seen before.

"We do not know who they are but we suspect, sir, they are planning to use your daughter as a means to give rise to the dark lord again. If you remember, they attempted this before with you-"

"Yes, I know… I remember. You haven't arrested these madmen yet? That was almost fifteen years ago!" Mr. Harlow exasperated.

"Well, sir, with all due respect, every generation has its bad seeds. We cannot arrest people for having mal intentions towards the new order only those who attempt to destroy it. And, by the time we get word of these things they are usually on their way."

Alexander Sweyn was calm and collected. He had long brown hair that was slicked back, framing his handsome, young face. He could not have been more than twenty years old, but his eyes were serious and seemingly experienced with such situations. He was lithe and small in stature but had wide shoulders that made him seem older or at least wiser than most his age range.

Mr. Harlow hesitated but gave the man what he wanted, "What do you want from me?" he asked.

"There was a contract, sir, in which it was decided you and your family would sustain yourself from our world. In turn, we are to remain as far away from your life, at least to the point in which we are not noticeable. Technically, the ones after you and your daughter have broken our part of the contract but we still need your permission to-"

"Yes! Of course, just take me to my daughter!"

"Mr. Harlow," Alexander Sweyn's dark, tired eyes bore into his own, "you do understand the implications of your relinquishing your rights. At least consider the implications for your daughter."

"…What other choice do I have? Take me to my daughter."

Alexander Sweyn sighed deeply to himself and after a moment of digression grabbed Mr. Harlow's arm and they apparated into nothing.

Just outside his wife's home they appeared. Mr. Harlow fell to the floor in agony and nausea. That was never a pleasant way to travel. Alexander Sweyn surveyed the area. He took out his wand and mumbled a few spells.

"That should keep the neighbors distracted," he said to the recovering Mr. Harlow.

"You've been to my wife's house before," Mr. Harlow commented.

"… We came here first for your daughter's safety. Then I thought it would be relevant to inform you."

"Of course," Mr. Harlow said menacingly as he stood up next to the smaller Sweyn.

The place had not changed but an ominous dark sky seemed to lull above his wife's home. With one look they both began to pace toward the house. It was as it usually was, quiet and secretive but something was in the air.

Sweyn whipped out his darkly stained wand, "There has been magic here, stay behind me."

They entered the home silently but to no avail.

"Expelliarmus!" a deep and resounding voice shouted in their direction. A jet of scarlet light flew towards them.

"Protego," Alexander Sweyn quickly challenged and a blue shield appeared before them, reflecting the scarlet attack.

"Alexander, you scared me! Come help me with this," The same British voice called. Alexander quickly lowered his defenses and entered the home. Mr. Harlow heard Sweyn mumbling to the earlier voice but he did not follow him into the room. He was not ready for all of this. He could not believe it had all unraveled like this.

Slowly he walked through the wreckage. His wife's cherry wood tables were flipped and scattered as well as the rest of the furniture of the once orderly room. Most of it lay it pieces to the right of the room. Sweyn and his companion stood facing each other in the middle of the room. Two bodies lay on the ground behind them and there, Lolita sat on a stool, her face still and lost in a bad memory. Mr. Harlow rushed to her side but stopped at the sight of his wife and her maid lying on the floor. Their faces and bodies terrified in fright.

"They are only stupefied, sir, they will be all right." Sweyn said.

He recoiled in fear at the morbid sight.

"Daddy," Lolita's sweet voice called. He turned to his daughter and she fell into his arms in tears.

"Break the spell," Mr. Harlow whispered harshly.

"Sir, its best we get your daughter's statement before we deal with the muggles-"

"Now!"

"…rennervate," Sweyn mumbled half-heartedly.

His wife and her maid shivered back to life before his eyes. An unfinished scream reverberated out of his wife's trembling mouth. She and the maid stumbled towards the other side of the room into each other's arms, petrified of the four others in the room.

"Get, get, get," His wife's frail voice commanded, "get out!"

"Madam," Sweyn began.

"NO!" she screamed, "I will not have ANY of this! From the very beginning-" she faltered and fell into her maid's arms crying.

Mr. Harlow ignored her and turned to his daughter, "Lolita," he called her name sweetly.

"…I don't know what happened. I thought they killed her. I didn't mean to… I'm so sorry."

"Lolita, this was not your fault," Mr. Harlow said as he held her close.

"My House! Everything is destroyed! YOU, Sebastian, you and your devil child!"

"Enough, Lola," Mr. Harlow said as he stood up and aided his daughter up as well. His wife recoiled at his show of strength and authority. He sat Lolita, his daughter, down onto the stool and wiped her tears away.

"Baby, what happened?"

Lolita stared at him and past him. She was still in shock.

"I'll tell you what happened," the booming voice behind him began. A tall and burly man in his 30s, Maximillian Hotspur stood with his hands on his hips.

"They entered through the back door," he continued, "petrified the maid and went after your daughter. Your ex-wife and daughter managed to somehow avoid capture and were surrounded where we stand down here. Here, your ex-wife was stupefied in an attempt to get to your daughter in which she fell here, where you found her earlier. Now, the facts get groggy," he walked around the room a bit, stroking his mustache and beard for answers. Alexander Sweyn watched him with vivid, dark eyes.

"Your daughter seemed to have used some sort of Relashio charm variant to knock the assailants and the contents of the home that-a-way," he said pointing to the mess on the right of the room.

"It must have been a strong one too;" Sweyn chimed in, "for the aforementioned assailants fled the scene just as Sir Hotspur entered it."

"…Is that what happened, Lola?" Mr. Harlow asked his wife. Shaking, she nodded her head.

"Reparo," Sweyn mumbled and the house returned to its original state. His wife and her maid marveled silently at the magic.

"Shall we obliviate the muggles, Sir Hotspur?" Sweyn asked.

"No," Mr. Harlow's wife answered. Her voice was more stable now that her home had been restored, "I already know of magic…it is in the contract. I will only tell my maid of the evil you people do so it would be useless to, well, to do it."

Lydia questioned his wife in Spanish but Lola hushed her. The wizards rolled their eyes and turned their attention back to Mr. Harlow and Lolita. He stood holding her sitting form to his side. She was still lost in shock.

"Still," Maximillian Hotspur pursued, "a girl with no wand or prior magical training producing such a strong charm is a bit more peculiar than impressive."

"My daughter knows not of magic if that is what you are implying," Mr. Harlow said strongly.

"But your ancestry works against you, Mr. Harlow."

"As it always will, now, why are you still here?"

"The breach in contract, Mr. Harlow, the breach in contract," Maximillian Hotspur commented as he sat on one of the plushy couches, "your daughter has shown herself to be a natural. She is of the proper age to begin classes-"

"No, thank you," Mr. Harlow uttered, holding his daughter closer to him. His wife and her maid remained in each other's arms on the other side of the room.

"Sir," Sweyn began as he strode over to stand behind Maximillian Hotspur, as if to add emphasis to Sir Hotspur's statement, "the ministry of magic will not allow a child of such skill to go without some sort of training-"

"My daughter belongs with me in my world, young man. And I don't give a damn what your ministry has to say about that. We had a deal! I stay out of your lives and you stay out of mine. I will renew the contract if I have to."

"That's just it," a new voice chimed in from the fireplace. Through a burst of fire a figure arose from the fireplace. Clad in similar robes and fashions as the other wizards, a tall, black man came upon them.

"The minister of magic doesn't want to risk another scene like this. He wants this girl of yours to be able to protect herself properly and to know her history."

"Minister Shacklebolt," Sweyn said, looking confused at the man's presence.

"I don't care what you want, Kingsley. We had a deal. I had a deal with you and that idiot Cornelius Fudge."

"Times have changed, Sebastian, this is not a safe route for your daughter."

"How would you know what is and what isn't a safe route for my daughter? Do you have any idea how they will treat my daughter if she went to that awful place? Like a criminal!"

"Sebastian," the tall man sighed, he was a much older man, "She deserves to know the truth. Trying to suppress her magic with your muggle medicines, although impressive, will only drive her mad. She is not like you." He handed Mr. Harlow a few moving pictures of Lolita earlier that day.

"She has been researching him," Mr. Shacklebolt said.

Mr. Harlow felt ultimately defeated. He turned back to his daughter, who sat staring at Mr. Shacklebolt.

"Lolita," Mr. Harlow began.

"That's Kingsley Shacklebolt," she said, staring wide eyed at the man who could only stare back at her with a grim expression on his dark face, "that's Kingsley Shacklebolt, daddy. He's real, he's right there. It's all real."

"Lolita," her father tried again, "I never told you."

"That means the magic is real, and, in turn, Harry Potter. That means Tom Riddle is real too."

Lolita stared at nothingness now.

"Yes, they are all real, Lolita. I never told you because I never thought it would get this bad."

"Tom Riddle is my grandfather."

"Lolita! Listen to me, please. Look at me…look at your father."

Lolita's grey eyes met her father's, "and you never told me. You never told me about Jane or Tom or any of them. You never told me that that's why mom hates us. Because we are freaks. Because we are stained with his evil blood. You never told me."

"…I was fifteen when Albus Dumbledore came to see me for the first time. I had been plagued with dreams of my father and mother since I was a baby. My grandparents…they didn't know what to think. He told them of doctors that were working on suppressing this magic gene. They helped me, Lolita, but they could barely help you. We made a deal then, him, Fudge and me. I was to never associate myself with any magic folk. It was far too dangerous. As far as Albus Dumbledore knew, Tom Riddle was not aware of my presence on this earth and with all that was happening, it was best it remained that way. I did not want to know my father, Lolita. What Dumbledore told me had been enough. Who knew what he would have done too us if he knew, darling. This was the year Harry Potter had been born and orphaned. Tom Riddle was finally killed in 1998. Every part of him was finally gone, Lolita. I felt it when he died. My dreams...got worse. then when you were born....well ever since I have hardly needed my medicine, at least not as much as I needed it before. I didn't realize it was because of you."

"He's in me?"

"No, no Lolita you cannot believe in such things! He is long dead and gone but…his blood does run in our veins. That scares people, Lolita. They have convinced themselves that he could come back through us. It's bullshit but there are those…there are dark wizards out there still loyal to Tom Riddle and they will believe anything. I never thought they would find us."

"The ministry was broken into last night. They wasted no time finding you," Mr. Shacklebolt spoke, "If she is not trained she will be at their mercy. You both must come into ministry custody. No contract can keep you safe until these vigilantes are captured and tried."

"What about my wife?" Mr. Harlow asked.

"Ex-wife," his wife murmured.

"She will have to be relocated with her maid. I assure you this will be done confidentially and safely,"

"Just like my contract was?" Mr. Harlow threw his head into his hands. How could this happen?

Mr. Shacklebolt ignored the comment, "It is May, Mr. Harlow. I expect Miss Lola Harlow to be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in September. You have four months to school yourself and your daughter in all things magic. I wish you the best of luck,"

"Who will know?" Mr. Harlow asked.

"Who will know what, sir?"

"Who will know of our ancestry?"

"Only the headmaster, sir. We will continue our investigation onto who it is after your daughter. Before I go, I have to ask her something."

Mr. Harlow hesitated but got out of Mr. Shacklebolt's way. Lolita looked up into his kind eyes. His was bald, bold, tall and thin. He stooped down to be face to face with her.

"Miss Harlow, do you remember anything peculiar about those who attacked you tonight?"

Lolita's head filled with horrid memories and she recoiled into the warm embrace of her father.

"She doesn't remember, really Kingsley it is too soon," Mr. Harlow explained.

"It is very important, miss Harlow," Kingsley continued.

"…I remember," His wife's voice was no longer trembling. All the men turned to look upon the now stronger looking figure.

"They were mostly shadowy and like smoke. They had these masks…like skulls. There were three of them. One was a woman, the other two were men. Other than that I don't know what to tell you."

Her Spanish accent was prevalent but her voice was smooth and collected. Lydia the maid crossed herself and her mistress. His wife brushed away the gesture.

"The woman," his wife continued, "hit me with the…the attack."

Mr. Harlow felt himself growing weak with emotions. First his daughter now his wife. When was he going to get the chance to live a normal life again?

"I thank you for your services, gentlemen," Kingsley Shacklebolt announced to the other aurors in the room, "I hope you will take Mrs. Harlow's testimony and use it wisely."

Hotspur and Sweyn watched the minister of magic incredulously.

"I suggest you go on and get to work," Shacklebolt said more authoritatively and the aurors began to gather their things and head for the fireplace.

Mr. Harlow lifted his daughter into his arms and headed for the door.

"I know you will not want her here and frankly I do not want her here either, Lola," he said as he gathered his daughter's possessions. He did not look at his wife as talked to her. He would have surely broken down at the sight of her. He stopped just before leaving, "but I thank you for taking the shot for her. If you had not she would have been kidnapped for sure and I would have lost her forever."

And with that he left the drained home and neither he nor his daughter would return for a very long time.