Eight

Late August, 1981

Downtown Salem

Lucie and Simon sat at the same table that they had shared before, in the same lovely old downtown restaurant. They even had the same waiter, who, oddly enough, seemed to sense that any kind of patronizing attitude on his part would be not only unwelcome, but cruel. Perhaps it was something about Lucie's eyes, which bore a faint but unmistakeable air of confusion and grief.

Simon had just finished his cheeseburger platter and was starting in on Lucie's neglected meal. "You gonna finish this?"

"Go ahead," she said, swishing her stir stick idly in her glass of soda. She wasn't at all hungry.

He sighed, and frowned at her. "So the books have been stored in Charlotte Dingwell's study. They'll be safe there."

"Good." She still didn't look up.

"Olsen Carter is going to be fine. A bit shaken, yes. But he's hoping to assist Charlotte in the research planned for those volumes. As is Caroline Skyland." Simon took a huge bite of Lucie's cheeseburger, and, making a face, spat out the hot peppers that she had requested.

"Good," she murmured again.

Simon swallowed, and sighed again. "You did a hell of a job, rookie." He smiled at her, as she finally raised her sad eyes to meet his. Simon shook his head. "Not many people could have pulled that off, you know. I've read and re-read your report, and frankly, I'm amazed at how well you comported yourself."

"I'm not a complete rookie," she said. "I did work the beat for four years."

"Well," he said, giving her hand a brief squeeze. "I, for one, am grateful as hell that you made the move to Detective. You've got the knack, DeGrace."

"Thanks," she said, squeezing back.

"Your old man -- he's one hell of a guy, you know? Dumbledore, I mean."

"Which one?"

"Albus. Barely met Aberforth."

"Oh." Lucie frowned. "I thought you mentioned that Albus had an assistant. Wasn't that Aberforth?"

"Yeah, he did," Simon said, shoving a potato wedge in his mouth and washing it down with a gulp of beer. "Yeah, some young fella. Wasn't Aberforth. Good, though! Man, he got the drop on me, and it's been a long time since anyone's done that. I'm almost embarrassed to admit it."

"Oh, yeah?" Lucie laughed. "Good on him. Did you get a name? Maybe I know him."

"Yeah, weird name. What was it...he's some Goth kid, anyway. Smart , though. Sevanus? Severius? Something like that. Hey, you all right?" Simon asked, alarmed. Lucie had started, and knocked over her Diet Coke.

"Severus?", she whispered, pale.

"Yeah...yeah, that's it. Lucie, are you all right?" Simon gazed at her in concern, discreetly Vanishing her spilled drink.

"I'm fine," she replied, thinking fast. "How was he? Was he okay?"

"Who, Albus?"

"Severus."

Simon smiled gently, understanding. "He seemed fine. Why?"

She smiled back, wanly. "Old school friend."

"Yeah?" Tenderly, Simon patted her hand. "Dumbledore was telling me about him. He's given him a job, starting next month -- Potions Master at Hogwart's." He winked at her. "Why don't you drop him a line? You know, a friendly hello, that sort of thing?"

"Maybe," she replied, her gaze faraway. "Maybe, yeah."

"Well, you know. It might be a good idea, maybe go visit your uncle for a bit, visit old friends -- get your mind off of...things..." Simon hadn't wanted to ask about 'Nigella Nickerson', about how or why Grindelwald had been so adamant about finding her again, but he didn't need to be a seer to recognize the confusion and heartbreak in Lucie's eyes. This case had hit her hard, and he was honestly worried about her. Too much for a rookie to handle, even though she had done so with considerable aplomb.

She had the makings of a great detective, and with a little coaching, he thought she could go far. He knew that he certainly wouldn't mind working with her again. Speaking of...

"I...er, was wondering something."

"What?" Lucie focused on Simon again with difficulty.

"Well...I've been asked to do some private work, down in San Francisco. Private Investigation. I do a bit on the side." He popped the last bit of burger in his mouth, spit out the peppers again, and watched her while he chewed.

"That's good," she said, politely.

"Well...well, what about it? I could use a partner, if you could get a couple of weeks off. December, first couple of weeks. Pays pretty good." He watched her hopefully, noting the small grin growing on her face. A good sign.

"Really. Well...yeah. Sure. I've never been to San Francisco." She smiled and held out her hand. "Actually, Simon, I'm honoured." She chuckled. "Very honoured! I'd love to work with you again."

"Me too," he said, shaking her hand formally. "I think we make a pretty good team. You?"

"Definitely." Lucie playfully wrinkled her nose at Simon, and grabbed the last potato wedge off her plate. "Simon And DeGrace, Gumshoe Incorporated. Has a pretty good ring to it."

"Sure does." He returned her smile, and said, "Sounds good to me."

"Damned good."

xxx

1966

Hogwart's Castle

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, waiting for his brother to return from Canada.

It had been an interesting few days, since he and Aberforth had learned of the death of Aberforth's great-great-great-grandson, in Canada. Douglas Embree and his partner had died in a car accident. Their two smallest children had also been killed, but the eldest -- a daughter -- had survived, and was coming to Hogsmeade to be raised by her great-great-great-great-grandfather and great-great-great-great-grand-uncle. Albus had barely known Douglas, and Aberforth had known him only slightly better.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," he called.

Silently, Aberforth walked in, with a quiet young girl wearing a baggy sweatsuit. Her light brown curls were held back with a ponytail. As they made their way to Albus's desk, a stream of sunlight illuminated the girl's face, and he was struck by the odd golden-yellow colour of the girl's eyes. Like a cat's. They seemed familiar, somehow, but he could not, for the life of him, think why.

"How was your trip?", he asked his brother, smiling gently at the girl. She smiled back, pale and subdued and shy.

"Good," said Aberforth, in his customary gruff way. "Lucie -- this is your uncle, Albus Dumbledore. Albus -- " Aberforth paused, and gave his brother a significant glance. "This is your great-great-great-great-grand-niece -- Lucie DeGrace."

"Lucie...DeGrace..." Albus whispered, his lips numb with shock. Slowly, he smiled. Behind Lucie, a rare grin creased Aberforth's face. "How very extraordinary," Albus said, staring at the child. "How very, very extraordinary."

"Mystery solved," said Aberforth, in a satisfied sort of way. "Took long enough, eh? Mind if I leave her with you for the afternoon? I'll go get her room ready."

"Certainly, certainly," said Albus, unable to take his eyes off his niece. "I'll give her a tour of the castle. Would you like to see the castle, Lucie?"

She nodded shyly.

"Excellent, excellent. And perhaps afterwards, we can sneak off to the kitchens for some ice cream. Would you like that?"

"Yes, sir," she said, in a small voice, looking around in fascination.

"Good, then. Lucie," Aberforth tapped her on the shoulder. "I'll see you later. Have her back by six, Albus. And not too many sweets, mind."

"Yes, of course," Albus said, a bit impatiently. "I do rather fancy that I know a bit more than you about the care and feeding of children, you know. Only I take care of several hundred on a daily basis. You've only raised three."

"Back by six," Aberforth repeated, in no uncertain terms. "And don't spoil her supper." With a glare at his brother, and a slap on the back for his granddaughter, Aberforth took his leave. That left Lucie alone in the magnificent office with Albus.

"Well, then, shall we begin?" Albus stood, and took her hand. "We'll start with the Owlery, you'll like that..."

"Who is that?" Lucie asked, pointing at a sepia-toned photograph in an ornate, heavy old silver frame.

"Eh? Beg pardon, dear?" Albus turned back to look at her. She had picked the frame up off his desk, and stood there staring avidly at the photo, her back to him. Albus peered over her shoulder, and he went very still. The rush of memories came crashing back to him with the force of a tidal wave, leaving him to wonder and marvel at the swirls and eddies of time and space, coincidence and fate. The grand design of it all. Marvelous. And frightening.

"That," he said, sadly, "Is an old friend of mine. A very dear old friend, Lucie."

"What's his name?", she asked, unable to take her eyes off the photograph. "He looks very nice."

Albus closed his eyes for a moment, and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He was very nice. He's dead now. He died many years ago, dear girl. And his name," he said, softly, prising the photo from her small hands and returning it to the table surface, "was Grindelwald." He sighed.

"Come now," he said, after a moment. "Let us set out upon our adventure, my dear. For Grindelwald -- he belongs to yesterday. And you and I -- why, my dear -- we belong to today, and today belongs to us. Shall we, now?" Albus forced a smile, and gently ushered Lucie out of the office.

Perhaps it was because he was so tall, and because she was so small, that Dumbledore did not notice the longing glance that Lucie cast back towards the frame. And while his smiles were bright, and his conversation animated, Dumbledore could not help, from time to time, taking notice of the melancholic feelings that continued to pop into his mind. When he did take notice, he would sigh, lost in the memories.

...he belongs to yesterday.