Summary:
Hermione had warned him: awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time.
It is a pity that Harry no longer remembers this conversation, just as he doesn't remember what his real name is, because an ancient coven is persecuting him, how he managed to attract the attention of the most powerful dark wizard of all of times and even who cursed him with that lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. He is determined to unravel the mysteries that lie in his past, however, and no one, not even the warlock who began his misadventures, will be able to stop him.
However, despite all this, somehow, Harry, being Harry, will also find time to deal with the intrigues of the Knights of Walpurgis.
"So what's the plan?" inquired Mulciber, nervously "Beacuse there is a plan, right?".
"Oh, as for that, you can rest assured: there are two of them" Rosier reassured him softly. "Which one do you want to hear? Magbob's plan about getting us killed or Tom's plan about getting a life sentence in Azkaban?".
Chapter I
The Book of Admittance
Thirteen-year-old Alphard Black (tall, thin and, in the moment, with thick silver hair and purple eyes) had spent the past three days in that little room of the St Mungo's watching over the unconscious stranger, hoping to be there for his awakening. The patience of Alphard was destined to be rewarded, in fact, he was reviewing the meaning of the Uruz rune when the stranger had woken up screaming. Alphard dropped the Spellman's Syllabary to the ground and ran to his side. The boy was still lying in bed with his eyes closed but he was sweaty, squirming, screaming and continuing to rub his forehead where there was the Sowilo-shaped scar that had so intrigued Alphard. You didn't have to be a Healer to guess that it must be a curse scar and the cause of his current suffering, but he didn't know how to help him. Just as Alphard was about to ring the golden bell that would call a Healer, the stranger began to calm down, stopped fidgeting and, although panting, opened his eyes.
He had beautiful eyes, almond-shaped, bright green, and the way he kept blinking, completely disoriented, softened Alphard.
"Your glasses are here," he reassured him by grabbing them from the bedside table and handing them to him.
The stranger immediately put them on, but didn't lose his lost air. "I'm Alphard, Alphard Black, it was I who found you," he explained. "Are you better now? Has the scar stopped hurting you?"
The Stranger nodded and then, after looking around, in a thin voice, asked, "Where am I?" They were in a small square room with white walls and furniture. It didn't even have a window and the furniture consisted solely of the four-poster bed, the chair where Alphard was reading and a bedside table that contained the Hogwarts uniform that the Stranger wore when Alphard had found him.
"We're at St Mungo's," Alphard explained to him, the information didn't seem to clarify to him the situation and Alphard began to worry: who in Great Britain didn't know the St Mungo's? Alphard hadn't forgotten that the stranger was wandless: could he really be a Muggle as Ignatius Tuft had suggested? And if he was, Alphard, by continuing to talk to him, risked breaking the International Statute of Secrecy?
Alphard hesitated: he should have called a Healer to warn that the Stranger had woken up and he would it. After.
"What's your name?" He asked to him with an encouraging smile. There weren't many people who could arouse his interest, but that boy had succeeded and Alphard wanted him to answer a few questions, after all he had gone to see him every day, just in the hope that he would wake up while he was there. Unfortunately, the Stranger didn'tseem to want to cooperate. In fact, after hisquestion, he stiffened and began to look around, scared.
"You aren't in danger," he tried to calm him down. "Soon the Healers will be arriving to check how you are."
At those words, the boy seemed to cheer up a little, "So are we in some kind of hospital?" he asked.
"We're at St Mungo's," repeated Alphard. "Do you frequent Hogwarts?" he then asked. After all, when Alphard had found him, the Stranger was wearing black work robe. Alphard didn't remember ever seeing him before, but he couldn't be sure. At a guess, he seemed to be more or less the age of Alphard's little brother, so he could have been a freshman and if he had been sorted to another house, Alphard might not notice him.
The Stranger, who was beginning to look like Alphard's house-elf when she feared she had angered his mothe, bit his lower lip and didn't answer.
The young Black sighed deeply, continuing like this would have achieved nothing. 'Be friendly,' he told himself. He smiled at him in the most reassuring way he was capable of and in response his hair turned a warm mahogany color and his eyes darkened. The Stranger stared at him in surprise, but said nothing. "I'm a Metamorphmagus and I study atHogwarts, third year, Slytherin." Judging by his expression, almost certainly the boy had recognized the name of Alphard's house, but the Stranger didn't comment.
"What is a Metamorphmagus?" he asked instead.
"I'm able to change my appearance very easily." And he showed it to him: in a flash his hair turned orange, his eyes yellow, his nose widened and he grew several centimeters. The Stranger handled a small smile and Alphard reciprocated.
"As I said, it was I who found you," he continued as he returned to his usual look with silver hair and purple eyes. "You passed out in the Potters' library, I was there for their Yule ball."
"Were you in a library for a ball?" repeated the boy.
Alphard gave him another smile. "The balls aren't my cup of tea."
The stranger's eyes sparkled with amusement: every minute that passed he resemblesed less to a mistreated house elf and more to the child he should have been.
"And the books, yes?"
"The Potters have an interesting library which, according to my aunt Dorea, includes The Almagest."
"Claudius Ptolemy's grimoire?" said the Stranger.
"Exact," Alphard cheered: he had never spoken to a Muggle, but he doubted they knew the Hogwarts' Houses and the Greek theorists.
"I sneaked out of the ballroom, slipped into the library and I was looking for the grimoire when you appeared out of nowhere, lying on the floor. You were unconscious, so they took you to St Mungo's: it all happened three days ago." He was silent, waiting for the Stranger to say something –it was time for him to give some explanation, right?-, however it soon became clear that he had no intention of doing so. Alphard hesitated for just some seconds. He was convinced that to find information, the direct ways were the least effective, but in reality he didn't have much choice, he didn't know him and didn'thave time to think about some strategy: at some point a Healer would come for the check-up and it was possible that after finding out who the Stranger was, they would release him without Alphard would know how to reach him. "So, how did you do it?"
"How did I do what?"
"How you did to appear in the middle of the Potters' library. I was there, you didn't Apparate and you didn't even use a Portkey, on the other hand it wouldn't have been possible: that house is well protected."
"I don't know how I did." The desolation and helplessness that his eyes expressed were such that Alphard didn't doubt even for a moment the sincerity of those words.
"But do you know what happened to you? Why were you passed out?"
The Stranger shook his head.
"Well, what's your last memory?"
It was when that little boy, who must have been more or less the age of his little brother, summed up that frightened house-elf expression, that Alphard realized what situation he was in.
"I don't know it," he muttered.
"What's your name?" insisted Alphard, hoping, for the Stranger's sake, that he had drawn the wrong conclusion.
"I don't know it," he repeated, making himself small.
Instinctively, Alphard put a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry. Healers, through potions and Legilimency, are also able to recover lost memories." He avoided adding that the ability to retrieve memories depended on the cause of the memory loss: non-magical causes weren't a problem, but Alphard suspected that any incident had caused to the appearance of an amnesic boy in one of the best protected house's Great Britain, must had been very magical.
The little boy was about to ansie him when the door to the room was opened and a tall man who wore long lime-green robes entered. He beamed smile to them. "Our sleeping beauty woke up, then." He approached the bed almost hopping and pointed his wand towards the boy's chest, who began to emit a faint light. Alphard had no idea what it meant, but the exam seemed to have satisfied the Healer who nodded and continued to smile.
"You had a magical breakdown," explained the Healer. "You must have done something very challenging. Unfortunately, the only thing to do in these casesis to let the subject rest and hope that the effort he sustained wasn't exceeded his strength."
Alphard wondered if the stranger would die in that case.
"You know, for the past three days, every one talked only about you," continued the Healer in an annoyingly cheerful tone. "Can I ask your name? And what were you doing in the Potters' house?" These words were greeted by absolute silence. Alphard, who still had a hand on the Stranger's shoulder, squeezed it gently: "Nothing will happen to you," he whispered in Stranger's ear, "He wants to know what happened just to figure out how to help you."
In fact, Alphard wasn't sure. Willingly or unwillingly, what the Stranger had done, it called magical housebreaking, and the Potters were influential enough to make sure he didn't get away with it. However, the boy seemed to believehim and, in a hesitant voice, replied to the Healer, "I don't know, I ... I don't remember anything. I mean nothing at all, I don't know who I am."
There was amazement and pity in the man's eyes, who never the less continued to smile and maintain a cheerfultone of voice. "Well, nothing to worry about. The best Healers in the country all work here: they will find a way to recovery our memories in a jiffy."
Alphard was much less optimistic.
"Personally, I hope it was all caused by a faulty Portkey: I bet ten Galleons on this" said the Healer. If that revelation was meant to make the two boys laugh, it failed. Then the Healer turned his gaze towards young Black. "And who are you?" he asked.
That was a good question, wasn't it? Alphard couldn't pretend to be a parentor friend of an amnesic boy.
"I'm the person who found him," said Alphard. His statement didn't explain what he was doing there, three days after his discovery, in a reserved room, outside visiting hours.
The Healer's gaze was drawn to the Spellman's Syllabary still on the ground, Alphard picked it up and put it in the bag.
"A private room in a hospital is a strange place to study," observed the man.
"I wasn't studying," lied Alphard. "I had only come for a short visit. Who are you, anyway? Where is Healer Longbottom?".
"Today is his day off," answared the man. "I'm Andrew Taylor and what's your name?"
"Alphard Black."
The Healer's face contracted for a moment in a distrustful expression. Alphard didn't ask why.
"Well, I'm afraid I need to give your friend some more thorough examination," he said, smiling back at him. "You can come back tomorrow. Maybe he will has already recovered his memory," he concluded cheerfully.
Alphard, who still had a hand on the stranger's back, didn't want to leave and the Stranger, judging by his pleading gaze, didn't want him to leave. It was understandable: Alphard could only vaguely imagine how lost and vulnerable he felt, however, they had no choice.
"I'll be back tomorrow," he promised him.
The little boy nodded. Alphard, a little embarrassed, stroked his hair affectionately.
"See you," the Stranger answered and Alphard exited the room, leaving behind an annoyingly cheerful Healer and a pale kid who wore blue pajama too big for him.
He hit the entire corridor and then went down the stairs on his right until he reached the crowded reception aerea. He was heading towards the exit when an attractive witch, who wore a stylish purple robes, entered. She had thick black hair gathered under a pretty hat and dark gray eyes: it was his aunt Dorea.
"What are you doing here?" he asked to her.
"Shouldn't I be me ask it to you, kiddo?" she replied in a docking tone. "I was looking for you. Your mother sent me an owl: she fears that I have kidnapped you."
Alphard frowned, puzzled.
"You were supposed to be home three hours ago: you missed dinner," his aunt pointed out.
Alphard glanced quickly at his pocket watch: it was true, he had lost track of time.
"The curios part is," continued Dorea, "that Irma seems convinced that you've spent the last three days with me: she wrote that you leave the house early in the morning, sometimes before breakfast, and that you come back just in time for dinner."
Alphard didn't answer, it wasn't necessary: at that moment it was evident what he had done in the last three days.
"So, can I know why all this?"
"I was curious."
"Me too, but as I explained to you, Charlus would have immediately reported to us any news."
Charlus, the former Head Boy Potter, Aunt Dorea's fiancé, was studying to become a Healer. In fact, Alphard had managed to visit the Stranger, despite beingin a reserved room thanks to Charlus, and to the condescension of the Healer Preston Longbottom.
"There is something new: he awakened and I have knew it before you and Charlus."
Aunt Dorea was frowning.
"So do you think it was worth it? Was it worth it to be locked in here for three days to discover that he awakened a few hours earlier than when you would have found out anyway?"
Alphard thought back to how the Stranger looked him: yes, it was been worth it, but he didn't tell it to his aunt.
"Well," she continued, "did he say something to you? How did he get into the Potters' House?"
"He doesn't know, he's lost his memory."
His aunt giggled, "Convenient".
"Do you think that he lied?" It was a possibility, of course, although to Alphard, the Stranger had seemed sincere.
The witch shrugged. "If he lied, the Healers will find out right away."
"But do you think he needs to lie? The Potters could decide to report him?"
"Oh, no, I rule it out. Mr. Potter, Euphemia and Flea are not that kind of people - Merlin, he's a child! - Sure, they will have questions for him, they will all have them."
Alphard nodded thoughtfully. Aunt Dorea put a hand on his shoulder and gently pusher him towards the exit. When they were on the road, she stretched out her arm with her wand and, with a deafening BANG, a purple triple-decker bus materialized. The conductor - short, plump, in a purple uniform - got out and said the usual words of welcome to them. AuntDoreaexplained to himwheretheyweregoing, handedhim a fewcoins and then, followed by hisnephew, headed for one of the beds at the end of the bus.
"What do you think about it?" asked Alphard as the bus left, jolting. They both clung tightly to bed to keep from falling. "How do you think he lost his memory?"
Dorea took off her hat from her head. "You asked the least interesting question. Assuming he's not faking it, the amnesia could have been caused by just about anything: potions, charms, curses or, who knows, maybe he just suffered a big shock. How did he seem? I mean, I realized he doesn't remember anything, but was he in hisself?"
Alphard thought about it. Obviously, since he didn't know him before the accident, it was a bit difficult to determine if the Stranger had behaved differently than usual.
"He seemed intimidated and very disoriented, but I don't think he lost the self-awareness," he said.
Aunt Dorea nodded, "Thing which usually happen with curses."
"So maybe he's just in shock?" Alphard deduced.
"Either he's been poisoned or he's charmed," repeated his aunt. "But what does it matter? Healers need to under stand it to cure him but I'm more interested in under standing who he is and where he comes from because he may have accidentally lost his memory, but he cannot have accidentally entered Iolanthe's Nest."
Alphard nodded. His aunt had repentely said that the Potters' house one of the safest places in Britain.
"How is it protect?"
"Well, it's Unplottable, there are Muggle-repelling Charms, no one can Apparate, nor use a porte without the permission of a family member and aboveall the whole house is surrounded by a circle of Hestia that keeps any intruder away for a radius of one hundred meters."
"When they say paranoia…"
Dorea gave her nephew a sharp look, "Can you blame them?"
No, Alphard couldn't. Five years earlier, when Euphemia Potter was expeting a child, she had been kidnapped by a dark wizard, Fauntleroy Nott. The Aurors had found her after a week, locked up in a cave in Cornwall. Apparently, Nott was seeking revenge because of a Muggle protection law enacted by Euphemia's father-in-law, Henry Potter. Mrs. Potter didn't remember what had happened during her captivity, but a curse had made her lose her child. This story was still a much discussed gossip in the good parlors of the British wizarding community.
"So, he cannot have entered Iolanthe's Nest by chance." continued Alphard, taking up his aunt's reasoning. "Thus, how did he do it?"
"Obviously, Flea and Euphemia fear he was sent by someone."
"What have could a wandless kid do in a house teeming with adult wizards and witches?"
Aunt Dorea's lips curled into a grimace. "I don't have the answers to your questions, Al, but it's only natural that the Potters are worried: Fauntleroy Nott is still free and rumor has it that now he is one of Grindelwald's men. That unarmed kid could have been part of a bigger plan, in fact he could still be part of a plan."
For some reason, Alphard's stomach sank. "You said the Potters wouldn't denounce him."
"And they won't," confirmed Aunt Dorea, "Flea and Euphemia are convinced that all children are inherently innocent. They want to find out who is behind that little boy, who is trying to hit them this time, but they don't want him to be tried."
Alphard, reassured, leaned on the head of the bed. "The Potters are pretty unlucky, aren't they?"
"Henry Potter has made many enemies over the course of his political career and his sons tend to suffer the consequences," explained Dorea.
Alphard grinned, "Are you sure you want to join their family, Aunt?".
"I'm all for it," replied Dorea with a firm tone.
And Alphard knew it wasn't just because she loved Charlus, Dorea was eager to get rid of their family name. He turned his head to the window, slightly uncomfortable. Between his favorite aunt and his grandfather there was a climate of belligerence that risked leading to denial. Indeed that would have already led to denial if the Grandmother, so fond of her 'sentimental and rebellious' great-granddaughter, had not intervened.
At that moment the bus stopped. Alphard and Dorea said goodbye to the conductor and the driver and went down onto a patch of grass in the center of a small square; they crossed the street and came to the side walk right in front of the stone steps that led to the black door without keylock but with a silver door-knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent.
"I guess you'll go back to St Mungo's tomorrow," said Aunt Dorea.
Alphard didn't waste time and energy to denying it.
"Charlus and I will go with you."
"To be able to tell everything to the Potters?"
"Exatly," she beamed, "and then I want to meet the mystery boy," she put a hand on his head, ruffling his hair. "See you tomorrow at two in the reception."
Dorea turned on it self and Disapparated. Alphard took a deep breath and pulled out his wand and tapped the door to enter.
Hanging on the walls of the hall way were snake-shaped gas lamps that cast a greenish light, a light that matched the color of the carpet, upholstery, and leather armchairs surrounding a small table. Alphard was convinced that it would be difficult to find a family more proud of its tradition Slytherin.
Obviously, waiting for him, sitting on one of the armchairs, was his mother, Irma Black née Crabbe.
"You're finally back," she welcomed him sipping a cup of tea. "Sit down," she pointed to the armchair in front of her.
Alphard obeyed. His mother was just over thirty years old. Her features were too pronounced to can call her pretty, but she was elegant and she had beautiful long lemon-colored hair pulled into a bun. Crouched at her feets, there was her faithful cat: Beelzebub.
Mrs Black poured him some tea.
"Alphard, tell me, do you think I'm being overlystrict?" she asked after Alphard drank.
"No, Mother."
Irma nodded. "No, it doesn't seem to me excessive to ask to thirteen-year-old boy…"
... In less than two weeks he would have turned fourteen ...
"...to go home by dinner time."
"I'm sorry, Mother, I've lost track of time. It won't happen again."
"What were you and your aunt doing that was so fascinating?"
"We studied," Alphard pulled the Ancient Runes book out of his bag to show her.
His mother looked perplexed. "I have always appreciated your dedication to studies, but now it seems to me that you're exaggerating. Do you have problems in this matter?"
"No, in fact I really like it, I wanted to learn more and Aunt Dorea is an expert on Ancient Runes."
"Yes, she is, but I don't understand why you need her help to deepen a school subject. If Hogwarts can't satisfy your academic curiosity, I can hire a tutor to follow you over the holidays."
"It isn't necessary," Hastened to reply Alphard. "Simply, I enjoy spending time with myaunt and Antiche Rune is a passionwehave in common."
His mother nodded meekly. "Yes, I know that you enjoy spending time with your aunt and that you and she have many passions in common, but I think you have spent enough time together during these holidays. In the last few days, I have hardly seen you, not to mention that you spent Christmas with her, a day that should be dedicated to family."
Alphard would have liked to point out that Aunt Dorea in that his father's sister and his godmother, was part of the family. "I had lunch here," he said instead, "and Father had given me permission to attend the Potters' ball."
"Yes, your father has curious opinions about where it's appropriate for my children to go," replied Irma.
She finished sipping the tea. "Well, as I said before, I think you and your aunt have spent enough time together. Until the end of the winter holidays, you can't more to go out."
Alphard didn't dare argue, he knew it would only make the situation worse, but he began frantically to think of a solution.
"It's late, it's time for you to go to sleep." His mother smiled at him and kissed him on the forehead to wish him goodnight.
Alphard headed for the marble staircase leading to the upper floors, and went up to the fourth floor, where his bedroom and those of his siblings were located. They were both awake and waiting for him on the large landing that they used as living room.
"But how much idiot are you?" his sweet older sister greeted him, sitting on the chaise longue near the window. Among them she was the only one who had something of their mother (in the marked features, in the expression of the face, in the bearing), but Irma's thin blond hair had been replaced by thick black hair, and instead of the Crabbes' small pale eyes, Walburga had the Blacks' dark eyes. Furthermore, Walburga was taller than her mother and had an androgynous physique.
"I didn't want to disobey," Alphard difended himself. "I have lost track of time."
"The fact that you did something you didn't want to do makes you even more idiotic," argued Walburga.
Cygnus, who was a Metamorphmagus like Alphard and their father, in that moment had long wavy blonde hair and blue eyes. He handed him a pocket watch with an angelic smile, "I donate it to you, it serves to measure the passage of time. Tomorrow, I'll teach you to use it, if you want."
"Ah, ah, ah. You're hilarious, little brother." Alphard dropped on to an emerald green pouf, while his brother, convinced that being really hilarious or maybe just happy that his older brother was in trouble, giggled under his breath: his eyes became darker and his hair shorter, crew cut, and dark green.
Walburga kept her arms crossed and frowned at him, "Did our mother put you in detention?"
"I can't leave the house until the holidays are over," confirmed Alphard.
Walburga shookher head. "You know she give importance a curfew, what you were doing so interesting that you didn't realize you were late for dinner?"
"Aunt Dorea was talking to me about how the rune sowilo -"
"You're hopeless," interrupted him Walburga, then got up, went to her room, the largest of the three, and shut herself inside.
His brother, who was still giggling, seemed that want to imitate her, but Alphard stopped him.
"Cygnus, you know all the students in your year, right?" he asked.
Cygnus seemed surprised by the sudden change of subject. "Yes, although I have never spoken to some of them,"
Alphard nodded. Cyguns was quite sociable, at least more so than him. "By any chance, do you know a kid with black hair, green eyes, glasses and a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead? He is as tall as you are and he's very thin."
"No, I can't think of anyone."
Alphard was disappointed: so, the Stranger wasn't a freshman.
"Why this question?" inquired his brother, "Oh, wait, does this have to do with the boy who Apparated at the Potters' house?"
"Yes, he was wearing a Hogwarts uniform, but I don't remember ever seeing him."
Cygnus took on a suspicious expression, "And why did you ask me this question now?"
"Because Aunt Dorea told me that today he woke up."
Cygnus looks astonished: "Did she go to see him?"
"No, he's in a reserved room, where visitors aren't allowed, but by chance it was entrusted to the Healer Longbottom, the brother of the cousin Harfang, as well as a friend of the Potters: it was he who said it to her."
"So? Who is he? Why did he sneak into the Potters' House?"
"He claims to have lost his memory."
"And is it true?"
"Who knows. It will be up to the Healers to find out."
Cygnus, for some unknown reason, smiled. "Well, it sounds like an interesting story and you're the only witness."
"Hardly. There was a lot of people at the Potters' house, it was a ball."
His brother gave him a grin, "But you are the only one who has seen him appear, aren't you? There was just you in the library at that moment, right?"
Alphard wondered what he would have said if he had known that he was also the only one to have seen him wake, that he had been the first to speak to him and that he was determined to find a way to visit him the next day. "What do you want to tell? That he appared surrounded of the Fiendfyre and evoked the Grindelwald's sign?"
Cygnus rolled his eyes. "Nothing so melodramatic, of course. In fact, we don't even have to say what you know, it will be enough to suggest that you know something."
Alphard snorted. His brother breathed the thin air of Slytherin for only four months, Alphard could not conceive how Cygnus could already be so deeply entangled in the intrigues of their mates; intrigues which Alphard had skill fully avoided for nearly three years. But, in all likelihood, the difference between them was all there: Alphard didn't want to get involved; Cygnus, instead, happily wallowed between secret plots and power struggles.
"Tell what you want," he granted "but make sure no one bothers me."
Cygnus nodded, but, judging by the expression on his face and his hair turned ashen, he disapproved. Fortunately, Alphard didn't care about his opinion. He said goodnight to his brother and headed for his room.
His room was in shades of blue, with a king size four-poster bed, shiny furniture, a fireplace in which a crackling fire burned and a comfortable armchair –Alphard had spent countless nights reading sitting there-. Next to the door there was a large desk with a tray full of sandwiches and a jug full of pumpkin juice. Alphard smiled at the sight. He knew who had provided his dinner and he also knew that it had done so on his own initiative, without having received orders from anyone. He grabbed the tray and sat in the armchair, lifting his feet to place them on the ottoman. Sometimes, he wondered what it said about him, the fact that the one he liked best, among the residents of Grimmauld Place, was Rella, their house-elf.
Gaheris, his black and white spotted kneazle, he woke up stretching and walked over to boy. Alphard stroked him while he nibbled on thoughtfully. Thinking Rella made him remember of the Stranger. There were several secret passages in Grimmauld Place, a couple of which led out of the house, but Alphard quickly ruled out the possibility of sneaking out. His mother wasn't a fool, even with the help of his siblings (whom he wasn't sure he could count on anyway) Alphard wouldn't be able to cover his absence for more than a couple of hours and if his mother found out, she would have been able to lock him in house for all summer. Even facing his mother directly wouldn't have work: she never changed her mind after making a decision, so what he needed was to receive permission to go out of someone who had more authority than her mother: his father, his grandfather and the Grandmother.
His father would have gladly helped him, but at the moment, he was travelling to the Sahara on a flying carpet in search of magical artifacts; even if Alphard sent him an owl, Pollux Black wouldn't have abandon his research just to force his wife to free their son. His grandfather, that his mother worshiped, was unfortunately unreasonable and stubborn how much Irma about his youngest daughter. So, in reality, there was only one person who Alphard could ask.
The next day, when Alphard entered in the reception aerea of St. Mungo's, Aunt Dorea and Charlus were already there waiting for him. Charlus, who wore the white uniform of the Apprentices Healers, was tall with brown crew-cut hair and dark eyes, greeted him with a pat on the shoulder, "I was convinced that your mother would not let you leave the house," he said.
"The Grandmother helped me," explained Alphard.
Dorea grinned, "As always, the Grandmother seizes every opportunity to vex Irma."
Alphard just shrugged carelessly. He found the countless conflicts within his family exhausting and even a little childish –between his aunt and his grandfather, between his mother and the Grandmother, between his mother and his father–but disapproval had never stopped him from exploiting them to derive personal benefits.
Charlus pointed to the stairs leading to the upperfloors, "Shall we go?".
Aunt Dora nodded and preceded them.
"News?" asked Alphard as they went up.
"Few," said Charlus, "I have been here since dawn: the Healers have examined him since six, but, for now, we can only say that he's a wizard".
Alphard had forgotten that there was still that issue at stake.
"And is he really amnesic?" he inquired.
"No doubt. Rita Schneider, our best Psyche Healer, examined his mind for two hours. He has self-awareness, a well-defined character and various notions about both our world and the Muggle one, but no memory related to personal history."
"Have you already contacted the Ministry?"
"Yes, thanks to my father, Healer Prewett managed to get a fireplace interview with Mrs. Rookwood who works Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophe, but she only gave us more questions to answer."
"What do you mean?"
"He hasn't the Trace," Charlus answered with a whisper.
Aunt Dorea was visibly surprised, "How is it possible?"
"No one know it."
"I never understood how the Trace works," intervened Alphard "nor what it is for."
"In what sense 'you didn't under stand what it is for'," Aunt Dorea asked him.
"Well, it's not like it ever stopped Walburga from doing magic outside of school."
Charlus nodded, "The Trace is able to detect the places where a spell is performed and to tell which wizards and witches are in that area at that time, but it cannot associate the magic performed with the wizard or witch so it's essentially ineffective with underage wizards and underage witches with a magical family."
"So what is it for?" insisted Alphard.
"It's to keep Muggles' children under control," was Aunt Dorea's outspoken reply. "A child born magical is expected to grow up with an awareness of the importance of the International Statute of Secrecy, or at least have a family who can ensure that he isn't showing off in front of Muggles, but few believed that the Muggle-borns would have had the same foresight. The Ministry, therefore, has a map of Britain and of Ireland in which spells of revelation have been applied. There are red dots with names for the underage wizards, nameless blue dots for adult wizards, and golden trails that appear when a spell is cast. If a golden trail appears where there are red dots, but there aren't blue dots, the alarm goes off."
"How do you deceive it?"
"You can't, it's a very powerful magical artifact," explained Charlus, "and never lies."
"But now it's lying," said Alphard, "because it doesn't reveal the presence and name of this boy."
Charlus nodded, "And that's not all."
"What else is there?" For some unknown reason, Aunt Dorea smiled electrified. It looked like they were discussing an exciting new riddle that appeared in The Number Seven, instead of a kid's fate.
"He's a wizard, no doubt about that, and he must be English because he only speaks English and with a British accent, yet he haven't the Trace and Professor Dumbledore claims his name isn't in the Hogwarts' Book of Admittance."
"An underage English wizard who hasn't been admitted to Hogwarts and who hasn't the Trace," Aunt Dorea recapitulated in an excited tone. "He could be an excellent subject of study."
Both Alphard and Charlus stiffened. "He's a patient of the San Mungo's," the latter said sternly.
Aunt Dorea rolled her eyes, "I swear not to compromise his psychophysical state," she promised in asing song tone.
Charlus didn't seem convinced and neither was Alphard, but Aunt Dorea ignored them, quickly passed the last three steps that led to the fourth floor and quickly reached the room of the Stranger. She already had her hand on the door handle when Charlus warned her, "I have promised Preston it will be a short visit: he's still weak, he gets tired easily, and this morning they have already stressed him a lot."
Aunt Dorea nodded and entered, Alphard and Charlus quickly followed her.
The Stranger was lying on the bed and staring at Aunt Dorea with a wary expression, however as soon as he saw Alphard he smiled warmly. Alphard couldn't help but reciprocate.
"How are you?" he asked.
"Fine," the Stranger whispered, watching Aunt Dorea and Charlus.
"They told me it has been a busy morning."
The Stranger shrugged, "Everyone keeps asking me questions which I don't know the answers."
Alphard stroked the Stranger's hair, hoping to be able to comfort him.
"Alphard, you introduce us?"
Alphard turned his gaze towards his aunt. The excited air had vanished and now she stared him and the Stranger, frowning.
"Sure, she's my aunt Dorea and he's her fiancé, Charlus."
"Charlus Potter," he specified.
The Stranger turned white, but Dorea hastened to clarify, "Quiet, he's not here as a Potter."
"I am an Apprentice Healer," Charlus explained, "I spend most of my time two floors up, in the Healing School, just wanted to make sure you were okay. My father, my brother and my sister-in-law were very worried: they fear that they were the protections surrounding the house that made you faint."
Which, Alphard would have bet, was only partially true. The Potters certainly, in the first place, wanted to understand how that boy had overcome those protections. Well, they should have resigned themselves, the Stranger couldn't reveal what he didn't know.
"The Healers say I'll be fully recovered shortly," he reassured them. "So I apparead at your house?"
"In the family house, in reality, the Iolanthe's Nest," specified Charlus. "I live in London."
"And where is Iolanthe's Nest located?"
Alphard frowned: hadn't they even told him the details of his appearance?
"In Stinchcombe," The boy looked puzzled. "It's a small village in Gloucestershire."
This time, the boy recognized the name of the place, even though the Gloucestershire didn't seem to have any particular meaning to him.
"You're a child," Aunt Dorea said softly, as if she were talking to herself.
Those words seemed to irritate the Stranger who, in a dry tone, replied, "I am almost fourteen."
"How do you know it?" asked Alphard.
The Stranger turned to him, "That Healer, Healer Taylor, made me get on a weighs with runes engraved on it and then he said I am thirteen years and ten months: apparently I was born on February 14, 1927."
Charlus and Aunt Dorea exchanged a surprised look. Alphard understood them: was that little fellow his age?
"Did they give you a name?" Charlus then asked. "It seems strange to me not knowing what to call you."
The Stranger nodded, "A woman from the Ministry came ... she said that until they find out who I am, I will be Magbob for the Ministry."
Alphard smiled: 'Magbob' was the archaic term that in the eleventh century was used to define Muggle-borns and which meant "Bobbing up". Adequate. Aunt Dorea must have thought the same way, judging by her amused look.
Charlus, on the other hand, made a grimace. "Ok, for Magbob then, for the moment we will content ourselves." Then he looked at the watch he wore on his wrist, "Well, I think we've bothered you enough, you need to rest."
The Stranger, Magbob, gave Alphard a quick glance. "I'm not tired," he asserted, "and I'm resting, I'm lying down."
Charlus smiled. "Yes, but I promised Healer Preston Longbottom that we won't stay long."
Magbob nodded, resigned. He had been unconscious for three days, lost his memory, was totally at the mercy of a bunch of extraneous, and didn't even have a say about the people he could be with and for how long. Alphard was really sorry for him. He began to take what he had brought with him out of his bag.
"We will meet again soon and, make time pass more quickly, I have brought you some things," he said, "I don't know what you prefer, but rereading Fantastic Beasts never hurts," he said placing the book on the bedside table. "Alternatively, if you like Quidditch..." he pulled out Before the Snitch is caught.
Magbob's eyes lit up. "Oh yes, I really like that book."
Alphard smiled. Magbob liked Quidditch, it was good news, but that book… "I don't think it's possible," he said softly, "it's on sale since Christmas."
Magbob frowned.
"These, however, are among my favorites," concluded by extracting Magical Theory and Hogwarts: A History, "and in case you don't like reading…" Alphard himself found it difficult to understand why he was worried about someone who might not like to read, but he pulled out a small globe, a chessboard you could play alone, and a deck of self-shuffling cards.
Magbob looked enchanted, "I ... Thanks, it wasn't necessary," he stammered, admiringall the objects on his bedside table. "You are really kind."
"Yes, Alphard is famous for his kindness." Aunt Dorea commented: her tone was dripping with sarcasm and her nephew looked at her badly. Magbob just looked puzzled.
"Well, now let's go," said Charlus letting his gaze wander from Magbob to Alpahard to the pile of objects on the bedside table.
Magbob greeted them, shaking his hand as they left, closing the door behind them.
"What do you think?" asked Charlus after they had gone away.
"I think none of this makes the slightest sense," answered Aunt Dorea.
"Yes, that guy should be impossible. It's impossible that he appeared at Iolanthe's Nest, it's impossible that he doesn't have the Trace, it's simpossible that he was not admitted to Hogwarts."
Aunt Dorea turned her gaze to Alphard, "Did you give him your chessboard?"
Alphard was surprised by the question, but just shrugged, "I have another it."
"But that was your favorite."
"Precisely for this reason I gave it to him: the pieces know many moves, they will be a good opponent."
"And you gave him some of your favorite books too."
"Which I know by heart and which I will buy back."
"You certainly don't know by heart Before the Snitch is caught: You recently bought it."
"I'll buy that back too, of course."
Dorea shook her head, incredulous.
"What bothers you so much, Aunt?"
"I'm not bothered," argued Aunt Dorea, "just perplexed. Are you the same boy who, at the age of eight, hexed his brother because he had stained his favorite book with chocolate?"
"It was Accidental magic," talked back Alphard in an exasperated tone.
"I'm just saying you're usually jealous of your personal possessions."
Alphard shrugged again. Indeed, he too was amazed by his behavior, but Magbob had aroused curiosity and compassion in him. He wanted to know his story and wanted to help him ... In this order.
"What will happen now?" Aunt Dorea asked to her fiancè.
"I have no idea," was Charlus' useful response. "Physically, he's fine and since he's aware of himself and controls his powers, he isn't a danger to the International Statute of Secrecy: if he weren't a underage or if he had a place to go, we would discharge him,"
"But he is an underage and he has nowhere to go," summarized Aunt Dorea.
"Then, we'll have to find him a house."
Hogwarts was being repopulated and Albus was happy about it. Classes would only resume on Monday, but already after the New Year, many students had begun to return. In fact, the students who decided to spend the winter holidays at home, had to indicate the day, time and way in which they would return and, only if it was not possible to stagger arrivals, they being imposed upon them to return all together, the evening before classes began on the Hogwarts Express.
Albus sipped his strawberry cocktail as he observed the students in the Great Hall.
At Slytherin's table, the school's brightest student, Tom Riddle, quietly ate his roast surrounded by his friends. Albus smiled to himself. Indeed, he called them friends for lack of a better term, but to Albus, Tom looked like a young prince surrounded by his courtiers. He watched the group more carefully. To Tom's left and right were Dorcas Meadowes and Balthazar Selwyn, both, like every year, had decided to spend their holiday sat school. Dorcas, a clever and pretty third year girl, was discussing with Theodore Nott and Icarus Greengrass, seated across from her. Theodore and Icarus were also third years, both had spent Christmas at home and had returned the day before. Xenos Avery, on the other hand, was gorging himself on mashed potatoes and roast, pausing only to wash it all down with the pumpkin juice. Beside him, Alaric, the heir of the Rosiers, could not have represented a greater contrast: the young man (wavy blond hair, blue eyes and delicate features) was seated in regal way and carried, elegantly, small bites to his mouth, without speaking, but, Albus didn't doubt it, listening to everything very attentivally. Every so often, he paused to give Xenos a disgusted look. Balthazar Selwyn, instead, was explaining something to Owen Mulciber: there was a book, among them, on the table, and Balthazar was pointing out paragraphs. It was probably a tome of Charms. Albus helped himself to a slice of lemon pie. Owen was among the best of his year and would almost certainly be named Prefect the following year, but Charms was his weakness while it was among Balthazar's best subjects.
In Slytherin's third year, besides Dorcas, there were only two other female students: Nyx Malfoy and Michelle Zabini who, however, were seated as far away as possible from their roommate and from Riddle's group. Both were sitted faced with Nyx's older brother, Prefect Abraxas Malfoy, also surrounded by who Albus could only call followers, something between servants and bodyguards. Finally, sitting in the middle of the table, committed to enjoying the privilege of being able to ignore everyone, was Head Girl Amanda Bailey.
Of the most popular members of the House, only Roland Lestrange and the Black cousins were missing, who would return on Sunday afternoon. While Albus was wondering how young Lestrange would arrive that year (he never returned to the way he had indicated), a squat boy with marked features and shoulder-length brown hair entered the Great Hall. It was Augustus Rookwood, the only one not Slytherin in Tom's group. That year, for the first time, Rookwood had stayed at Hogwarts for the winter holidays. Albus suspected it had been a decision of his parents, both of whom were very busy (Mrs. Rookwood at the Ministry, Mr. Rookwood at the International Conference of Theorists of Magic that was taking place in Damascus). They probably thought it was useless for their son to come home for Christmas, since they wouldn't have time for him anyway. Augustus approached his "boss", whispered something in his ear, then greeted the others and went to the Ravenclaw table. He sat between his best friend, Alexander Bagman, and one of Albus' favorite students, Filius Flitwick. Filius was sitting on his usual pile of books and chatting animatedly with two other students dears to Albus, Sowa Shacklebolt and Millicent Bagnold.
And speaking of favorite students… Albus turned his gaze towards Gryffindor'stable. The McGonagalls, sister (Minerva, fourth year) and brother (Malcolm, third year) had returned that morning. They were sat next to each other, surrounded by the other members of the Quidditch team: the Chaser Susan Bennet; the Keeper Dustin McKinnon; the Beaters Benjamin Fenwick and Richard McLaggen and the Captain Rolanda Hooch. They were debating heatedly and Albus assumed they were devising new game schemes: at the moment, Gryffindor was at the top of the Quidditch Cup rankings. Albus frowned. Eventhough she was doing everything she could not to show it, Minerva was in a bad mood and Albus wondered if it had anything to do with her family situation. Minerva's mother, Isobel, had been one of his first students. She was a charming, bright and gifted girl: best-in-class at Charms, and Captain of Gryffindor's Quidditch team. She seemed destined for success and Albus was among those who were disappointed to find that she had married a Muggle and had given up on Magic. Albus had never met the Reverend Robert McGonagall, but his daughter seemed to love him very much, so Albus could only deduce that the Revernd was an honorable man, but he had no illusions about what life must have been like at the McGonagall house: had a marriage between a witch and a muggle ever been happy? How could women who grew up with role models such as Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, Morgana LaFay, Morrigan Sayre and Artemisia Lufkin be with men who lived in a world where women only got the right to vote only twenty-three years ago?
"So, do you have a meeting with Lynette Rookwood this afternoon?"
Horace's question, sitting next to him, distracted him from his thoughts.
The Headmaster Armando Dippet, sitting on the other side of Albus, replied, "Yes, she asked us for an interview via fireplace."
"Wasted time, as if the Hogwarts admission criteria could be changed," muttered Geoffrey Binns.
Albus realized he must have missed a large part of the conversation while watching the students. However, it was clear what they were talking about or rather who.
"Really, I don't understand," intervened Silvanus Kettleburn, "because we can't admit him to Hogwarts."
The question wasn't addressed to anyone in particular, but as Albus was the Deputy Headmaster, and therefore the person in charge of the admissions procedures, he felt compelled to answer, "The Founders have bound admission to the school to two sentient magical objects: the Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance. The Quill warns the birth of every British and Irish magical child, the Book decides whether the child has enough magic to be admitted to Hogwarts. Only if both are in agreement, a magical child can become a student of this school and their judgment is final."
"What would happen if we welcomed some one who has not been admitted?" asked Peter Swan, the Muggle Studies teacher.
"Hogwarts wouldn't accept them," said Maho Miyazawa, the new Arithmancy teacher. Maho's Alma Mater was Mahoutokoro but, as Albus had been able to ascertain, in those months she had thoroughly studied the architecture of the school. "In the first place, the Hat couldn't sort them and the armor could even attack them, although, now that I think about it, it's more likely that the entrance gates won't even allow him to enter."
Peter was flabbergasted, "Why? This school has hosted Squibs and even Muggles."
"Not as students," Binns pointed out. "Hogwarts is magical and sentient: we would never be able to deceive it."
"Nobody is going to try," said Albus brightly. "Personally, I'm very grateful to the Founders for the admission procedure they devised: I don't even want to think how annoying it would have been to have to personally examine the children of wizards and witches and explain to their parents why I couldn't admit them to Hogwarts."
"But if the St Mungo's Healers are right, and this guy is at the level of our students, it means our admissions system is flawed," observed Galatea Merrythought, sipping some elven wine. Galatea, who had been the Albus' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, was two inches taller than him and looked even more imposing due to the mass of silvery curls and extravagant hats she used to wear: at that moment, a pointed hat with a stuffed mouse on top.
"I don't think the problem is our admission system," replied Albus. "Let's not forget that we are talking about an underage without the Trace: it's evident that the story of this boy is unique. Also, in reality the Pen and the Book are behaving in a unique way."
"Id est?" asked Silvanus.
Albus let out a deep sigh. "As I said, the Quill detects the birth of each magical child while, of fact, it's the Book that decides whether the child is a wizard or a witch, therefore, usually, it's the Quill that is less restrictive."
"However…?" Galatea encouraged him to continue.
"However, this time the exact opposite is happening. The Quill doesn't seem to want to move from its ink well while the Book is wide open and, from time to time, flutters around the Quill as if to convince it to write something. I have never witnessed such behavior."
"Neither me too," confirmed Armando.
"Well, there're a lot of mysteries in this story, there aren't?" commented Horace. "You were at the Potters' ball, right, Galatea?"
Galatea nodded. "And I expected to see you," she said.
"They invited me," explained Horace, "but, alas, Brutus' invitation is arrived first."
He was referring to Brutus Malfoy, Abraxas and Nyx's father.
"So, did the boy really appear out of nowhere, as everyone say?" inquired Horace.
Galatea shrugged. "We should ask the to young Alphard Black," she answered. "He was the only one in the library, in that moment."
"Because he was in the library, during a ball?" asked Albus.
"I think there were too many people for his taste. He's a shy boy."
'Shy' was not the term Albus would use. He believed that 'reserved' was more fitting or even 'antisocial'. Of course, if the touch stone was the sister, anyone would have seemed shy.
"Anyway, yes, Alphard Black claims the Stranger appeared out of nowhere."
"And when he wake up was discovered that he's amnesic?" summed up Horace.
"That's right, that I know of, he's still at St Mungo's," answered Galatea.
"It's so," confirmed Albus.
Horace sighed. "Poor Lynette, she has a hard row to hoe. An underage boy, amnesic and without the Trace: a real danger for the International Statute of Secrecy and the Ministry already has so many problems in this period -" He broke off, but everyone had understood what problems he was talking about.
Galatea frowned. "Do you think Grindelwald has something to do with it?"
Albus, too, had wondered it. Grindelwald stopped at nothing, not even children, the Stranger could be part of some twisted plan.
"Why would he have to send a wandless underage to the Potters' house?" retorted instead Horace.
Galatea didn't answer.
"Regardless of what's behind it," intervened Armando, "I'm sorry for the boy. Alone and without memories: I wish we could welcome him."
"Well, we can't," said dryly Geoffrey. "Hogwarts decides who can be admitted to Hogwarts and this is what we will explain to Mrs. Rookwood. The Ministry will have to fend for itself. This story doesn't concernus."
But, as was often the case, Geoffrey Binns was wrong.
Two hours later, Albus and Headmaster Armando were in the latter's office and were arguing with Lynette Rookwood, whose blond head was sitting in the middle of the fireplace flames.
Mrs. Rookwood, consistent with the person she was, wasted no time in pleasantrie, "Magbob must be admitted to Hogwarts."
Albus, sitting in a comfortable brown leather armchair, glanced quickly at Armando, who was curled up on himself in a corner of the sofa, and then, smiling, replied, "We cannot do it."
The witch, after giving him an angry look, seemed to decide to change tactics and, in a more quiet tone, said, "Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster Dippet, I assure you that I'm sorry to have to impose a student on you. I've always been convinced that the Ministry shouldn't interfere with Hogwarts affairs, but this is a matter of national security".
"Really!" Albus commented, still smiling. Dippet, on the other hand, put on an anxious expression.
A flash of irritation crossed the woman's light eyes again. "In all honesty, when Mr. Potter woke me up at five in the morning to discuss a little boy who had lost his way home, I was very irritated, but soon the uniqueness of the event has became evident. He isn't just an amnesic boy, he is an adolescent English wizard without the Trace, who has not been admitted in any magical school, but who has received an education. When I visited him, I had the opportunity to question him on many issues: he's confused, especially regarding recentevents, but he's talented and it's evident that at some point someone has instructed him. We must find out how it's possible, where he comes from, who is behind him and especially if there are other minors whose existence we ignore. He must be kept an eye on."
She spoke in a very excited tone and a vein began to throb in her temple. Armando was hanging on her words.
"It would be a risky situation for the International Statute of Secrecy even in normal conditions, but we are at war: we cannot afford to be unprepared."
"It's all very interesting, but I don't understand what Hogwarts has to do with it," commented Albus. "I imagine that the Healers are perfectly able to keep an eye on him."
"Obviously the problem is that he can't stay for ever at St Mungo's: he's in perfect health."
"You mean, apart from the fact that he's amnesic?"
If Mrs. Rookwood caught the sarcasm, she didn't show it. "Healers don't know how to help him recover lost memories, he may stay that way forever, but he can't stay at St Mungo's forever."
"Why not? There are those who stay at St Mungo's for life. Is still there the long-term residents' ward, right?"
Judging by the look she gave him, it was evident that Mrs. Rookwood thought he has gone crazy.
"The long-term residents' ward, it's for people who have lost their mind."
"And that they would be a danger to the International Statute of Secrecy," Albus pointed out.
"That's right, that's not the case with Magbob."
"Yes, instead, an amnesic and without Trace underage is a danger to the International Statute of Secrecy. It has been you to say it, that's what we're talking about."
Mrs. Rookwood evidently had been caught off guard, but she didn't give up, "The long-term residents' ward is for people who are difficult to manage."
"But in that ward, there are also people who would have a family able to take care of them. This kid who came out of nowhere, who nobody knows anything about -"
"Stop it, Dumbledore! We wont lock him up in the closed ward with a bunch of mad men!" snapped finally the woman.
Albus smiled, "I understand, you don't want to lock him up because you're sorry for him. And what do you suggest, then?"
Mrs. Rookwood, who by now had lost her temper, took on a caustic expression, "Well, he's a nearly fourteen year old English wizard, what do fourteen year old English wizards usually do?"
"He cannot attend Hogwarts."
"Why? It's where he belongs."
"Mrs. Rookwood, you know because. You know about the Book and the Quill, you know that their judgment is final. We're bound. I hope I don't have to explain a high-ranking Ministry official what means."
The witch gave him an angry look, "I was hoping to be able to settlet his peacefully, but now I realize that unfortunately the Ministry will have to interfere in the affairs of Hogwarts. I'll consult the Minister. If Hogwarts excludes a kid like Magbob, then it's time to question its selection criteria with an Educational Decree."
Armando blanched and Albus didn't blame him: every Educational Decree, every law that diminished the Hogwarts' independence was a failure for the Headmaster and the governors, however Albus was convinced that it was an empty threat.
"I'll be happy to discuss the matter directly with Leo."
If the fact that Albus got along with the Minister who should have made that decision bothered her, Mrs. Rookwood didn't show it and with a brusque and final nod, she disappeared.
"We have nothing to worry about," said Albus immediately. "Her threats are empty: she cannot really impose the boy's registration by decree."
"Yes," agreed Armando, "but she's right, isn't she? That boy cannot stay at the San Mungo's forever and like any young wizard, he deserves a magical education."
"I agree, mine was a provocation, but there really is nothing we can do. You know the Book and the Quill."
Armando fell silent, got up and looked, with a melancholy gaze, at the Sorting Hat resting on a gold shelf.
"Helga Hufflepuff wanted Hogwarts to be willing to welcome all kids wished to learn magic, she wanted it to be the home of every young homeless wizard and every young homeless witch."
Albus' expression softened, "What do you want I do?"
Armando turned to him. "Take care of the boy. Find him a home, a place that has the approval of the Ministry and where he'll be protected and safe. I would do it personally, but you have a lot more knowledge than me, both in Britain and abroad."
Albus smiled, amused. Armando underestimated himself, the truth was that few would turn down a favor to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, but Albus was happy that his old teacher was convinced that whatever he could do, his deputy could do it better.
"All right," he agreed. "I got it."
Hours later, as he listened to Magnificat, lying on his bed with his eyes closed, Albus wondered what he would do.
Armando wanted that boy to find a home and receive an education, Lynette Rookwood wanted that house to be where the Ministry could keep an eye on him. 'And I? What do I want?'. He thought back to the Galatea hypothesis. If this was all about Grindelwald, then Albus had to make sure the boy's new home was where he could keep an eye on him. Hogwarts would have been the perfect place, but ...
"There are alternatives to Hogwarts, of course," he muttered in a low voice.
Foreign, less prestigious wizarding schools, with less stringent admissions procedures and, at worst, Albus could be able to find him a private teacher.
«Tina Scamander would accept and Adalbert too, perhaps,» he whispered.
Fawkes, perched on top of the wardrobe, trilled softly and Albus laughed at himself.
"You're right, I should at least get to know this guy before I start planning the rest of his life."
So it was that the next day, around ten in the morning, Albus crossed the threshold of the waiting room of the San Mungo's. Waiting for him was Healer Preston Longbottom, to whom he had sent an owl the day before to announce his arrival.
The wizard grinned at him. "We hadn't seen each other for a long time."
"This term has been very busy," Albus explained as they headed upstairs.
Preston nodded. "Did Jasper and Algie return, yesterday?"
Albus smiled. "Yes, sure."
Preston's eldest son, Jasper, was Head Boy; the younger, instead, was in the third year and both were Gryffindors.
"Children grow up so fast. I can't believe Jasper is in his senior year, nor that he'll be an Apprentice Auror next year. That is, if he'll be admitted, of course."
"He'll be admitted," reassured him Albus. "You raised a skilled boy."
Preston's eyes sparkled with the pride that a son like Jasper couldn't help but arouse.
"So, how's the lost boy?" asked Albus, changing the subject.
Preston's expression darkened. "Fine, physically. He's underweight, but he doesn't seem malnourished. The only notes are the bones of the right arm which are less than two years old, the scar from a bite on one arm and a curse scar on the forehead".
"Two scars and a de-boned arm: a remarkable track record for a 13-year-old," observed Albus. "And psychologically, how is he? How do you handle the situation?"
Preston stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Albus shrugged casually. "I guess it's not easy for him to be locked in here all day."
"No, it's not."
"And this is a hospital, not a nursery."
"Magbob would be too old for a nursery, anyway."
"Therefore? How are you handling this teenager? Does he stay locked in his room all day? Is he that docile? Or maybe, is there some Healer who keeps him company?"
"Like you said, this is a hospital. No, no Healer can afford to spend their days entertaining a kid," replied Preston dryly.
Albus suppressed a sigh. He and Preston had discussed several times about the way the St Mungo's handled the people with incurable mentalillness, Albus should have imagined that the Healer would have thought that his curiosity was hiding a criticism: he tried to explain himself.
"I have certain experience with teenagers," he said. "I can't believe a healthy guy can stand being in a room all day."
Preston gave him a cautious look. "He doesn't stay locked in a room all day. We moved him to the reserved ward, but he's free to go around the hospital with some rules," he explained.
"What's he like?"
"Seems like a good guy. He's shy, calm and obedient. He's tolerating the situation well, at least. Sure, it's probably thanks to the frequent visits he receives".
"Visits?". Albus was surprised. "Visits from whom?".
"From one of the Black kids, the one who found him. He comes every day. Now they are together in the tearoom" he added as they passed the floor where the closed ward was located. "It's almost a shame that Alphard has to return to Hogwarts, Magbob will miss him very much."
They had reached the beaten wooden doors of the tearoom and Albus made a decision. He smiled at Preston and said, "If you don't mind, I'd rather go in alone."
Preston was caught off guard. "Don't you want me to introduce you?"
"I can do it myself, Alphard already knows me and I think I've already stolen enough time to you."
Preston hesitated for a moment, but then nodded and greeted him.
Albus waited for him to walk away, then closed his eyes and cast a Disillusionment Charm. He entered, opening the doors the bare minimum and slipped inside, silently. There were only about ten people in the room, he immediately spotted Alphard Black and Magbob. They were sitting on a sofa placed in front of a coffee table and giggling while playing with one of those expensive miniature globes that allowed you to take virtual trips around the world. Albus approached the couple, and stood behind them.
"Now, my father is here," Alphard was explaining by pointing a place in North Africa. "He bought a flying carpet, I can't wait to try it."
"How many ways can you fly?" asked Magbob.
"At the moment? Only with broomsticks, carpets or flying magical creatures. The family of my sister's best friend, Roland Lestrange, raises winged horses. In fact, that's how we're going back to school tomorrow: astride his Aethonans."
Albus raised an eyebrow, Roland Lestrange and the Black cousins had declared that they would be back to school by Knight Bus.
"How will you keep from being seen by Muggles?" asked Magbob, hanging from Alphard's words.
"Our cousin Arcturus is a Charms Master. He'll cover everyone with a Disillusionment Charm."
"That sounds great," sighed Magbob, with the face towards window.
Alphard frowned and met the boy's gaze. "This summer" he said firmly "I'll take you to Roland's house so you'll can try."
Magbob managed to smile.
"And in these months I will write to you very often: Hogwarts has an owlery, available to all students."
Albus was quite surprised. Although Alphard was not in his House, he thought he knew him well, yet this caring side was new to him. Alphard certainly didn't behave like that with his brother and sister, but on the other hand, Albus himself, at his age, was kinder to his schoolmates than to Aberforth and preferred to spend time with his friends rather than Ariana.
"I know it," said Magbob, perhaps referring to the owlery.
Alphard didn't ask him how he knew, so it could be information that the young Black did not remember having already shared or it was information that Magbob already had and Alphard was too used to the Stranger to ask questions.
Albus decided it was time to be seen and muttered a counter spell as they both looked in an other direction.
"Good Morning Alphard, would you introduce me to your new friend?"
Both boys winced and turned to him. It was evident that they were wondering where he had come from and and how they had managed not to notice him before.
"Professor Dumbledore… Good Morning," said Alphard, hesitated a moment before continuing, "Magbob, this is Professor Dumbledore. Professor, this is Magbob."
Albus gave the dark boy one of his most reassuring smiles, "Pleased to meet you".
The Stranger didn't react, he had a dreamy expression.
"Sorry to be rude," continued Albus, "but I really need to talk to Magbob alone, Alphard."
Young Black didn't look happy, but he nodded and stood up. Magbob revived. "Do you come back?" he asked anxiously.
"I don't believe," replied Alphard and seemed genuinely sorry. "My mother wants us to prepare for the back to Hogwarts."
"So ... this is the last time we see each other."
"Until the spring holidays," assured him Alphard.
They greeted each other with a melancholy wave of the hand and Albus found himself alone with the Stranger. He took Alphard's place and ordered a hot chocolate. After being served, he turned his attention back to the kid next to him.
"You know me," he asked.
The boy nodded. "Alphard told me a little about Hogwarts. You are Professor Dumbledore: Deputy Headmaster, Head of Gryffindor House and Head of Transfiguration department."
"What else do you know about Hogwarts?"
"Not much. It's the best school of magic in the world and it has four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Students are sorted with a hat that reads minds and -"
"Did Alphard tell you?"Albus interrupted. He kept smiling, trying not to let any emotion leak out, but in reality he was stunned. Not many were aware of it, but the Sorting Hat was protected by the Fidelius Charm of which the Secret Keeper was the Headmaster: this was the reason why even the freshmen from ancient families did not know what the Sorting would consist of. How did this boy do to find out?
"No, Al didn't tell me. I ... I just know."
Albus was beginning to worry. "Is there something else you just know?" he asked encouragingly.
"I know it's a castle in Scotland and that you arrive there by scarlet steam train," answered the boy.
At least these were informations he could have found in Hogwarts: A History.
Magbob was restless, even as he tried to hide it. His eyes were fixed on Albus and scrutinized his every move, as if expecting to be attacked, then he put a hand through his hair, twisting a rebellious tuft nervously. It was then that Albus noticed the curse scar Preston had told him about. It really had a particular shape, plus there weren't many scars that magic could not heal.
"Can I?" he asked with a reassuring smile and a hand suspended in mid air pointing to his forehead.
The boy nodded and Albus pushed aside some unruly tufts from his face to examine the scar. As he traced its boundaries with his fingers, he could almost feel it throbbing. Yes, undoubtedly Dark Magic. His eyes met ones of the boy, whose color reminded him of the killing curse. The movement of the wand associated with the Avada Kedavra was that of the sowilo rune, the shape of which was identical this boy's scar.
"Does it cause you problems of some kind? Does it bleed sometimes? Or does it hurt you?"
"It never bled, but when I woke up -" he broke off, hesitantly. "In fact, I think it was the pain in my scar that woke me up," he concluded "but it only happened that time."
A nightmare, Albus understood with the Legilmancy, the boy was having a nightmare, then his scar had started to hurt and he had woken up. Magbob thought that it had been an important dream, but he couldn't remember it, well, just as he couldn't remember anything.
"Interesting," said Albus. He was undecided. He knew what his brother's opinion was about his use of Legilmancy and he himself was perfectly aware that he was doing something he shouldn't have done, but how could he choose not to investigate? How it could to be wrong, to use all possible means he had to try to discover something more? Especially now that they were at war?
Albus looked the boy straight in the eye and thought, 'Legilimens!'.
A series of images quickly followed in his head. Alphard Black above all, Alphard Black who smiled, Alphard Black who told him funny anecdotes about Hogwarts, Alphard Black who beat him at chess ... Now, however, he was alone and was staring at the wall with a melancholy air, he was afraid even if he didn't want to admit it, neither with himself ... That was Mrs Rookwood and she was asking him a lot of questions he didn't know the answers ... Now Healer Schneider was reading his mind, Schneider was kind, but he was feeling so violated ... Now he was reading a book on Quidditch , enjoying every word, even though he was sure he had already read it ... What would he have given to be able to fly ... Did he had a family? Was there someone was looking for him?
Albus blinked a couple of times and then gave the boy a careful look: no, he hadn't noticed anything. Albus felt relieved. Apparently, Magbob really had nothing to hide.
"As you said," he started, "I am a Hogwarts teacher, but I'm also a member of the Wizengamot. Do you know what Wizengamot is?"
"The parliament of magical Britain," answered the boy.
"Yes, I guess that's the thing most resembles the muggle parliament," agreed Albus. "I was appointed two years ago and it is mainly in this capacity that I am here today."
Magbob seemed to have understand. "Have you decided… where will I go?" he asked.
Albus nodded. "Yours is a unique situation. We fail to understand why you were not admitted to Hogwarts, but you are a wizard and as a young wizard you deserve an education."
"So?" Magbob urged him.
"My friend Aisling Jordan, founded a small school in Southern Ireland, the Green Academy. Most of the students are pre-Hogwarts kids or squibs, but I talked to her and she agreed to become your teacher."
His words were greeted by silence. Albus guessed that Magbob had a lot of questions to ask him but that he didn't know where to start.
"I ... So you want me to move to Ireland?" he finally said.
"Well, yes, that was the idea," Albus confirmed sipping his chocolate. "It would be difficult to attend the Green Academy from London."
Magbob did not seem very happy, he was probably thinking of Alphard, but the question he asked was another, "How -" he bit his lower lip. "I mean, I have no money, how -"
"Headmaster Dippet has decided to fully cover the cost of your stay and your studies at the Green Academy."
"Why? He doesn't even know me."
"He knows that you're thirteen and that you're alone: that's reason enough for him to want to help you in any way he can, he's that kind of person."
"I'd like to thank him" Magbob said blushing, but looking him firmly straight in the eyes.
"I'm sure you will have the opportunity to do so," Albus reassured him with a quick glance at his pocket watch: if he wanted to warn Horace that the young Lestrange and the Black cousins would arrive flying, he had to hurry. "I would say there is only one issue left to settle."
"That is?"
Albus smiled at him. "We can't keep calling you just Magbob, you can keep it as a surname, but you also need a real name."
"Like?"
"What you want, it has to become your name, after all."
The Stranger thought it for a moment. "I don't know."
"Maybe a name with a meaning that can inspire you?" suggested Albus. "Or perhaps the name of some famous wizard? As long as you don't choose 'Merlin', the Ministry will agree."
"Maybe… could I… could I call myself Kilian?"
"That is, "war" in Gaelic?"
"I thought about Kilian as Kilian McKinnon, that famous squib."
"I only know one Kilian McKinnon" commented Albus "and he's not a squib."
Magbob looked confused. "But there was a squib named Kilian McKinnon," he insisted. "He died trying to defend a muggle village from powerful dark wizards."
"Are you sure it's not the novel plot?" said Albus softly. "A story like that, I would remember it.".ù
The Stranger blushed. "Maybe," he mumbled.
"Anyway, I like the name you've chosen and the Kilian McKinnon I know is a good wizard."
Magbob nodded.
"So, will you be Kilian Magbob from now on?"
"Yes," said Magbob firmly.
Both would discover it only the following day, but as soon as the Stranger confirmed, the Book of Admission opened and the Quill of Acceptance with a clear hand writing wrote a new name: Kilian Magbob had been admitted to Hogwarts.