AN: Sorry everyone, one last chapter of Hogwarts-y stuff to close some loose ends, then the real Christmas-Break chapter.

Dumbledore groaned as another wince of pain ebbed through his skull like a wave. He sat at his desk, mulling over the last bits and pieces of his paperwork as he nursed his headache with an ice pack.

He had been unconscious for at least four hours before he roused himself, thankfully before any of the staff came to check in with him. His legilimency was proficient, so he could self-diagnose without resorting to Poppy. It appeared as though somehow, his spell was not only noticed, but overwhelmed.

That was not magic a mere first-year could accomplish. Meaning, a trained adult had to be able to detect, identify, and manipulate the spell to cause that reaction.

The only adult in the group being Mr. Lindermann cast immediate suspicion on the man (well, as much as usual), however he couldn't ignore the possibility of an ally. A wizard from America, perhaps? Meeting up with them just outside of Hogwarts' wards, to keep them anonymous, and then assisting magically?

Perhaps Mr. Lindermann is not magical, after all? Perhaps he simply didn't wish to perform magic at the moment. Perhaps he was not capable of removing the spell? Then what connections did he have to anyone powerful enough, knowledgeable enough to do so?

All options to consider.

Or perhaps-

*throb*

"Nnng," His jaw clenched as another wave of pain struck through his brain. He sighed reluctantly admitting he couldn't exactly overexert his mental faculties. They were, after all, still recovering from an information overload that would leave most lesser wizards in vegetative catatonia.

For now, he could indulge in simpler thought processes.

Simpler emotions.

Like outright frustration at being out maneuvered again!

He sullenly admitted that Harry had escaped, yet again. His efforts to keep him in the castle over the break were for naught. He hardly expected much to happen, but perhaps it would allow a chance for Mr. Weasley to bond with him more?

Still, his plans for the boy to discover a particular classroom were for ruined, as were his plans to gift his father's cloak.

It was all a larger mystery that he had an inkling of an idea how to solve.

*Flashback*

"You summoned me, Headmaster?" Severus drawled as he skulked into the office.

Dumbledore beckoned him to close the door and immediately began casting privacy charms on the door and room to ensure a secure conversation.

"Albus, what's the meaning of all of this?" Minerva asked.

"I felt I could trust you both to discuss this," He explained, finishing the last spell and returning to his desk. "Earlier this afternoon, Poppy brought one of Mr. Lindermann's wards, Mr. Richards, in for an examination. A few days ago, he was hit by errant spellfire in a corridor. Nothing harmful, just a mis-aimed Finite.

"However, when he was hit, students reported his face was… disfigured. Not by the spell, but rather by what the spell revealed, which Poppy confirmed.

"Evidently, Mr. Richards was involved in an accident many years ago, which marred the left side of his face. He is missing most of the flesh up to his cheekbone, following along his mouth. His teeth and gums very visible."

Severus frowned, "Headmaster, with all due respect, I've seen Mr. Richards without that muggle mask at the Feasts. His face is perfectly fine-"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Dumbledore interrupted urgently. "It would seem… Mr. Richards is capable of latently applying a glamour charm on his face."

The room was silent as the new arrival processed this information.

"… Impossible." He uttered at length.

Dumbledore chuckled dryly, "With magic, is anything truly?"

"Then Mr. Lindermann lied? At least one of his other wards is a Wizard," Severus presumed.

"I'm afraid Poppy has already 'debunked' that theory, as they say," The Headmaster sighed. "No core, no readouts, no significant levels of magic. Nothing. She even handed him her own wand and instructed him on the 'Lumos' test. He was unable to produce anything, and Minerva says he seemed invested in the attempt."

He gestured to his Deputy, who nodded, "When I was with Poppy, it was clear Mr. Lindermann was uncomfortable with the proceedings. Anxious, even."

"Then he suspected Mr. Richards to be magical?" The potions master asked.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps fearing a discovery of another nature? Who knows…" Dumbledore trailed off, rising from the desk and walking leisurely around it. "… who knows…"

"But you have suspicions, I presume?" Severus observed. His arms folded, dark cloak shifting, "I doubt you would drag me up here solely for this reason."

"Quite right, Severus. Quite right." The Headmaster applauded, turning abruptly towards his pensieve. Staring into the ethereal, blue depths of the shallow basin, several wisps rose to the surface and began forming above the basin.

A phantasmal image of a girl, perhaps barely old enough for her Hogwarts letter, stared forlornly ahead. Blood dribbled from her head, through her blonde, braided hair, and onto a pretty blue dress.

"I have… encountered individuals," Dumbledore began, looking down at the memory. "Who were or are magical that suffer a grievous injury, often to the head, that leaves them… 'damaged' for lack of a better word, or perhaps more-so 'unstable'," He sighed.

"Their magic becomes uncontrollable. Oftentimes erupting from them by emotional distress or sometimes at random." He continued, waving his hand and the phantasmal image changed to the interior of a kitchen, perhaps?

The entire room was frozen in a moment of time. Knives, plates, tables, and chairs all flying around the room in a whirlwind of chaos and damage. Splinters, shards, and fragments flung like projectiles in between. Walls were missing pieces of plaster with spreading cracks evident in the still-frame. Cabinets and drawers were beaten and battered, barely holding on by their hinges as the chaos erupted around them.

And in the center of it all, the same girl as before was kneeling on the floor, her face a twisted picture of fear, panic, and confusion as she clutched at her blonde hair in her fists.

"These individuals… are oftentimes not stable mentally, either," Dumbledore continued. "Wizards often hush them up if they have the family resources, or muggle families in the past have taken more drastic approaches. Those who are found are either held in St. Mungo's for the rest of their lives, in magical suppression or..." He trailed off grimly.

Minerva gasped, hand covering her mouth at the horror as Severus maintained a stony composition.

"Are they Obscurials?" The dark man asked.

"No, no," Dumbledore dismissed. "Though they appear similar, Obscurials are created by the suppression of magic. These individuals are magical, but unstable in how they control it. It can cause the creation of an Obscurial if the Wizarding child suppresses themselves, however."

"And you believe… Lindermann's children are all like this?" Minerva asked, horrified and pitying.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore nodded. Another wave and the image shifted once more. This time, Sally Williams stood in the center of his office, mid-destruction, eyes blazing in rage. "It would explain Ms. William's outburst. And the blood." He pondered.

The image shifted showing Sally alone, beside a phantasmal image of the blonde girl, "The first girl I showed you, had been caught performing small accidental magic by a group of muggle boys. In fear, they… had injured her with a rock to the head." He paused, quietly.

"Whenever she experienced those outbursts, the wound would reopen. Even when fully healed. It was simply the nature of the injury," He explained. "So, it is quite possible that Ms. Williams suffered a similar incident as a child, resulting in dormant, unstable magical core development. She cannot learn stable magic like at Hogwarts, but she would be able to see magical locations like the Leaky Cauldron or create a rudimentary potion, as you've seen, Severus." The potions master scowled at the memory.

"Then… you suspect-" Minerva realized.

"I have reason to suspect Mr. Solomon Lindermann may be... 'collecting' these types of children. While his care is genuine, he may understand they could be taken away from him should their nature be discovered." His brows furrowed and he began pacing.

"But why bring in Harry Potter? The boy is obviously fully magical. And if he has enough connections to the Wizarding World to understand that, then he surely must know the boy's past. And Mr. Brahms and Thresher are clearly the same. It cannot be pure coincidence, surely," He muttered aloud. "The answer to why the children exhibit their own magic may be answered, but Lindermann's motives, past, and nature all still remain a mystery."

He quietly puzzled to himself. Too many pieces fit, and yet too many contradicted each other out. Like putting together a jigsaw and discovering it was three different puzzles jumbled together the whole time.

Who was Solomon Lindermann? Magical or muggle? Benefactor or kidnapper? Who was this man who seemed to have a knack for picking up children like Benjamin, Sally, Harry, or Tobias? Were those like Jeffery Travis, Edward-Jack, or that clown-boy the same? What latent powers, if any, were they hiding?

And was it intentional? Or was it just happenstance? Things like this couldn't be mere coincidence, so what criterion were to be met to gain the attention of the elusive guardian if not a degree of magical prowess?

"Perhaps... he is not aware fully of the magical aspect of these children," Severus murmured in thought. The two Professors turned to him as he continued, "It is uncommon, but not unheard of that individuals with above-muggle levels of magic, but far-below fully-fledged wizard levels have 'powers' the public likes to fascinate itself with. A weak remnant of magic, so to speak, manifesting as what muggles call 'Telepathy', 'Telekinesis', 'Pyrokinesis', or 'spirit-seeing'."

"So, you believe Lindermann was intentionally sheltering children, not because of 'magic', but because of their abilities," McGonagall asked.

"It's possible," Dumbledore muttered, mind buzzing. "Perhaps... Lindermann's own past had an influence on this decision? His teleportation appears to resemble a bastardized form of apparition, but that may have had a hand in ostracizing him from other muggles in his lifetime. Perhaps that motivates him in adulthood to seek out children with 'abilities' as he had."

He nodded to himself. It was another piece to consider, while hardly 'covering all the bases' as they say, it certainly brought things together. Like those muggle 'connect-the-dot' puzzles, a picture is forming, but hardly enough dots are there to give the whole thing.

"This has been an enlightening conversation," He spoke aloud, "But that is all I have to inform you on the matter, I'm afraid. I apologize for disrupting your evenings, but I felt it important to discuss with you. That is all."

"Yes, Headmaster," the two Professors dismissed themselves from his office, leaving him alone to his thoughts.

He stared into the crackling fireplace, the warm oranges and yellows a welcome change from getting lost into the nebulous blue ether of his penseive. His mind mulled over the discussion he'd just had.

Could that be it? A narrative forming in his mind seemed more fantasy than fact.

A bastard wizarding child with an incomplete, damaged, or inefficient core alone in the muggle world, abandoned by a wizarding society somewhere. Possibly anywhere given his curious undertone accent and unusual appearance. Then, the child discovering his ability to teleport which only leads to muggles around him fearing his ability. He grows up alone and lost, and in adulthood discovers children like he had been.

Whether he provides them shelter after being abandoned or orphaned... or perhaps by Machiavellian means? Believing that if left with muggles, those children would suffer, he could argue 'the ends justify the means' and quietly steal them away in the night. Significantly easier to do if one has almost-unlimited teleportation at their disposal.

But it still left a gap in how Harry Potter could have possibly ended up with him... unless he hadn't realized the extent of Mr. Potter's abilities. Perhaps he had found the boy in Petunia's abusive household and deemed him another 'gifted' child to be taken.

Perhaps, discovering Mr. Potter spurred him into finding more like the more gifted child; Mr. Brahms and Thresher, for instance?

His mind whirled with the implications, but Madame Bones had spoken with him. The Daily Prophet, itself, had retracted their stance to spin a new line of awe and distractions from previous editorials, casting Mr. Potter and his family in a positive light.

If Mr. Potter were kidnapped, cut and dry as that, then a fair-minded Hufflepuff like Amelia Bones would never permit that.

He needed more information on this family. A spy, perhaps? Though Mr. Potter was reluctant to engage with any others in the school outside of those already loyal to Mr. Lindermann.

Perhaps... keeping him at Hogwarts over the holidays would be just the thing to give a break from the influence of his current Guardian, expose him to other students aside from those other two wards. Help curry favor with staff and students, alike.

A long game, but one he was ready to play out.

'And look how your first move worked out,' he berated himself mentally, returning to the present.

*THROB*

"Ugggh," He groaned, re-freezing his sloshy ice-pack with a flick before pressing it against his temple once more.

He sighed forlornly as he looked around his office. Nothing came to mind at the moment... nothing that wouldn't exacerbate the enormous headache, that is.

Perhaps a simpler plan would suffice. Harry Potter was not staying for the holidays, that was that.

He had two goals for that plan; first, ensure he found the Mirror of Erised and understood the mechanics of it when he was finally drawn to the Third Floor's gauntlet of challenges. Second, gift him the Invisibility Cloak. A way to encourage exploration away from his guardian's watchful eyes, and quite possibly the method he would discover the mirror, the stone, Fluffy, and so forth.

If not, there were contingency plans that would help funnel him towards the gauntlet in the end. A test of the boy's drive. A test of his psychology and willpower.

The bravery and willingness to act when presented the opportunity.

Things that a Gryffindor Boy-Who-Lived must exhibit. Things he must accept and encourage to become the beacon the world needs... and the sacrifice when the time comes. A martyr for the world to adore and emulate.

Admittedly, he had encouraged the Professors to shape their tests for the new semester in hopes Mr. Potter would befriend Mr. Weasley by that time, a hopeful Light-family candidate. Or perhaps Ms. Granger? A muggleborn like his mother, with a sharp wit who seemed to have won favor with Sally, at least. Or Mr. Longbottom, another Light-family candidate, though with a rather grim, and firmly back-boned family over his shoulder-

*throb*

"Ugggh."

Though that could wait until this damned headache went away.

For now, a simple solution. Gift the boy the Cloak after the break. Leave it on his bed for him to find? No tracking charms or spells (Oh, Merlin, not another tracker, please) for his guardian to doubt the gift as anything but good-intentions to return an heirloom. That would ensure it is in Harry's possession and trustworthy for him to use freely.

And for the other, simply leave the Mirror of Erised out for a little while longer after the Break. A little late-night exploration would improve the chance that Harry encounters the artifact. After that, a ward to alert whenever someone entered the classroom in question and another ward to discourage entry by other students.

Would it suffice? For now, yes.

Was it perfect? No.

Did he care-?

*throb*

"Ugggggh..."

Not particularly right now. Finer details could be worked out at a later date. Machinations, manipulations, subtle guidance, all that could be worked out over a cup of tea and a bowl of sweets, but later.

He reached over and gingerly picked up a little sweet from a bowl on his desk. Muggle, this time, to try some of the holiday roll-outs. After all, lemon drops and Smarties were so fantastically muggle, but exceptional all the same.

Though, there are, of course, exceptions even to the most megalithic confectionary industries.

He scrunched his mouth in displeasure, as the Hershey's 'Air Bubble' kiss dissolved quickly in his mouth, leaving bitter disappointment in the quality and quantity of chocolate.

He tutted to himself, paying more for less chocolate... unthinkable!

The irony was not lost on Harry.

He finally left England, went through all the trouble of ditching anything that wizards could track back to him, had to update his passport... and now, barely three days later, he was back. In. England.

As part of their personal cover stories, Slender had to update the Council to say that Harry, Adrian, and Nick's assignments were all on hold for the next few weeks. Not a problem. Except for the Council who see it as an opportunity to launch him back into another assignment, instead. 'Idle hands' and all that.

It was still liberating, in a way. He was alone, free to do what he'd like for the day (as long as he got the main points of the assignment done). Even the biting cold of an English Christmastime didn't dampen it.

The assignment sent him to a particular village in the middle of the rural countryside of England. It was quaint, very homely and pretty as a picture with how the snow, icicles, and frost danced across the cobbled stonework and wrought-iron lamp posts.

Modern society still jutted itself in every now and then; a stoplight at a busy intersection, a television screen in a pub, neon lighting and electric modifications to the original gas streetlamps, but altogether it looked like something taken right out of a Dickens novel. He could half expect a miserly old man to hobble his way out of that bank on the corner pursued by three, nagging ghosts.

A pretty little English village. Shame about the name; "Otter Something Fishing-Pole" or something like that. He'd long-since dismissed the fact that the UK had the weirdest names for towns. Maybe he'd been in America too long; too many names like 'Madison', 'Greenville', 'Fairview' or 'Cleveland'.

He mentally shrugged off the thoughts as he continued his walk out of the more populated downtown area as it began transitioning into the rural roads branching into fields and hills.

The assignment was brought up because the Council kept intercepting interesting reports by locals of these small, gremlin-like things flying over farm walls, scampering out of raided trash cans, and generally becoming a little urban legend for children to shift the blame for the missing cookie or the broken vase.

So far, nothing surfaced from it. Aside from some mischief and stories pub dwellers shared, nobody got really good looks at the things. The one or two lucky few who did manage to capture a grainy piece of footage by chance were dismissed online as hoaxed 'goblins', 'gnomes', or 'elves' to bolster the tourism in the tiny town.

The Council, however, were worried about anomalous creature outbreaks, and sent him to investigate. If the creatures turned out to exist, then they'd be allowed to doddle around as long as nobody was overly bothered or no officials started nosing around. If they didn't exist, then Harry got to file a lovely report berating the bureaucrat who sent him on this wild goose chase.

So far, though, that seemed to be the case here. Just a little town full of little people. No little men hoarding pots of gold, or cobbling shoes, or dancing in a faerie ring of mushrooms.

He snorted to himself, musing about how a year ago, he would've called all that fairy tales and stuff. Now, he has accredited textbooks saying leprechauns, mermaids, and dragons existed. He idly wondered if maybe these 'little men' were actually some kind of wizarding pest or some such-

He grimly froze in place, wondering if that could be a very real possibility...

And as his textbooks said; where a wizarding pest lives, there's bound to be a wizarding house nearby.

He hastily batted his wool cap down, deliberately laying his bangs flat against the iconic scar everyone gushes over. Harry Potter was a household name in this continent, something he'd been spared from in America (and the regular isolation that comes from living in a mansion in the woods), but he didn't feel up to having wizards swarm and fawn over him in public.

Maybe if they do, he could get some of them arrested by the muggle police? "Harassing a minor", after all.

He glanced around, wondering if the man stumbling into a shop door with armfuls of bags or the old lady carefully shuffling across an icy walk was actually a Hogwarts graduate, ready to recognize him and gush like a starstruck tourist in Hollywood.

He finally escaped the populated town and wandered alone down a rural road. It was mostly dirt, just a thin strip of gray asphalt slicked over with patches of ice and snow. On either side were about shoulder-high (for him, being short, maybe waist-high for an average person) cobbled stone walls separating farmlands.

He'd peer into the fields, wondering idly if he'd see a little elf-man sprinting across, but no such luck. He wondered if they were nocturnal? He'd honestly prefer his Lamp Eyes costume at the dead of night. Much more intimidating and enjoyable than plainclothes reconnaissance in the day.

*Sniffle*

He stopped dead as he listened closely. Another sniffle sounded just beside him, but as he turned this way and that, he didn't see anyone.

Curious, he walked over to the stone wall, careful not to crunch snow or ice underfoot and peered over it. There was a young girl, about his age, quietly huddled against the wall to ward off the wind coming on the other side, dirty blonde hair spilling over her hunched, shaking form.

"H-Hello?" He greeted unsurely.

The girl's head turned up to look at him. Her eyes were large, orb-like and looked like they'd pierce right through anything they saw... if they weren't a little unfocused and dream-like. Her clothing was eclectic, a mishmash mismatch of colors, vaguely separating into a shirt, sweater, and cardigan. The only thing she missed were socks and a pair of shoes.

"Oh, hello," she replied, tilting her head and brushing off some tear tracks. Standing, she tilted her head at him inquisitively. "Are you lost?"

Harry blinked in surprise, "U-uh, I feel I should be asking you that question. You were just sitting here in the middle of nowhere. It was either that or..." He trailed off with a noncommittal shrug. She didn't seem homeless, but he'd known homeless kids in the city who looked well-fed enough, just with raggedy or missing clothing.

"No, I live nearby," She replied, shaking her head, but not letting her unblinking eyes leave him. "I live with my daddy just a few hills over." She gestured vaguely towards the empty expanse of fields.

"O-oh? And how is he?" Harry felt he ought to ask.

"Fine, he's in the Americas on Holiday." She replied evenly, as though discussing it was particularly cold today, despite bare feet.

"Ah, so he left you with your mother?" He guessed.

"No, my mother's dead, I'm afraid."

'Huh,' Harry blinked, "I... I'm sorry to hear that. Do you live with a nanny or someone else?" Nannies were a thing in England, right? Dudley had never had any, but given that he was basically a live-in indentured servant... that was hardly indicative of 'normal'.

"No, I'm alone. But it's alright, I can manage by myself," She breezily dismissed.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. Slender'd have a field day with this one if he heard. The only parental figure in her life across the ocean for who knows how long? Leaving her alone. At Christmas, no less. And even if she could fend for herself, she was barely older than he was, how could she manage the whole house if she couldn't even remember to wear shoes-

"Um, can I ask where your shoes are?" He pointed to her bare feet, still a waxy red in the snowdrift she'd put them in.

She glanced down and gave a distant shrug, "Oh, I didn't really notice anyways. I can't feel it anymore."

"I think that's the frostbite," Harry muttered agitated, eyeing the toes' waxy appearance.

"The children think I'm strange," She adds offhandedly. "Some rather cruel boys from town believed it would be funny to take them. It's rather upsetting, but not a bother." She stiffly wiggled her toes again.

Harry's frown deepened, before snapping back up, "Wait, I just remembered!" He shrugged his backpack off, sifting past the hidden electrode wire weaponry, a couple loose papers, a crumpled book from Slender's library (oops), spare coats and shirts, and finally pulled out the prize.

"I keep a spare," He announced, holding up some laced-up gray converse shoes and a pair of socks. They were mostly in there beside the shirts as a quick-swap disguise since he couldn't glamour.

The girl looked so surprised, Harry was worried her eyes might pop out of their sockets. He kept holding them out until she reached up and took them. "B-but I don't know how to give them back-"

"Keep them. Happy Christmas," Harry said, smiling easily. Slender had dozens of shoes his size in the Mansion for general disguises, and there wasn't really any attachment to that particular pair. Plus, now someone in the world could keep their feet warm.

"Thank you," She whispered, gratefully. She tugged them on and Harry saw the toes wiggling under the fabric of the shoe.

Harry glanced up at the sun, realizing it was already stretching into the late afternoon. "Oh, well, I'd better get going. Take care and beat up those boys who stole your shoes!" He grinned, running further down the path.

Behind him, the girl looked down at the shoes, still smiling, and watched the boy go running back.

She'd kept quiet. She figured he wouldn't want attention. But his little beanie-cap had ridden up, ruffling his bangs and unveiling a distinct lightning bolt scar. She smiled after him, serenely murmuring, "Goodbye, and thank you Harry Potter..."

She merrily skipped off back to her home, smiling warmly.

Harry finally slowed down away from the strange girl. He figured he'd give the rural countryside a once-over before heading home before it got dark. He did not feel like becoming a boy-wizard-popsicle tonight.

But the air was still and silent all around him. No little creatures bounding across the landscape, no mysterious crop circles in the snow, just empty English fields as far as the eye could-

"Arrrrrrrrgggghhhhh! Oi!"

He stopped dead as what looked like a little potato-man flew over the dividing farm wall in front of him, landing right on the dirt of the path. The thing stood up dizzily on knobby, gnarled little legs and stumbled about for a moment, cursing like an English sailor before scampering its way back to the field.

Harry looked up in the direction it had flown from.

In the middle of a field, he saw an enormous, teetering wood structure of a house. Odd geometric angles suggested it may have been a simple one-story English cottage in the beginning, then an addition in the back jutted into the sky, before zigging and zagging suddenly and rising even higher around a spiring chimney stack puffing away in the center. Wood supports held up the entire structure like toothpicks ready to splinter, but somehow holding together.

The architectural impossibility definitely screamed 'magic' about five stories high.

In the back, behind white wooden fences, was a frozen-over garden with species that even from a distance, Harry definitely remembered Professor Sprout mentioning in the greenhouses. A washing machine hopped around animatedly in a clearing, ambling its way around in a circle.

A figure in the gardens with violently red hair waved their arm in a large circle, just before another potato-man went flying over the wall with a thud and a curse.

...

"Right, well, that's that."

Harry pivoted on his foot and walked right back to the Port symbol, pausing just long enough to greet the formerly-shoeless girl in passing.

AN: Ah, one my favorite characters finally appears!

And now the mysterious meeting hinted at in Chapter 39 is written. It was admittedly fun trying to have the Professors piece together a mystery from their POV. The entire time, you know the truth, but to them and from their perspective, the theories make an interesting bit of sense.