Dumbledore pushed a lemon candy through his pursed lips, overlooking the scene before him. The candy was sweet, but tasted bitter.
Police sirens blared, red and blue lights flashing bright through the dark of the night. Hours ago, policemen had been rushing about. There had been panicked phone calls. A rush of confusion and adrenaline.
Now there were only a few, bending down, inspecting the corpse, or standing around the cars, wearing melancholy expressions.
It was a little boy, his bloated, naked body found floating in the farm canal. It was almost an entire country off from where Dumbledore expected the children to be – but he still needed to see the corpse. To make sure.
Under a notice-me-not charm, the old man swept in amongst the muggles, The boy had been dragged out by the people who'd found him. Turned face up.
Thank Merlin, Dumbledore breathed. It wasn't Harry. He would never be able to forgive himself if it was Harry. Even if the features were not so foreign, there was no sign of a scar.
His duty done, he walked far enough off to avoid attracting the attention of the officers and apparated back to the gates of Hogwarts. He soul still felt weighted as he walked inside, back to his quarters.
So many dead little children. It wasn't what he considered his duty to help them. They were muggles. They were from another world. Someday, he hoped, the wizarding world and the muggle world would intersect. It was among his many dreams that the wizards might be able to help all of mankind. For now, for this part of his lifetime, he would focus on the wizarding world. On Voldemort, on all of his followers, then on the prejudice itself.
Such larger dreams as those ones would take longer.
He had a lot of mistakes in his life. Inspecting the Dursley home at the start of his search for the missing children, he'd found that the place was truly somewhere he could understand running away from. That was his fault. He had imagined – so foolishly thought – no family could be so cruel to themselves. Especially not the sister of Lily.
Was it worth it? They were safe, in only the most literal way. Their childhood so far, they had not been found. Even if they were, in that place, they would be safe.
He didn't want the Boy-Who-Lived growing up in knowledge of that name. Harry, his sister too, they needed to be heroes. Not spoiled, worthless celebrities.
It was his fault. It was his fault for thinking that way.
But Dumbledore shook the guilt and self-loathing from his mind. He had two children to find.
He dressed in muggle clothing and exited the castle once again. Today, he was meeting with the muggle detectives in charge of Harry and Angel's case. It had been thanks to Dumbledore's intervention that they had an entire detective assigned to them at all. This one in particular was aware of the magical world. Not too knowledgable about it, certainly not, but aware. Dumbledore had made him aware of the importance of these two children too.
"They were last seen on CCTV at the Little Whinging bus terminal. We believe they purchased tickets to Laketon. Officers have already been assigned to ask around that town. No leads so far. In all honesty, Mr. Dumbledore, those kids could be almost anywhere in Britain by this point."
"It is imperative that they are found," Dumbledore said.
The detective through out his hands, "Believe me, I understand that. We're doing everything we can. I would ask you to remember that. They may be your 'chosen ones', but to us, they're a pair of lost runaway kids. That's just as important in my book."
Dumbledore apologised and made his way out.
In his office, he stared over the many unresponsive instruments splayed across his desk.
Where would they go?
As far as Petunia knew, the kids shouldn't know anything about the magical world. They wouldn't head to Diagon, any place like that. If they were somewhere muggle, then the muggles ought to have found them already. The resources Dumbledore had seen to be pumped into the muggle search...
He refused the idea that they might be like the corpses of that little boy, only un-found.
His teachers and other close confidants were on the case, searching. They had to be found soon enough. Harry's unique scar alone would be eye-catching in the wizarding world. And Harry should look just like James. Angel just like Lily. So Petunia had said.
Damn that abominable woman! This was her fault, even more than it was his own. How could she just let them walk out? How could she... hurt them in such a way to make them want to?
He'd see to it that she was punished. Her and that horrible husband of hers. Impossible to believe that woman was the sister of Lily Evans. Dumbledore almost refused to believe it.
They had no where to go? How can two children just fall off the surface of the world? No magic to speak of. Remarkably little funds. No connections.
If it were Albus, where would he go?
The old wizard spent all that day thinking over that question.
In Godric's Hollow, Angel finished repairing the broken door frame while Harry played with his toy and teddy bear.