Fourteen-year-old Thomas Dursley was wondering if this was such a good idea. The teacher who had recognized him for what he was and sent him to this abandoned warehouse was a bit dodgy, after all. What would his family think about his current position? Their faces blurrily swam before him as he waited. His parents would probably ground him for life, and his younger brother and sister would lose all respect they had ever held for him.

He swallowed. That was going to happen anyway. It had been only a few months since he had discovered his power, but they had already noticed. His mother was quite paranoid, and understandably so. They had been hiding from the wizards for seventeen generations, and were even exploring the option of going underground literally. They would find out in a matter of years, and he would be unceremoniously thrown out.

He might as well have another place to stay by then. He belonged with his own species, not with his nice, normal family. Who knew if it spread? The devil could never hide forever. But now the tall man in unfamiliar robes was striding toward him.

"I've… come about the, er, job offer. Sir, I mean, your wizardry," he hastily added the correct title.

"Yes, yes," Gregory Avery waved a hand. "You're going to join us. Well, that's fine, but there's an initiation period."

Thomas looked down. "What do I need to do?"

Avery tossed him a dark robe like Avery's own and an eerie looking mask. "Put these on."

Thomas obeyed, afraid of crossing the older man, who, no doubt, knew how to control his magic.

"Come with me." Thomas followed him into a room full of similarly clad men.

"Well, no point in drawing it out," he told Thomas. Turning to a tall, sallow man reclining on what appeared to be a throne, "Here he is."

"Excellent. Are you sure it's the right one?"

"I though that was Tom's job."

Grindelwald frowned at him. "Why, so it is. Tom, would you elicit the necessary information from our guest?"

Thomas felt grubby hands on the sides of his ears. A black-haired boy a few years older than himself was gazing into his eyes, and his head was an incredible muddle for a minute. Images he thought he'd forgotten went skittering across his brain, too scattered and short for him to recognize.

Tom looked up, turning to face his lord. "Oh, it's him. Twenty-four Golding Street. No wards or anything."

Grindelwald nodded. "Why don't we take the little spy with us? Give him a little preview?"

There was a murmur of assent among the black robed men. A loud crack later, Thomas was standing in front of his own house.