Ada and Harriet made their way to their destination after enjoying a leisurely breakfast at Mabel's café. After squeezing through a few narrow alleys and less-travelled streets, they emerged in Diagon Alley after five minutes of walking.
The central wizarding street of wizarding Britain was a magnificent place.
The residential district where Ada lived had plenty of charm thanks to its wild mix of inhabitants and building styles, but Diagon Alley was something else entirely. It was pure colour, and even the dismal grey November sky overhead couldn't diminish it. It was far busier than Vertiq Alley, Sunday shoppers bustling about carrying bags filled with items she'd never seen before.
First, they stopped by an apothecary for a few items Ada needed. Apparently, the place doubled as a place for potions ingredients and a market: jars of eel eyes and leeches sat next to bags of flour and apples. She could have spent ages just staring at all the strange and disgusting specimens lining the shelves, but when she spotted the intestines of a pig draped up on one wall, she had to hurriedly exit the shop, clutching the Pacifier in her white-knuckled grip. Ada came out soon after, the supplies she bought disappearing into an expanding bag, and the two of them headed to the next stop once Harriet had recovered.
The girl was delighted with Flourish and Blotts. The store was like her former school library, except instead of texts on counting and history and muggle fiction, there were books on spells and weird languages and taming dangerous magical beasts. The nonfiction section was loaded with books like something out of someone's wildest imaginings, and even texts as simple as housekeeping tips were exciting ventures involving pixies and ghouls.
Ada guided her around the bookshop, and Harriet spent thirty minutes just browsing the shelves and reading the titles. Every single one of the books was magical in some way. Well—other than the tiny "Muggle Books" section, but she avoided that one, in addition to the shelf near the entrance that looked suspiciously like they were books about her.
She browsed titles like Bestiarium Magicum, Extreme Incantations, and even adventure stories called things like Voyages with Vampires or Holidays with Hags. However, Harriet found herself drawn mostly to books about magical creatures and spells. There was such an unprecedented breadth to the magical world that she could have spent the rest of her life reading about it.
'How are muggles clueless about all these things? Surely at least a few dragons have been spotted by now!'
"See anything you like?" asked Ada, who'd approached Harriet while she was looking over a particularly lengthy title by the name of Merpeople: A Comprehensive Guide to Their Language and Customs.
"I like all of it," said Harriet.
"Well, I can't buy you the whole bookstore. C'mon, pick out two or three that you like."
Harriet's eyes flew wide open. Books? Of her own?
In the end, she settled on the conservative number of two. She didn't want to push her luck. Bestiarium Magicum was selected without any trouble, but when she opted for Extreme Incantations, Ada stopped her.
"That's a little advanced for a nine-year-old. And you won't be able to practice anything in it until you turn eleven. Why not pick something else out? How about an adventure story?"
Harriet's heart dropped to her stomach. "Eleven?" she whispered.
Had she heard that right? Was this trip to Diagon not so she could get her wand?
"That's right. You can't use magic before then. It's not allowed by law—it's far too dangerous."
'But that's two years away!'
A startling and sudden melancholy crept up on the girl. She wanted to be a witch. With the Pacifier's aid, her lingering terror of her own magic had diminished to the point that she wanted nothing more than to embrace her heritage, to prove that she wasn't a freak.
With a crestfallen expression, the girl forlornly stared as Ada put the book back on the shelf.
Upon seeing her pout, the Auror relented with a sigh. "Well, if it's just reading, there shouldn't be any harm in it. I'm sure learning the theory will come in handy when you start school. But that book is still a bit difficult. Here, how about this one?"
She picked out a volume entitled The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. It wasn't as exciting-sounding as Extreme Incantations, but feeling its weight added to her bag helped to ease Harriet's ill mood a bit.
"That's the first year material for charms at Hogwarts. And most of the other schools, I suppose, but I can't imagine you going anywhere else. If you study it, you should do well in Flitwick's class."
As they approached the checkout counter, Ada asked a question to the shopkeeper. "Have you got any books that would help a muggleborn learn about the wizarding world?"
"A muggleborn? But of course! They're in the back, since not many muggleborns come by in the winter." He bustled off, chattering as he levitated crates around, looking for the books in question. "We always get a rush of them in the summer. They receive their first Ministry owl a few months before school starts, and next thing you know they're rushing in here with baffled mums and dads in tow, looking for every bit of information they can get about magic. You wouldn't believe how many parents are relieved to learn their kids are wizards. Most of 'em thought they were haunted—imagine! Ah, here we are—A Brief History of Wizarding Britain! Perfect primer for muggleborns."
Harriet had already started to read from Bestiarium Magicum as the shopkeeper talked, burying her nose in the book. Even after Ada paid and checked out and the two of them left, Harriet didn't look up, enthralled with the diagrams and descriptions of these phenomenal creatures.
She'd never had books of her own before. She could read in school, but the first time she rented books from the library and brought them home, Dudley tore them all up. She got in trouble with the school and was banned from the library for several months. After that, she was wasn't allowed to check out books any more, so the ability to hold a text and claim it as her own was a new experience.
But mostly, she was fascinated by the new world slowly opening to her.
Only when a delicious smell tickled her nose did Harriet finally tear away from her reading to find herself in a courtyard surrounded by all sorts of restaurants.
"I know it's brisk out," said Ada, "but I've always liked cold treats in cold weather. How about some ice cream?"
A crack sounded out at number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. An old man with long white hair and a long white beard who wore robes of midnight blue suddenly stood in the middle of street.
Moments earlier, this man noticed a thread of magic that bound him to a certain individual had been severed without warning. Abandoning his other responsibilities instantly, he'd come here to investigate what had happened.
He looked at the house before him. Its lights were off, but nothing else seemed particularly odd about it. It was the middle of the day, and it wasn't unusual for a house to be emptied of inhabitants when most were at work or school.
He examined the home for a moment longer, muttering some words under his breath and waving a hand. He crinkled his brow a moment later, abruptly turning to take long strides to the house opposite the one he'd inspected.
He knocked at the door twice. After a minute, it opened to reveal an elderly lady in a spotted dress. Her eyes widened upon seeing the figure on her doorstep.
"O-oh my—Albus! I wasn't expecting—you said you'd never—not unless—oh, what am I saying? Come in, come in, dearie me. Don't mind the mess, the cats got into the Hoover bag this morning and I haven't been able to sweep up yet. Tea?"
"That's quite all right, Arabella. I won't be long. There's an urgent matter I'm attending to."
As he spoke, the old man stooped his head to enter the home. When he spotted a layer of dust and cat droppings all over the foyer and leading into the living room, his expression did not change, though he did discretely remove his wand and perform a motion at the mess. In an instant, the filth vanished, leaving the floors practically sparkling.
"Oh my! Isn't that a handy spell? Much better than the muggle way of doing things, I should think! I don't suppose I could have you 'round once a week or so?" she chuckled.
Dumbledore smiled in response, taking a seat on the armchair offered him by his host, pretending not to notice the various stains on the furniture and the acrid stench of cat urine.
The creases around his eyes deepened as he observed the woman shuffling around the room. She wouldn't be considered old for a witch, but as a squib, she was susceptible to muggle ailments. Where was the gleam in her eyes? The strong set of her jaw and her stiff, proud back? The Arabella he knew wouldn't have shown surprise at his appearance or apologized and offered him tea, she would have instantly deduced by his presence that something was amiss and shuttered the windows, locked the door, and drawn a pistol from her purse. The tottering lady before him was practically a stranger.
Eight years changed everything. It was clear that his friend needed help.
Health check-ups would have to wait until later.
"Arabella," he gently began. "Could you tell me what has happened to the Dursleys?"
"The Dursleys? What about them?"
"They've been missing from their home for three days. You hadn't notified me that they were going on vacation."
"Gone?" she blinked rheumy eyes, looking baffled. "I-I don't think they—oh. Oh, that's right! They did go vacation! The beach, I think?"
"Is that so?"
"Yes, yes. I'm certain of it now. My apologies for not sending an owl. It must have slipped my mind!"
Albus hummed, looking thoughtful. A terrible suspicion introduced itself.
His gaze sharpened as he peered into Arabella Figgs' eyes. His Legilimency was a light touch, one that someone without any formal Occlumency training would have no hope of noticing, much less stopping.
What he read was a mess. He saw spotty memories and an omnipresent state of slight bewilderment, a fuzziness that seemed to lay as a thick veil over her once astute mind. He saw glimpses of the old Arabella Figg here and there, but it otherwise she was a completely different person.
He'd seen it before. Dementia. It wasn't too advanced, but the woman was barely managing to look after herself.
For eight years, out of care to not alert criminal elements in the magical world as to the Girl-Who-Lived's location, Arabella Figg had gone muggle. No Floo, no magical artifacts, nothing that would alert a sensor or divination. Her only contact was Albus, and they communicated solely through untraceable letters.
The squib had hidden her declining health well—he'd deduced nothing overly strange from her reports, perhaps noticing that her handwriting had grown a bit shakier, the updates more infrequent as the years went on.
A deep sadness welled up within him. Once, Arabella Figg been among the brightest members of the Order, organizing the muggle resistance against Voldemort's Death Eaters and aiding in the logistics of the organization. He could think of no one better entrenched in the muggle world to watch over young Harriet as she was being raised. But for how long had Arabella been on the decline? One year? Two? More? He prayed this was a more recent development. Either way, in one stroke, he'd failed two people.
The woman he'd trusted over Ministry Aurors and even close allies had been withering away, cut off from her former friends. The woman he had watching over Harriet Potter needed watching herself.
Hardening his heart, he focused on his more urgent task, rooting around the woman's memories of the last few days. There were several gaps here: blank spots that might have appeared as dementia-induced memory loss to an untrained eye, but Albus saw them for what they were—a disguised Memory Charm.
A leaden weight settled in the wizard's stomach.
Someone had Obliviated Arabella Figg, specifically targeting her memories of the Dursleys. Furthermore, they had lain a compulsion on her to ignore whatever was going on at Number 4, thus preventing her from noting their absence.
Vacation indeed.
Someone knew. Despite all his precautions, despite never once visiting since the day he placed the Girl-Who-Lived on the Dursley's doorstep, criminal elements from the wizarding world had found Harriet. This was the worst possible result.
Could it be Death Eaters? The Malfoys? He focused on his Legilimency, searching for more clues.
Of particular note in Arabella's thoughts was a large chunk of memories missing from yesterday, the morning of November 11th. But his scans told him that Number 4 had been empty for three days. Shouldn't the tampering have occurred three days ago, then? What happened yesterday that necessitated the criminals visit the elderly woman?
Probably, whoever visited the squib came here twice. The first time would have been several days ago to prevent her from contacting Albus (unless she was too far gone to even notice the Dursley's absence), and the second time would have been yesterday or even earlier today, when they Obliviated her recent memories.
The fact that she hadn't been killed was nearly the most concerning fact. Whoever arranged this was chillingly confident in their strategy.
Dumbledore retreated from her mind, snapping the compulsions the mysterious criminals had lain on her on his way out. He couldn't do anything about the Obliviations, unfortunately. No one in Britain could help with that.
"Albus?" she asked, completely oblivious to what had occurred. In shaking hands, she held a tray of grimy, clattering mugs. "Earl Grey or Black?"
"That's all right, Arabella," he reiterated. "I won't be having tea. I've already found what I came for. You've been very helpful."
"Oh…? Have I?"
"I must be going, m'dear, but before I do, tell me: how would you feel about reintegration?"
"Reintegration…? But what about the mission? The girl? I'm meant to stay here to watch her, aren't I?"
He smiled warmly. "Your mission is done. Completed it without a hitch."
"Oh. Oh! Well, that's good. I've done the Order proud, have I?"
"Indeed you have." He stood up, dusting off his knees. "How would you feel about a nice flat in Diagon? Someplace bright, with plenty of windows?"
Perhaps somewhere next door to St Mungo's.
The squib wrung her hands. "I suppose—well, it's been some time, I'm not sure if I could adjust… w-will my cats be coming?"
"We'll see to everything. A friend will stop by later to help with arrangements. I'm afraid I really must get going, though I expect I'll be seeing you again soon."
"Er, take care! Say hello to Andromeda and the rest for me!"
He nodded, gliding towards the door. Pausing at the threshold, he placed a minor ward on Arabella's home that would notify him if a wizard or magical creature entered. Without breaking his stride, he sent a Patronus to the friend who would see to Arabella while he was busy.
A moment later, he ploughed through the blood wards that clung tenuously to the Dursley's property. The girl was already taken, and secrecy was no longer a concern. Entering the front door, he stood in the entrance and began casting every sort of spell he could think of that might divine Harriet Potter or her relatives' location. Had that now-snapped thread of magic that bound him to the girl remained, these divinations should have worked. But now?
They all failed.
Thirty minutes earlier
The Ministry, Level 1
In the administrator's office for Courtroom Four, Judge Burke placed a bloody thumbprint on a piece of parchment.
"In my full capacity as a judge of the Wizengamot and a member of a Noble House of these Isles," said Burke, "I hereby call upon the great magic of this land to review this contract of guardianship."
A glow entered the room, a hazy mist that settled around the parchment laying on the desk. The contract was a piece of legalese, one of millions kept in the secure Records Room on the bottom tier of the Archives of the twelfth level. The Records Room rested directly atop to the Keystone of the British Isles, the intersection of all major leylines on the islands. Any magical contract involving the nobility could be found there, but it wasn't so easy to retrieve one of these contracts. One had to meet several stringent requirements before the supervisory magic of the Isles allowed one to remove anything from the Records Room.
But Herbert Burke had done more than just retrieve a contract.
"Before these three witnesses—" he continued, raising his head to glance at the other three figures standing around the desk. Their faces were all blurred, making it impossible to make out any features. "—all of whom are officials of the Ministry in some capacity and at least one of whom is of equal rank to the author of this document, I declare thusly: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is an unfit magical guardian for the current Heiress of House Potter. The weight of significant evidence has found him culpable in one case regarding her maltreatment, a case that has already been decided by majority vote by a full panel of jurors. I henceforth petition these Isles to liberate the Heiress of the Noble and Ancient House of Potter so that she may find a more fitting magical guardian."
The magic hummed, surrounding the judge as if tasting for the truth of his words. Then, in a grand motion, the glowing mist dove into the parchment, vanishing. The four figures in the room crowded over it, reading the document as ink vanished, rearranging the contents. It didn't take long.
"It's done," said the judge. "Dumbledore has been removed. The instant the muggles are administered the Kiss, Harriet Potter will no longer have a guardian, magical or otherwise."
"Excellent. You've thoroughly performed the role asked of you," said the person standing in the centre. The figure was of middling height but seemed shorter, stooped over a cane as they were.
"Not at all, my lord," smiled the judge. "I am bound by oath to obey the rule of law. All I've done is carry out my duties as best I am able."
"Of course. And it shall not be forgotten." They turned to the obscured person on their left, who wore standard-issue Auror robes. "Now then, how proceeds the other arrangements?"
"They're going well," said the Auror. They were the tallest of the four people here, and visibly burly. "Everyone understands the importance of keeping Potter's identity secret. Other than the Aurors looking after her and Healer Thornton, we've already Obliviated the soldiers and Adjustors who first found her. The only others who know she's in Ministry custody are Scrimgeour and Bones… and the Minister, of course. Nothing I can do about that."
"And Moody? What's he up to?"
"He's digging, but he can't recruit help—not that he'd reach out anyway, mad fool. He won't find anything while I'm keeping an eye on him."
"Just ensure he doesn't also have an eye on you. Are you certain he won't contact Dumbledore?"
"No. He may not like it, but as long as he's held by his Auror oath, he will obey orders. I also think he's grown suspicious of the man after he learned where Potter's been living for the last eight years. If everything else fails, his paranoid delusions will hinder him."
"Very well. Continue to keep watch. We have countermeasures in place, but I'd prefer not to use them... oh, that reminds me. I heard something interesting when I was catching up on the trial transcript. One Petunia Dursley began to accuse Heiress Potter of murdering someone just before Judge Burke silenced her. Then, later, her husband asked about the well-being of his son that no one should have known existed. Could you elaborate?"
The burly figure flinched. "That… that was a slip-up. The man I put on the case wasn't as talented with mind charms as he claimed. He was meant to Obliviate the muggles and compel them not to mention that Dudley kid."
"Yes, and that is in line with the exact instructions I gave you. Why did you not take care of this task yourself?"
"Forgive me, Lord. I was running interference elsewhere and didn't have the time. I trusted my subordinate, but I should have checked that he was more capable."
"You gave a delicate task to an imbecile. Obliviating neither of the muggles would have been preferable to only one. The risk is now that someone will realize the presence of a double agent in the DMLE. If Wood catches on, she will be on her guard against the next stage of the deception. That would be a disagreeable outcome."
"My lord!" the Auror fell to one knee. "I won't misstep again. Forgive me."
"Fortunately," the leader smoothly continued, "Our man here was on top of things, silencing the muggles before they could ruin everything. Thank you for your efforts, Herbert. You've taken on the riskiest role of us all."
"I aim to serve," murmured Burke, eyes flashing with contempt as they fell on the kneeling figure.
"And you will be rewarded." The leader turned to the Auror again. "I trust you will discipline the subordinate who failed to charm a pair of muggles, yes?"
"Yes, my lord."
"In the future, it would be wise to carry out the tasks I give you yourself, rather than delegating them to others. It only takes one slip-up. Now then, continue to keep a close watch on the spread of information until the day after the muggles' execution. Afterwards, it shouldn't matter what gets leaked to the public."
"Understood."
"Good. Now, the two of you may leave this place. I will have a private conversation with our final member."
The judge stood, making his way to the door along with the Auror.
The last figure giggled, putting their arms behind their head. "You wanted to talk to poor little me? I'm honoured!"
The burly figure, who hadn't quite made it out the door yet, whirled around before leaving. "You'd better straighten up! Don't go making a fool of yourself before Lord Black!"
A cane struck the ground, bringing immediate silence to the room.
"Your touching display of loyalty," began Cygnus Black, "is most unwelcome. Remind me about the rule regarding using names while we're meeting in secret under concealment charms?"
"I—uh, my apologies, my lord."
"Go."
"U-understood."
They passed through the threshold (and the muffling charm), giving the two remaining people their privacy.
"For the life of me, I cannot understand how that man achieved his position," muttered Cygnus.
"Wasn't that your doing, sir?" asked the one who remained behind.
His tone was far more irreverent than the burly Auror's, but Lord Black didn't seem to take offense.
"So it was," he sighed. "Now, I have an especially important role in mind for you. But first, are you certain you wish to maintain your mercenary status? Fulfil this task for me and I can assure you standing as a vassal of our house."
"Hoh? That's certainly tempting, my lord. But I'm more of a free spirit, y'know? I've still got time to sample all the wines of life before picking a cask."
"Your price, then, if not status?"
"This time? Information is what I'm after."
Cygnus hesitated. "I take it you don't mean magical secrets?"
"No, sir. Intel. You already know who I'm targeting."
"The Longbottoms."
"S'right!"
"…You realize that you will be Obliviated upon the completion of this assignment, correct? If you write it down or relay what I tell you, the contract magic will simply kill you."
"I'm counting on that, my lord. The information is just for me. I can perform a passable memory lock."
"I had the understanding that you were merely a second-tier Occlumens. Are you claiming to have reached the fourth?"
The unknown figure smiled in reply.
"Very well," said Cygnus. "If it is information you want, then you shall have it. First, let me explain what your task entails…"