A/N:

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Dumbledore paced furiously in his office; he was beyond frustrated, bordering on furious. It had been approximately four years since the blood wards had fallen on number four Privet drive, and yet he was no closer to finding that blasted girl than he was the day that he noticed that they had fallen to begin with.

It had been nearly two years after the fact that he had found out that Azalea Potter was missing from when the wards had initially fallen. She could have ended up anywhere at this point, that is if she was even still alive. It was utterly frustrating. He had assigned spies in his network to observe but not interact with the girl, who was left in the tender care of her muggle relatives. Oh, he knew exactly what kind of people the muggles he left her with were. They abhorred magic, and anything to do with it. Anything unusual, anything abnormal... they despised it, and he just knew they would treat her exactly as she had to be treated for her to stay pliable and willing to sacrifice herself when it was expected of her, when the time came to defeat Lord Voldemort once and for all.

But still, it was rather disconcerting to note that the blood wards had fallen completely.

FLASHBACK

Albus Dumbledore stood up from his desk and gathered himself up, casting a notice-me-not charm on his rather... abstract... wizarding robes. He hated wearing them, but they made him more approachable, more the ever doting grandfather-like figure that he wanted to be perceived as. They were eclectic, eccentric at best, but they did their purpose. If only they knew the real truth about him, they would run for the hills, as the muggles said.

He leisurely walked to the edge of the wards of Hogwarts so that he could aperate to an unseen alleyway of wisteria walk. Previous headmasters of Hogwarts had been able to aperate to and from wherever they pleased in the castle, but for some reason, the sentient castle had never allowed him to do the same. Oh, he had tried, and nearly splinched himself each and every time. He'd rather not do so again any time soon. Once he reached the edge of the wards, he aperated with a sudden and clear pop, sounding as if a car backfired. It echoed against the tree line and into the too still forest.

Soon enough, he found himself in front of a rather rubbish looking single story house that had a half dozen half kneazle-bread cats residing outside of the house. Merlin knew there would be more inside. He wordlessly cast a bubble head charm on himself so that he wouldn't breathe in what he knew would be the rather unpleasant aroma of the inside of that residence, and knocked on the door in three even raps. Knock! Knock! Knock! He stepped back and waited patiently for the rather slow moving squib to move and answer the door. Arabella Figg didn't have magic, and so she wasn't of much use, but he had assigned her to observe the blasted girl, and he wanted answers as to why she had disappeared.

The door creaked open and even with the bubble head charm, it didn't fully drown out the unpleasant mixture of the smell of unkempt cats, and boiled cabbage. Still, he had to get to the bottom of this, so it took some pleasantries, and he would get to the bottom of this issue. A rather frail woman with thinning silver-grey hair and rather withered looking skin opened the door, dressed in what looked to be a hand-knitted sweater with the image of what was probably meant to be a cat on the front of it.

"Good afternoon, Arabella. May I come in?" He stated, rather than asked, in a way she knew she couldn't refuse. The woman looked up at him, and wrung her hands. She didn't know what to do. She had no choice but to let Albus come in; there was no way she could refuse the very powerful wizard. He could simply overpower her. She had no magic at all; she was a squib. A witch without magic, cast out like the night's rubbish.

"A-ah yes, come in. W-what do I owe you for the pleasure of this visit, Albus?" She stuttered out as she led the man on a short walk through her house and into the kitchen where she gestured vaguely to the ramshackle table and chairs that were lined along the far side of her small kitchen. She busied herself with filling the brass tea kettle with water from the tap and carrying it over to her propane gas stove. She turned the dial and the burner lit after a few ticks went by. When she could no longer justify politely ignoring her unwanted guest, she turned around to face him.

"I came to speak with you about the matter of Azalea Potter. Have you seen her lately?" Albus asked, not beating around the bush for once. This was a very important matter, after all. Azalea was the wizarding world's only hope to defeat Lord Voldemort once and for all when he eventually showed his head again. He tried to slip into her mind, to glimpse at the surface of her thoughts, but she wouldn't make eye contact with him, and it was annoying him to no end. She had no mental shields, it would be easy, should be easy, to simply dig through her thoughts and memories and get what he needed, but he knew it would harm her in the process. He was a skilled legitamance but even then, it took a gentle kind of care that he simply did not want to extend to the squib in front of him.

"O-oh. Azalea... What about her? Is she alright?" Arabella asked, feigning. She knew the rumors of what had happened all those years ago. The Dursley's had been brutally murdered, tortured even, but in a way she knew just had to have been done with magic. Someone, had hunted down the only remaining family that poor Azalea Potter had left, and had made sure they suffered greatly before they were murdered. Miraculously, her cousin, the Dursleys' only son, had been found swaddled up in a heap of blankets in the neighbor's yard as number four Privet Drive burnt to the foundations. From what she had heard, the poor orphaned boy was now living with Vernon's sister, Marge Dursley. But poor Azalea, oh poor poor Azalea. It had been one and a half years since she had gone missing, on the same night that the Dursley's had been slain. The police had been searching for her, missing child posters plastered all over the telephone poles and shop windows. Just how much more tragedy could that unfortunate family go through. Really, it was such a shame.

"She's missing, Arabella. Did you think I wouldn't find out?" He asked, laying on a rather thick disappointed tone of voice, like he was more upset that she hadn't told him rather than the fact that his little weapon in training was gone, nowhere to be found.

"I-I... I didn't know what to do, Albus. I thought to owl you, I really did. But the police... Even they can't find her. They're still looking, I know they are... But really... If they haven't found her yet-" She trailed off, finally looking up and making the mistake of meeting his eyes for the first time since he had entered inside of her house. He easily pushed into her mind, for once, not caring about the damage he would be doing to such a fragile thing like the inner workings of a squib's mind. Such a magic lacking person would never be skilled at occlumency like a proper witch or wizard would be able to. For one to have a mind so open, almost projecting, screaming out at him… It was unfathomable for him, a highly skilled occlumence such as himself. He had to take care to remember not to push too hard; it would be easier to simply dig into her mindscape, but that would cause everlasting damage that he didn't feel like dealing with the consequences of. A brush here, a glimpse there, and he had gathered enough information of what had happened, at least what she knew had happened, so far. So she hadn't been lying to him when she said Azalea hadn't been found by the muggle police yet. He took mind to pull out of her mindscape gentle enough that she only slightly faltered backwards, bracing herself unconsciously against her faded and stained countertop. He was quick to cast an obliviate on the elderly squib before she could catch her bearings, and quickly moved to inform her that she had stumbled back, and that she was making the two of them a spot of tea. It wouldn't do for his most loyal followers to catch on that he dared to mistreat a poor defenseless squib. He watched as she busied herself up with preparing two mismatched coffee mugs with some muggle brand of what appeared to be black tea. He sneered mentally, how muggle. There wasn't a single ounce of witch in this woman, you could tell right down to her core, or in her case, lack thereof.

If the police hadn't found her in a year and a half's time, that meant that Azalea Potter wasn't hiding in the muggle world. He held onto a shred of hope that she wasn't irrevocably damaged by what she had been bound to experience. Or maybe, just maybe, she would be just damaged enough. He would have to play his cards right to the muggle police. They knew that the girl had no living relatives left, so he couldn't just play the concerned long-lost grandfather card that he usually would be able to pull off without a hitch. No, this time he would have to come off as a close family friend of her late parents, or something or the other. It would take time to establish a clear connection with them, it always did in situations that magic couldn't be used in. It left a bad taste in his mouth that he couldn't just charm his way through finding out the information he needed, this would take actual work. Work that he didn't feel like doing. He made a mental note to start contacting his network of spies and allies that he had in the wizarding world. It would have to be on the down low; if word got out that Azalea Potter was missing, that he had failed at his duties of being her magical guardian... The world at hand would go into a massive upheaval.

"Ahh yes, dear Arabella. Thank you for the offering of a cup of tea, but I really must be going now. Business at Hogwarts to take care of and all that." He said, using his false charming personality to smooth over any residual magic left over from the crime he just committed. It just wasn't done, using legitamancy on someone without their consent, especially a squib. Added to that, he obliviated her to wipe the memory of what he had done to her mind. He had to be thorough or else he would be facing a rather serious inquiry at the Ministry of Magic. That was, if they found out. They didn't pay much attention to squibs. They were cast out of the wizarding world by age eleven, when they showed no signs of having a magical core. By that age, any proper witch or wizard at least showed some accidental form of magic.

He stood, and gathered himself up before making his exit from the reeking house, making a beeline for the alley way that he had aperated to in the first place and went directly to the aperating area inside The Leaky Cauldron. He needed to talk to Tom, one of his contacts that had access to both the wizarding and muggle public. He would have to start putting out feelers for information on the missing girl. Surely she had to have been seen, by someone at the very least. He mentally made a list of who he would need to get in contact. Subtly, of course. No one could know, especially not the ministry. If word got out...

End Flashback

After that visit, he began working, subtly of course, to locate the blasted girl. He reached out first to Hestia Jones, a freshly made auror that was very much under his thumb; she followed him rather reverently. He didn't want the Ministry to know, and he knew if he asked of her not to inform her coworker and boss, that Jones would comply with his request. What he had asked Jones to do was to locate and go to every muggle orphanage within one hundred miles of Surrey and check for any girl fitting Azalea's age and description, one he got from Arabella Figg's memories.

Flashback

Hestia aperated to the nearest alleyway to the fifth orphanage that she had visited this week alone. She had lost count of how many in total that they had gone to under Dumbledore's orders but so far, Hestia had no results to bring to Albus. At least, none that Albus would be satisfied with. Hestia was repeatedly coming up with nothing. She would go to the orphanage, ask questions under the guise of looking for her niece, and when the muggles in charge of the children reported to her that there was no girl under the name Azalea Potter, or any other name for that matter, fitting that age and description, Hestia would leave and move on to the next one. Hestia was coming up blank, and it was absolutely frustrating them to no end.

Hestia walked up to the wrought iron gate that acted as the opening to get into the latest orphanage, the Holy Redeemer Children's Home, and walked up the brick walkway to the double doors. At first, she hesitated, but by this time, she was very used to what she was doing, so she had already transfigured her robes into a muggle business suit, something much more suitable to talk to the muggles in. They wouldn't ask questions if Hestia dressed this way. This time, she was going to act as a government official. It helped that there was an open investigation into the disappearance of Azalea Potter. It wouldn't raise suspicions if Hestia asked around about the child in question. She glamoured her appearance to change her pinned up raven black hair into honey blonde locks that came just about to her ears. It wouldn't do to be recognized.

She opened the heavy door and entered in, quickly glancing around to take in the situation. There were children of different ages miling about the lobby of the three-story building. The lobby floors were not the cleanest, and she could spot places where dust piles were forming. Hestia grimaced. If the first room that would leave an impression on you was this filthy, what were the living quarters of the orphans like? Merlin, she didn't want to think about that. Child neglect was rare in the wizarding world. Magical children were revered, held with utmost importance. The magical population was dwindling, between the inbreeding of the pure bloods and the lack of children being born to replenish the population.

She was greeted by a staff member after a few moments had passed by and after explaining her reason for visiting the orphanage to begin with, the very kind staff member led Hestia into an empty office where the matron, Mary, she caught sight of her name tag, explained that the head mistress was with a child at the moment. It seemed that there had been a situation with a girl and a group of other girls. Hestia looked around the office and noted that the desk in front of her was buried with paperwork, so much so to the point that you couldn't make out anything else on the desk. The piles were high and neatly stacked. The head matron must have been under a lot of stress, with this many unfilled papers. After a bit of time had passed, a rather stern looking woman came into the office and sat behind the overburdened desk. She ignored Hestia for the moment and stacked a shorter pile of papers for a moment before looking up at her.

"Good afternoon Miss…" The woman trailed off when she realized that Hestia had not supplied a name.

"Miss Benedict." She supplied, using an alias, the one that was on her falsified identification papers that Albus Dumbledore himself had supplied to her.

"Well, yes. What can I do for you on this fine afternoon, Miss Benedict? Surely you're too young to be thinking about adopting a child yourself." The matron asked.

"I am here on official government business, unfortunately. I'm working on a case file I was just assigned. A young girl is missing, and has been for approximately a year and a half now, her family murdered. I've been following up on a lead given to me by a neighbor and have been checking in with any and every orphanage that is within the area. Maybe you can help?" She began filling the woman in on the details that Albus had coached her to supply. A basic description of what the girl looked like, her approximate age, and her name, Azalea Dorea Potter. The matron let out a deep sigh.

"Unfortunately there is no child here under that name. I can't say I wish there was, but given the special circumstances, this time I wish I could help. There have been four recent admittance in the past year or so, but all of them have been older children. A brother and sisters, and two individual children, none of them fitting your criteria." The woman said with a frown.

"And you're absolutely sure of this? I will just need to mark this down in my findings. I'm going through an alphabetical list of orphanage and children's homes within a one hundred-mile radius. If you do end up with any leads, here is my business card." And she handed over a small card with black glossy ink that read out her name and a string of numbers that Albus had told her was a muggle telephone number, something muggles used to talk to each other.

"Yes. I will contact you if I hear anything from our sister locations. In the meantime, is there anything else I may do for you?" Mary asked, but she shook her head to gesture no. She was done with this orphanage, and would have to move on down the list to the next one on the parchment that Dumbledore had gathered for her. It was of all the suspected orphanages and children's homes that Azalea might have been sent out. There was the possibility that Azalea had already been adopted, but Dumbledore had assured her that they would find the poor girl. Of all the luck, her family had been murdered when she was just a babe, and then her muggle relative's family had been brutally murdered too, only sparing her cousin and her. Such a shame, the tragedy of it all.

End of Flashback

Flashback

Dumbledore was becoming more and more frustrated as time went on. He could not locate Azalea Potter, no matter how much he was trying. He had agents searching for her at every muggle orphanage, and they had been to dozens, if not hundreds of locations and no one had caught sight of her, or had any idea of where she could be. As far as he could tell, she was no longer residing within the muggle world, which would cause a whole different slew of problems for him. He couldn't allow her to gain knowledge of who she was before it was time. He would have to do a great amount of damage control with the blasted girl when she was located and promptly rescued from whoever had taken her from her muggle relatives' house. To think that his perfectly laid plans were going to ruin just because some dark witch or wizard had found where he had hid Azalea away from the wizarding world.

Albus checked the time with a quick tempus charm. He had a meeting scheduled in half an hour's time with an auror, Alastor Moody. Moody was a retired top tier auror, but he was firmly in Albus's pocket, as much as one could be anyway. He didn't fully trust the wizard; as powerful as Albus was, Albus had learned the hard way that trusting others came at a great personal cost, one he refused to afford ever again. Just thinking about the whole debacle with Gellert left a bitter taste in his mouth. To think that the one he once thought of as his best friend, maybe even something more, something romantic... For him to threaten to expose what Albus had done to his younger sister... Albus knew that silencing Gellert was the right thing to do. All he had to do was frame him for the very things that he had done himself, the things that he had come up with the ideas for... All Albus had to do was blame him for the crimes that Albus himself had committed in the quest for the greater good. After all, Albus had always sought out to erase the darkness that tainted this world. There was no room for dark magic, as disgusting as it was to practice those arts. Now, it was just a more ethical route, if one could call politics that.

After he had Grindelwald locked away far, far away from wizarding kind, he was safe to ride out the power waves that came with 'defeating' the next up-and-coming dark lord. The public never knew that many of the crimes that he had accused Gellert Grindelwald for were the crimes that he himself had done instead. With the fame of defeating the dangerous dark lord, came the political power and influence he had always sought after. Even now, decades later, he was still held in high regard in the minds of Britain's witches and wizards. He was the great Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin, first class, grand sorcerer, supreme mugwump, chief warlock. People had better respect him, for all he's done for those useless witches and wizards. And now, all of the plans he had carefully constructed and orchestrated were beginning to unravel at the seams, all because of one bloody child. Oh when he got his hands on her... He might just ring her bloody neck. No, no. He couldn't get himself worked up like this. Not with a meeting so soon with Alastor. No, he had to appear calm and collected, serene with grace. Moody could read the mood of someone a mile away. He couldn't let him find any perceived weaknesses.

A warning bell sounded off in his office, the sound of wind chimes chiming alerted him that someone was walking up the moving spiral staircase that led up to his office. It was over the summer holidays, which ruled out it being a student, and only a handful of professors had stayed behind in the castle over the summer holidays, often electing to head to their own personal homes for the short bit that they would have off for the year. He tapped his wand against his desk, wordlessly straightening the stacks of correspondences and parchments so as to not show the utter disarray that his desk had become in his fit of fury. All must appear as if he was in total and complete control of the situation, which was far from the absolute truth.

The second warning chimed, notifying him that the person had reached the top of the stairs and was about to enter his office. He sat down behind his desk, smoothing over his long and neatly kept beard that was part of his signature 'grandfatherly' look that he liked to portray. Alastor Moody walked, well, limped, into his office, exactly one minute early as Albus had expected of him.

"Ahh, Alastor. Come, sit. Would you like a lemon drop?" He asked, offering up the wizard one of his infamously dosed candies. He kept a bowl of the compulsion potion dosed candies in a dish waiting at the ready. Albus knew Moody was not easily fooled and would reject them, as he always did whenever Albus had offered up a piece to him. While the staff and even more so, the student body, was easily fooled by his false cheery demeanor, Alastor Moody was not one of them. Every time he produced a lemon drop from the special crystal dish that he kept on the corner of his desk, often in plain sight of whoever was on the other side of him, Moody's blasted magical eye would spasm and seize in its socket, alerting the younger wizard to the candy's tainted nature. He wanted to dig his own fingers into that blasted eye socket and remove the magical eye himself. It always thwarted every compulsion and manipulation that Albus had tried to throw at him. He might as well leave well enough alone, just this once. It wouldn't do to further gather Alastor Moody's suspicions against him more so than he already most likely had.

"Cut to the chase, Albus. I'm a busy man; I haven't got all day for you to dither on about what not. What is it that you want this time?" Moody bit out, not bothering to sit in one of the offered chairs. Albus frowned. This disrespect would not do.

"Ahh, in a rush today, then dear Alastor? And here I was, hoping we could catch up for old time's sake, before we got down to business." Albus said with a carefully placed frown, to portray the disappointment he laid heavily in his tone of voice. He was an innocent old man after all; he was Albus Dumbledore, grandfather to all of the wizarding world. Moody didn't budge an inch at the subtle manipulation, irking him something fierce. "I find that I am in need of a favor from you, my dear friend." He said carefully, to not let Moody know just how truthful he was being at the moment. "My poor charge, Azalea Potter's muggle family has been brutally attacked; frankly they were murdered. There was only one survivor, the muggle boy, he's Azalea's age, and without parents I'm afraid. Azalea Potter is missing, presumed alive. I need your help, Alastor. I need to find poor Azalea before it becomes too late to save her from whatever dark witch or wizard has her captive." He was careful to sound full of regret and mournful and not at all like the ball of raw fury that he really was.

"I don't have the time or patience for idle chitchat. Tell me what you want me to do, Dumbledore. Or I'll leave." The gruff man snapped out at once, finally losing the little patience he had for the situation. And he wasn't one to make idle threats either. Alastor Moody was a busy man who had lots to do. He wouldn't waste his time sitting in Albus Dumbledore's office idly talking about the mundane things. No, not when he could be out tracking down death eaters. Retired yes, out of commission, absolutely not. He had a meeting with Arcturus Black in half an hour's time to talk about Azalea Potter of all things. That girl was a mystery wrapped up in a ball of cuteness that distracted you from the darkness dwelling inside. Oh, yes. He could see the Black madness in her, even if it was buried deep inside of her. There was something dark inside of that girl, and he intended on keeping an eye on her as much as he could. This had the potential to be very dangerous if not handled right.

"I see..." Albus trailed off, putting up a disappointing front. Maybe he better get on with it after all. It wouldn't do to drive the man away. Was he laying it on too thickly? No, it couldn't be. The man must just be in a hurry today. "I have agents looking for her in the muggle world, but I would like your help to locate her in case she's here in the wizarding world. You happen to be an exceptional tracker and I know if there is any hope to finding that girl alive, you are my best chance at this."

"For how long have you let the light of the wizarding world be missing, Albus?" Moody asked, deadly quiet, stillness setting in. He could barely contain his absolute fury at what he was hearing from the man before him, if you could even call him a man. Azalea Potter was not in fact missing. She was in fact safe and sound with the Blacks, at Black Manor in fact. And she had been since she was six. For two years nearly now, she had not been residing at wherever Albus had placed her with those awful muggles. Hideous things, the Dursleys were. They had abused the poor girl; Alastor had seen it through Cassiopeia's memories. It was a testimony to how well adjusted the girl he met was. That level of abuse, at that young of an age could mix for a bad situation all around.

"Around a year." Lie, Alastor thought to himself. It had been just over two years since the Black's had custody of Azalea, this he knew that much. He didn't let on that he knew differently and put on a mask of indifference and slight worry. "What do you want from me Albus? We need to find that girl. Merlin knows who has her right now. Is she even alive?" He asked in his gruff voice. He knew he was probably laying it on a bit thick, but he really wanted Albus to think about his actions here. This was a child's life, not some game of chess.

"That would be splendid!" Albus let out, a serene smile on his face. He couldn't let on that Azalea had been missing since she was six. The girl should be around eight right about now. The only solace he had was that the blasted girl was alive. The various warning systems he had placed on the girl's magical core hadn't gone off, at least the working ones. He still had to check into why the ones he placed on Privet Drive had never gone off.

Moody scoffed at the man's blasé attitude. He couldn't have been more disgusted with the man in front of him. He almost felt sick at how little the older wizard cared about the supposedly missing child's life. If he didn't know that Azalea Potter was truly safe and sound, he would be worried sick right about now. He had known James and Lily. He hadn't had a chance to meet Azalea when she was a baby as the Potters had been in hiding shortly after she was born, but he could imagine how excited James and Lily were to welcome their first, and consequently, only, child into this world. Moody needed to get out of there; he needed to meet with Arcturus anyway, it was a good thing really. He could report to Arcturus, Dumbledore's actions on attempting to locate the child. Little did Albus know, he was too years too late.

"If that's all, I need to be going. I have things to be doing right now. Things that don't involve wasting any more of my time in this office." He said gruffly, before exiting Albus could say anything more. This was not good. This was not good at all. Arcturus would need to know.

AN: Oh my god guys I am sorry for the so long wait. Things came up and my laptop broke but I'm slowly getting back to where I want to be. Big plans happening for the next few up and coming chapters!