Disclaimer: I own nothing, but my thoughts of AU and OC, the rest all belong to J K Rowling.

Chapter 24

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and wizardry
Scotland

30 January 1960

Once the Headmaster had truly left, Minerva had rushed to the bookcase. Frantically looking up, the much-used shelves, she let out a cry of pure joy, when she finally succeeded in getting hold of the glass ball. Not everything responded to a wave of a wand and simple "Accio". Remembering her mother's last words- she uttered, holding her breath-

Vaktare, Rikedom Vilt Guld,

ryttare av Naireen, reagra reagra!

For a couple of seconds, nothing happened. The wind outside her bay window howled and the candles kept on their illuminating vigilance. Then the dragon trapped inside groaned, and took in a deep breath. Slowly, straightening its back, it turned its eyes at Minerva. It watched her closely. Seconds, ticked by, perhaps even minutes passed, but the witch could hardly bat her eyelids, so captivated was she by the soul-searching stare of a magically handmade artifact. After a long time, it started humming and to her surprise, Minerva heard an odd commanding voice in her head. "Solveig Marit Kolebuck- Dragon's Kelp, Appalachian Mountains- note it down".

Carrying the ball to her desk, the transfiguration professor carefully deposited it beside her inkpots and hastily pulling out a blank piece of parchment noted down the instructions.

Muttering to herself, placing the tip of her quill over her lower lip, she spoke aloud," Solveig…Solveig…Sol, Sol, Sol…why does that sound familiar…?"

As if struck by a forgotten piece of fact, she stood up, and rushed to her bedroom, mumbling, "why of course, mother used to tell me about one. How can I be so utterly foolish?"

Once inside the room, she went straight to the lone bedside table. Apart from a bedside three-piece candle stand, some journals, a decorative photo stand sat over the mahogany and golden glazed tabletop. Sitting on her four-post bed, with matching Gryffindor colored drapes, she carefully picked up the photo frame. The picture comprised of a middle-aged couple, her parents standing in front of a modest cottage. She would, when at times, feel melancholic, trace her fingers over this picture to find much-needed solace.

Today, she did none of that. Instead of tracing her fingers over the faces of her parents, she swiftly turned the frame and pried open the back. Somethings still needed to be done the muggle way. Behind the dull worn out stiff board, there lay a worn-out old piece of parchment, folded precisely in four-folds.

Cautiously putting aside, the frame, she picked up the letter and scooting closer to the candle lights lit on the bedside table, and opened it.

It carried her mother's floral scent, faded but still there. The parchment was blank at first sight. Then slowly, letters began to form in flowing, floral cursive script. It read,

"Albus might not have all answers, Minnie, when that is so Sol-Narna is the one to turn. But keep it quiet. The honor of the family must be restored, kept, and sealed."

Her mother's handwriting grew darker under the flicker of the candles and then faded away.

Dragon's Kelp, Appalachian Mountains

Naireen pitied the man who sat at the last stair, holding his head in his hands and shaking ever so slightly. It was a good thing that she allowed him to speak first.

Without looking up Verus Umphrey whispered," I didn't know who else to talk to. Matre has shut herself in her office. I couldn't continue staring and Cazut's unconscious body any longer. On one hand, I pity him and on the other, I am afraid of him. Funny, he is so full of self-doubt. I want to help him, I wish to help him. I know he keeps looking for a friend even now. But I am worried, I got a daughter to think of."

'Cazut cannot harm those he cares for. It is not in him to turn against those he cares for the most. Without your knowing, he protects both Tulip and Celina. Remember those books he presents Miss Umphrey. The man is unknowingly training your daughter to become a proficient healer already.'

The man jerked his head up while the dragon chuckled in front of him. He tried to think his words," I can hear you. How can I hear you? I have never been able to hear you before."

'Consider that a token of appreciation from our potioneer. Now, tell me would you doubt him?' Naireen asked.

Still baffled, Verus mumbled,' How is this possible?'

'Magic manifests in strange ways. To give your mind some peace, Cazut can hear me as well. Though he continues to believe he is speaking to his dead mother. She had little magic in her. He got all his magic from his father actually.' Naireen uttered softly.

'Can he see his dead mother?' Verus quicked asked, without thinking much about it.

'Do you know how his parents died, Healer Umphrey?' instead of answering his question, Naireen asked him.

'I could never manage to... He always looked so withdrawn at the mention of love and family…' he trailed off.

'Poisoned by a shape-shifting witch from whom they were trying to save their only son. As his grandfather managed to flee with him bundled in his arms, the couple fought hard to stop her from following him. She had an accomplice, a rather unsure young man who doused the already dying parents in fiendfrye. Even as a babe, Cazut had managed to channel his power to harm the woman and kill accomplice. You won't be surprised to know that the accomplice had links to the worst Dark Wizard of the recent world. At the same time, he is tied by blood with the most powerful wizard of the light in current times. The fleeing grandfather and the babe were rescued by a Bulgarian wizard. Later on, Cazut had saved his savior's life from the accomplices of the same Dark Wizard."

Verus cut in Naireen mid-sentence," Who are these wizards and witches? And how do you know all of this?"

"Cazut's mind is an open book to me, he is unaware of how deep his memories run. The dark wizard is none other than Gellert Grindelwald. I remember the shapeshifting witch referred to the accomplice as Credence. But I know he is related to Albus Dumbledore, he shares his blood and magic. The Bulgarian Wizard is Lord Emanuel Krum who later on admitted Cazut to the school he once himself attended. We don't have to worry about the dark wizard, Albus Dumbledore has already killed him."

"Naireen what about the witch? And how do you know so much about what transpires in the other parts of the world?" Awestruck, Verus whispered.

'I dont know what became of the witch. I know Sol -ari tried to ask after her years ago. I rely on Old Magic. In the coming days, you too will need to. It will show you the way, to find what is lost in the depths of time. Be the friend Cazut hunts for Verus Umphrey. We are not alone. We never were. If we look close enough, we will one day see every magical creature rallying to our king, fighting against Evil and Vile. Our king is too keen to wake up, the end to the beginning is nearer than you think.'

Craning her neck the Dragon Matriarch breathed hard, sending a ball of roaring fire up the long dark shaft, lighting the catacombs. Umphrey watched its ascend, mesmerized and overwhelmed by all that Matre Solveig's familiar had shared, till it clashed against the gates of iron and gold far above.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and wizardry
Scotland

"My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," the old man in peacock blue robes, wearing half-moon spectacles and a pointy hat, tapped his wand at his chin as he watched the vast Forbidden Forest from the turrets of the Astronomy towers. The forest was unnaturally alive tonight so was the castle for most parts of the day. His short meeting with Dinty was well- just a formal meeting. The matriarch elf seldom sorted him out. She was a person bound by work and discipline. Sometimes Albus would think the Hogwarts grand clock kept time at her bidding and not the other way.

His casual meeting with Minerva was unsettling. Tom Riddle was a growing cause for his wariness. The boy always had this unhealthy inclination towards dark magic and towards malicious intentions. Though Albus found it too difficult to ascertain his role in this present crisis since there was no news on him being back to Britain, he found things too foggy to let it rest. Abraxas was as greedy as a man can be if he desired he would sell off his own relatives, sacrifice his own blood to rise in power. On the other hand, Ignatius was never too fond of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Albus Dumbledore was a man of many talents. It was imperative of him to outshine others.

But tonight at this hour, when he was certain that every other soul within this castle wall was fast asleep, he chose to stand here under the night sky and allow his emotions to run free. There were things he wished he could remember. His heart knew of things that had occurred in his long eventful life. But his mind had failed him time and again. He had pulled memory after memory and floated them in the mists of his pensive. But there were big holes in the long mesh of a lifetime of memories. And he knew those were not his doing.

What he felt after his eyes caught the ridgeback Norwegian dragon encased within a glass ball sitting idly on his transfiguration professor's personal bookshelf was close to endearment and the pang of loss. He had tried Filius's logic, "Work your feet to walk your brain." His legs were screaming now but the thick fog and those many holes in his memory remained. He tried revisiting his young life, instead, his mind took him years ahead. Years that he still had to live. Events that he understood little of, faces that he was yet to see, thus could not commit to memory. But the whole spiralling vortex of time travelling in mind, something the elitist scholars of the wizardry society termed as the rarest branch of foretelling magic that overlaps with divination, had ended right where he was standing now.

The ominous ring to that screeching halt of the mind made him feel the chilling presence of Death. But Albus Dumbledore had so much to do, so much to live for and so many young witches and wizards to inspire. Of course, he had his dedicated staff, people who would walk with him through fire and ice. Yet nothing was enough to define this miserable emptiness. Even from this far, he could hear the centaurs racing through the forest. He heaved a sigh only to realise, he had been crying over a loss of something or someone who could have meant the world to him.

'Vaktare, Rikedom Vilt Guld/ryttare av Naireen, reagra reagra!'- in Swedish means 'keeper, who treasure White Gold,Rider of Naireen,Respond! respond!'