Author's Note: All characters, descriptions, themes, and plot points recognizable from the Sims 4 Henry Puffer fan made stuff pack belong to creator MLys.

All plot points, characters, and settings recognizable from JK Rowling's work is an act of parodying fanfiction art and no rights are reserved.

The small percentage that does not fall into those two categories are from me and I'd like to thank MLsy, JK, and the actual ML in my pseudonym. You know who you are.

It was clear to anyone that Mr. and Mrs. Doofly, of number three, Oak Alcove, were perfectly average and proud of that fact. You would never think they were into dark, mysterious, or strange tales that after many years turn whimsical, heroic, and down right nostalgic. They honestly were too busy and too proud to join in on anything nonsensical.

Mr. Doofly was the division manager of a firm called Doo Peas, which made screwdrivers. He was a humongous oaf of a gentleman. You really could never see his neck unless perhaps you looked closely past the double (or triple) chins. Though one feature that could not be ignored is his giant mustache...or maybe his unibrow...your pick. Mrs. Doofly was the opposite. She was lanky and had red fiery hair with double the amount of neck as her husband. This was quite coincidental, as she loved to stick said neck in peoples' business. To double down on personality meets features, her nose was very long and narrow because it too always liked to poke around where it didn't belong. The Dooflys had a not so tiny son called Curtis, and in their mind he was the greatest living boy in the entire world.

The Dooflys had a lot, and most of it was what they desired, but they also had a secret. Their greatest fear was that somebody would find that secret out. What on earth would Mrs. Doofly do if someone at her nectar and dine parties found out about the Puffers? Mrs. Puffer was Mrs. Doofly's sister, but they hadn't met for several years. In actuality, Mrs. Doofly pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her no-good-rotten husband were as Anti-Doofly-ish as it was personally possible. The Dooflys knew that the Puffers also had a son. Which meant if you regarded the family tree, that would make Curtis and this particular boy cousins. And no Doofly was going to be mixing with any child like the Puffer child.

You see, our story begins when Mr. and Mrs. Doofly awoke on a gloomy, rainy Wednesday. There was not a single thing about the air or grass or lack of sun that would hint to something amazing happening all over the world. Mr. Doofly whistled a tune as he planned his most dull outfit in the wardrobe and Mrs. Doofly gossiped about bananas and footballs while she parried with a hollering Curtis in his high chair that was almost as big of a pain as the Puffers were.

None of them noticed a scrawny, emerald Sixam Owl sweep past the window.

At a quarter after seven, Mr. Doofly walked towards the door, kissed cheek with Mrs. Doofly, and tried to kiss Curtis but missed. He was too busy having a defiant fit; throwing his peas on the floor and at the wall. "That's my boy!" Mr. Doofly chucked. He made his way to his car pool.

It was at the end of the street that he spied something rather odd...it looked like...a ferret reading a dictionary? He rubbed his eyes. Eh, probably not. Good for nothing strays are not average and proper. Microchip it for Watcher's sake! Also, he's pretty sure animals cannot read. If it could read a dictionary, it could read street signs like the one that said Oak Alcove, which is super preposterous. Now Mr. Doofly was angry at his own thoughts. He had to foresee screwdrivers, after all!

His ride was just about to pull into the parking lot of his place of employment. He couldn't help but notice that townies were dressed pretty strange. Stranger than normal, he shuddered at the time luchador masks were a thing of fashion. No, these townies were dressed in long, flowy dresses...or robes...or...riding hoods, never the mind, they were peculiar! And Mr. Doofly hated weird! However, it was like he couldn't peel his eyes away. They were standing so close together; speaking low and quiet for none to hear. It reminded him fondly of his wife for a half a second. Wait a minute! Some of those wackos are not even teenagers or young adults! That one was probably even an elder! She was wearing a dark plum cloak (that's the word!) What in the every loving worlds is wrong with her? Maybe it is a silly prank. Possibly a rally? Solicitors?

"Uh...hey Vincent...you want to get out of my car there, bud?" His carpool partner asked nervously with both his feet outside on the pavement, looking in on a sitting Mr. Doofly. With one hand on the roof of his car and the other on his driver's side door.

Mr. Doofly always liked to sit with his back to the huge window in his office on the third floor. If for some reason he decided to rearrange his office that day, he would have never been able to focus on screwdrivers. He didn't see the Sixam owls fluttering a flipping past his window in the peak of day. Townies on the street did; they pointed and stared slack-jawed as owls flying in twos and threes sped between garbage bins and lampposts.

"Aren't owls nocturnal?"

"Ugh...ENOUGH with your animal facts, Bob!"

Mr. Doofly was perfectly unaware of the owls. He took pleasure in socializing in a mean fashion with co-workers. He talked on the phone. He schmoozed his boss. He even got to yell a bit more than an average day. It was bliss. That was until it was time to fill his big belly for lunch. He figured he could take a jaunt down to Little Corsican Bistro for a bite and maybe if he was lucky-a free meal...or a baked Alaska.

He'd forgotten those people in their stupid dresses until he almost ran smack dab into another gaggle of them. He gave them his nastiest stink eye. They just made him queasy. The worst part? This group was whispering fast and with enthusiasm. They for sure didn't have protest signs, collection jars, or free pins to take. He clutched his doggie bag containing the slice of baked Alaska. What he heard from the group made his lunch nearly come up.

"The Puffers, that's correct, I heard it from Earl and Samantha-"

"Yepper doodles, their boy, Henry in fact-"

Mr. Doofly screeched to a halt. Utter terror coursed through his body. He looked at his feet (well, tried to past his gut) then to the strange group, then back to his feet, then to his baked Alaskan, then back to the group. He wanted to give them all a petty rude introduction but thought better of it.

Instead, he darted back caddy-corner from the spot, hurried back to his office, and jeered his secretary until she looked a little red. He almost hit send on his telephone that would call his own house but changed his mind. He put his fingers to his unibrow and puzzled. Nope! This was utter nonsense! Puffer wasn't that unusual of a name. In fact, what if he misheard it as Gunther. Mr. Goth was one of the most gentlemanly folks Mr. Doofly knew of he was sure of it! Also...maybe his unmentionable nephew wasn't even named Henry. Was it Harold…? Eh, it could have been Dave for all Mr. Doofly could remember. No point in flummoxing the missus. She always had a cow at any inkling of a word of her sister. He couldn't blame her-if his sister was like that...Harvest Fest would be twice as aggravating as it is already. But those peculiar robes/dresses/cloak...things...what is going on?

His day passed him by because it was perfectly mundane and uneventful as he liked.

His carpool driver worked two floors higher, so Mr. Doofly had to wait a bit by the car, impatiently tapping his shiny shoe on the pavement. That same tapping toe happened to sweep the feet of a passer-by right from under him. He went down with a crash, and Mr. Doofly jumped back in great shock and disgust at his most definitely scuffed shoe.

"Watch it!" He barked as the frail old man grasped his hip as he clamored back to his feet. One brow raised nearly to his hairline when he noticed that the shoe scuffer was wearing a violently velvet, maroon cloak. The offender looked positively serene for just biffing it terribly. He even smirked as he dusted his knees.

"Nothing could ruin this day, good sir. I'm pretty much walking on cloud 9.75!" He took a step closer to Mr. Doofly and the latter felt his upper lip start to rise into the beginnings of a sneer due to the invasion of personal space. "Say...I gotta tell ya! YOU should be a bit more chipper, ya know! In fact you probably should be dancing in the streets or throwing paper particles in neon colors. Celebrate my good man! The Unmentionable One has been gone for good. Why, Normies like you should be celebrating this joyous, wondrous day!"

And then to Mr. Doofly's utter disgust, this loathsome wimp of a character reached his long, bony finger to clasp around the guttural stomach of one Mr. Doofly. Then, he skipped off like that was a perfectly normal social interaction to have with a complete stranger.

"I didn't know your name was Norman, Mr. Doofly," his carpool driver said from behind, startling a practically fuming Mr. Doofly. As it were, the two were not on a first name basis, but Mr. Doofly was about to put an end to that.

"My name is not Norman thank you very much," and he shoved past to reach his hand to the car door handle. "Unlock this door at once. My name is Vincent Doofly and if that loony tune thinks he can call me some hip street slang term such as 'normie' he's got another thing coming!"

"Yeah...okay...whatever you say then," the carpool driver said with increasing unease as he followed the request of his complete cretin of a passenger. The passenger in question could not seem to unstick his one brow from anything but a scowl. He hated imagination, and wondering, and dreams...but he hoped to The Watcher he had been dreaming.

As the carpool driver pulled into the drive of Mr. Doofly's home his mood further tanked when he saw the same animal. "I need my eyes checked" he muttered because it was not a ferret. It was a gray spotted tabby cat with a stark white belly and gleaming jade eyes. He didn't even hear his carpool driver.

"Yeah...so I'm calling in sick tomorrow...and maybe this week...so...you're going to have to drive yourself tomorrow," his voice wavered with nerves as he slowly and awkwardly rolled up his window. Then he was off and down the road leaving one Mr. Doofly in an intense staring match with a stray feline.

Licking her...no...his nethers without a care for decorum or decency. It made the man positively livid to see such an act being performed on the garden post. This was the same animal he had mistook for the ferret that morning he knew. He just knew.

"Get!" shouted Mr. Doofly with explosive rage.

The cat slowly raised his head and blinked. He yawned in almost a bored fashion and turned over, lowering his body and tucking his front paws in. Dare he say he almost had strictness in those eyes. The tail twitched in annoyance and Mr. Doofly scanned the ground for a stone to throw at it when the door flew open to reveal his wife.

"Darl-AH!" She exclaimed first in admiration and then shocked at the abrupt cut off of her husband shoving her roughly in the house and slamming his back to the door. She could not know of such strange happenings. He wished her the nicest and most mundane of days. As any good husband would. For she deserved all the happiness.

And she had had exactly that. She spoke over supper about the delicious drama over at the Spencer-Kim-Lee household and how Curtis had learned to ball his tiny fist into a punch instead of his normal open hand slap (come to think of it...was Mrs. Doofly's eye swollen a bit?) She did a fantastic job easing her husband's nerves as they ate their goopy carbonara in blissful silence. Once Curtis was forced into bed after six tantrums, Mr. Doofly went into the sitting room and switched on the television.

"...cause of death could very well have been the missing pool ladder. In other news those with a bird watching aspiration have been tremendously excited over recent sightings of rare Sixam owls appearing all over the different worlds. If you know elementary science, you know that owls hunt at night and sleep during the day so it is odd that they are doing these things in the daylight. Science is puzzled too, in fact we have local scientist, Ken Newbie with some comments. Ken?"

"Yes, quite. It's quite a scene. They should be sleeping!"

"Thanks, Ken. And now over to Stormy McGhee with the weather. Stormy?"

"Well Ann," said Mr. McGhee, "I'm pretty much at a loss for what viewers are sending in to me. Worlds as far as Pleasantview, Sunset Valley, and Oasis Springs are not seeing the light rain showers as I had predicted. No. Regions even as densely populated such as Bridgeport and San Myshuno are seeing...stars…!"

"Like...celebrity sightings?"

"Wh-...NO! I'm talking about actual stars. Big, huge stars! And meteor showers, too! Places with that much light pollution (and smog) should NOT be able to see such celestial beauty. At first I tried to brush it off as some wayward firework displays from, like, I don't know...Simdependence Day but...that's not for months! But! Viewers, let me tell ya...I can do this job and I can do it well. You will get your showers tonight so grab your umbrella and leave the telescope at home, okay?"

Mr. Vincent Doofly was petrified in every sense of the word. Frozen and full of fear. Meteor showers all over SimNation? Owls by day? Idiot townies in cloaks and ball gowns. And that whisper...that whisper about the Puffers.

Mrs. Doofly came into the sitting room with two cups of leafy green tea. He wished she was carrying a stiff dim and tasty. He had to say something. She's the most rational woman he knows! He tried to remove the frog in his through and opened his mouth to begin to speak. "Oh dearest darling to ever grace me with matrimony-" he began and when her one eye arched so violently narrow he barely squeaked out his next part, "have you spoken with your sister lately?"

"No." It came curtly and with an exhale through her nose. "Why do you ask?"

"You know what? Nevermind. Owls at day can be the new normal. And a meteor shower every once in a while could be something one could get used to…" he trailed off as he watched his wife slowly set down her tea cup and put both hands on her narrow hips to match the arch of her brow.

"What are you on about?"

"There's um...owls, dear."

"Yeah...owls exist...meteor showers too, I suppose."

"Yes, love, but these owls are flying in the," he takes a gulp, "day."

"What of it Vincent?"

"Well...and the meteor showers are constant and...maybe...just maybe this funny and odd happenings are something to do with...those funny people."

"Townies are strange, Vincent, we know this," she answered with an eye roll.

"No dearest not like your average strangeness. I sort of got the feeling of maybe your...sister's type of strange…?" This was without a doubt the wrong thing to say to his beloved wife at this particular moment. She sprung to her feet and waggled a pointy finger in his face.

"How dare you speak of her! Worst of all her...her...son!"

"Harvey...was his name…?"

"NO! Even worse...Henry! What a stupid, vile name. A peasant's name, in fact!"

The conversation was closed from there, and with an air of sourness the Dooflys popped off to bed. Mrs. Doofly fell asleep nearly in an instant, but Vicent Doofly lay awake. For one, the sound of the whizzing meteors shooting past his windows and also...that gray spotted tabby oh-so-annoyingly comfortable on his garden post, as if he was waiting for someone to meet him. As if his garden post was the meeting spot. The thought was enough for Mr. Doofly to slowly get out of his bed. Gingerly, he made his way to the bedroom window sill and gently nudged it open as not to disturb his sleeping wife. He peered down from his bedroom, where that smug cat was still sitting on the garden post. "Off of my post you mangy brute!" He whispered as loudly as he could. The cat looked up for half a second, almost as if he was bored, and then continued gazing down the road. "I WILL call animal control on you first thing in the morning!" He realized he was completely losing it to be making threats to a common house cat. Flummoxed, he shut the window.

The only solace Vincent took was that even if the Puffer's were involved, there was no such way for them to drag him and his beloved Daisy Doofly down with them. They had made it very clear at the wedding of his sister and brother-in-law (if you could even call that spectacle a wedding) that they did not support the marriage or the fraternizing of their...kind. And under no circumstances that they want to be in their life further. It would never affect his perfect little family.

He was very, very wrong.

While Mr. Doofly snored obnoxiously and sporadically, the cat sat calmly down below. He was able to be in complete focus. A car alarm blared, a teenager completely biffed on his skateboard, and a baby cried five houses down but the cat was in no mood for distraction. This moment was monumental and he could not miss the arrival. He sat like that for the next four hours.

A woman appeared quite suddenly in the exact spot the cat had been staring at for all of this time. It almost was if she came right up from the ground but the cat knew better and narrowed his eyes with a twitch of his tail.

Oak Alcove was not a place for a character like the one that just had arrived. She was tall, thin, and looked enreathally ancient. Her hair was a multitude of platinum, gray, silver, and white. She wore her fringe in a point that ended right between her long, thin eyebrows. Left unpinned and hanging at the side of her head were two tendrils that were cut short to end right next to her pointed chin. The rest was pinned up and hidden in the tall, black pointed hat perched on top of her head. She was wearing long robes, a midnight blue cloak which touched and swished upon the ground. Her long, narrow feet were adorned by black buckled, high-heeled boots. Her eyes were as blue as the afternoon sky and showed kindness, spryness, and mystery. Ages of secrets and adventures were seen in those eyes. This was Iris Simbledore and her lips were turned upward in a content, almost calm smile. She absentmindedly scratched her tiny sharp nose.

Iris Simbledore had no clue that she was out of place on the quiet street of Oak Alcove. Everything would be unwelcomed about her if one were to see her this night. Realization showed bright on her face as if she remembered a thought and hurriedly, she pulled a lapel in her cloak and began to forage around inside. The cat, previously silent, decided to make himself known by allowing himself to yawn with a quiet, "mew." Iris looked up quickly and made eye contact with the feline. Complete mirth and amusement filled her features and halted her searching. "Of course you of all people would be here for such a pivotal moment."

She chuckled and continued her search and retrieved her trinket. It looked almost like a small lightbulb for a Winterfest tree. Simbledore held it up above her head and whispered, "Auto-lightsoff!" At once, every street lamp on Oak Alcove flickered to black. Despite her age, she was always amused with the abilities she worked so hard to obtain. Protectively, she placed her Auto-Light back in her cloak lapel and lovingly patted it. This sort of business had to be done in private. And it had to be done in darkness.

"Number three...number three…" she squinted as she made her way closer to the cat still watching every so intently. Simbledore had no idea how Normies went about their business having to remember all sorts of these numbers. It was endearing to say the least. "Ah ha! Number three Oak Alcove! And you! Greetings to you this evening, Professor Garspatuon." Iris addressed the cat with warmth in the chilly night. The cat was gone and in his place stood a slender, handsome gentleman with extreme features that demanded respect and stern passion for order and decorum. Unlike a Doofly, this particular man was not interested in putting others off for sport or condemning the less conservative person. No, Profesor Mono Garspatuon was also poised and wise. His long illustrious career in teaching the prestigious and most willing of students with discipline and conduct showed on his angular face. He had a way of pulling his eyebrows handsomely in a particularly high arch of surprise of being found out by his Head Master. With a split second of whimsy in the jade eyes he shared with his feline animal form he gasped with nimble fingers scratching his short trimmed beard at his chin.

"What gave me away?" He asked Iris and smoothed his own robes to abolish any nasty wrinkles. His medium length, dark brown hair normally fell free in waves. Tonight, it was swept up behind his ears as he folded his arms awaiting Simbledore's answer.

"Cats do more movement than breathe, dear Mono," Iris chuckled. "For a second I thought that you were a garden statue. I've never seen such an uptight cat in my life. Your mere presence makes me want to go home and put in a night of studying for higher marks."

"With all do respect as my superior, you too would be stiff if you had to watch the abysmal goings on in the Normie world. I couldn't help myself ma'am, I may have done a very unprofessional act in cat form to show my discontentment for the folk." Gone as soon it was conceived, Profesor Garspatuon's smirk of playfulness made Iris Simbledore guffaw merrily.

"Why take guard here?! You could have been partying with the rest of our lot! I've seen groups milling around all day. Oh how the Normies are confused! It's hilarious in the highest form for me, I'm afraid. This is the greatest time to be alive, I think! You should be proud to be in your very spot right now! Also, if I may...you are still quite young, Mono. A spry 115 year old such as yourself should be doing more with this magical night than sitting angstily on a garden post."

"I'm not impressed," a popular Garsaptuon utterance known to send chills down students' spines. "In fact I feel as if they should take more care. The Normies are even broadcasting it on their televising receptacle. Careless. I am quite disappointed." Again, another common Garspatuon line. If you're an unfortunate pupil to receive this line, you may as well slam your own nose in your textbook. With his sharp jaw, he gestured towards the Doofly house. "I've been listening in, you see! The owls! The showers! Normies are not open minded but they certainly not as stupid as one may think. They can notice just as you and I can and ma'am I've to say...they have noticed."

"I cannot blame them one bit! They're living it! They're bathing in the life and times we have been waiting for eleven long years!"

"But...ma'am!" Profesor Garspatuon was getting a bit annoyed. "We cannot go overboard in their realm. We just cannot. They're not even trying to dress in Normie fashion. He failed to silently imply Simbledore herself was part of the issue. Iris did not take the hint. Normally his brand of side-eye would make anyone's bones shiver. "I just don't want the day we perceive the Unmentionable One as gone...the Normies find out not only about his past calamities but then also our kind. I guess…" Garspatuon allowed himself to briefly look hopeful and just a tad vulnerable. "I guess...he would seem to really be gone for...good…?"

"I am very certain, Mono," said Simbledore. "We have tons to be thankful for this very great night. "Now, on to business!" Garspatuon reiterated his face to his natural glower. "Care for a creamed ice?"

"I beg your pardon?" The whiplash of conversation induced his outburst.

"I've kept it cold with a chillio spell. Works perfectly. It's a Normie confection I am enamored with. There are genres of flavors. This one happens to be chocolate. I love chocolate. What say you, Mono?"

"Ma'am, I beg of you," if he could, he would put his hand to his forehead but found best when working with Iris Simbledore, you best not showcase how her eccentricities get to you. "We are here on business, as you know. If the Unmentionable One…"

"My dearest Professor, a respectable man of high honor with sense abundant can call him by his name, hm? All this Unmentionable One humbo jumbo for over a decade. It has to stop being persuasion, it has to be custom! His name...is Mormobius."

"I...understand," Professor Garspatuon took great care to compose his inner emotions for his superior. All thoughts swirling with adoration, inspiration...and insanity. "It...would seem…," choosing his words carefully, "that the Unmen-hm-Mormobius had only one foe. Only one he feared. And that was you...ma'am."

"My ego! My cheeks are flushing, dear Mono. The Untamed powers Mormobius possessed are some I could never dream of obtaining."

"That's because you are you."

"Oh stop, you! I am all flushed and girly like the time Hoppcraft complimented my new bunny slippers!"

A staggering side eyed glance from Garspatuon told Simbledore he wanted to get back on to matters that were more paramount to this whole day than owls and meteor showers. It was the whispers. The spoken tales amongst the realm. Was it true? This produced the most anxiety in the nearly perfectly poised professor. His jade eyes zoned in fiercely on Iris. Neither man nor feline could pierce one's soul like those.

"The whispers need to be deciphered as fact right here and now, Simbledore. I have sat on that post for half a day not to discuss ice cream or bunny slippers. Last night," a lapse in his courage overtook him but he huffed it away and spoke, "Mormobius." It had the familiar twinge of fright but he pressed on. "Our kind gossips of the night before last. Mormobius showed himself in Midnight Hollow. His mission to seek out the Puffers. The rumor is that Lena and Robert Puffer are...are-that they're-dead."

Iris bowed her head solemnly and Garspatuon exhaled air sharply. The simple gesture answered his quandary.

"No...it can't possibly...not my Robert...and my Lena….Oh, Iris…"

With both hands, Simbledore clasped the bony shoulders of one Mono Garspatuon overtaken by his grief. "I know...I know...the thorn to the rose of this momentous day, my dear friend." Simbledore's words were heavy and full of gentle sympathy.

As proud of a man Garspatuon may be, the tremor in his voice from the knowledge of his former students' fate gave him away. "Ma'am...please I cannot bear to think if that is now the truth then…the boy. Their boy...little Henry. They say...M-Mormo...he tried to kill the infant. But a glitch! An anomaly overtook the great Untamed wizard and he...failed. He could not kill Henry Puffer. Mormobius' power somehow...backfired...and that's how he's gone for good."

Simbledore could only nod solemnly.

"They're not rumors!" Professor Garspatuon cried. "I'm...I'm confused! I'm befuddled! I'm flummoxed in every sense. How can an Untamed wizard with insurmisable power," he took a shaky breath, "one who has killed and ravaged and slaughtered so many," the final words were barely above a whisper, "how did he not kill the baby boy? How in the Watcher's grace did the boy survive?"

"My best guess...is...your guess is as good as mine."

Professor Garspatuon allowed himself to dab at the corner of his eyes with his index knuckle. Simbledore used another one of her endless lapels to daintily blow her nose as her tears flowed gracefully along her alabaster face. Once her lapels were put back in order, she raised her great hand up and at arm's length, she squinted her one eye and poked her tongue a bit from between her lips as she put a thumb out, then three fingers making a great "W," then a circle. Garspatuon was lost. She looked as if she was trying to read something in the stars but could surmise it was some ancient way of time telling.

"Hagish is tardy but I'll allow it. I gather he told you I'd be here?"

"Quite right," said Professor Garspatuon, "He was very secretive, very mysterious for the loveable oaf that he is. When he's that worked up there most certainly be something reeking of misbehavior or misplaced heroic scheming. "So now I beg of you ma'am, pray tell why this is such a day unlike any other? Why are you here?"

"The boy who did not die, my good sir! This is the night to celebrate his life! For it is in my care that he will not be orphaned but he will be...rehomed."

"Rehomed? But that would mean…." Garspatuon stopped cold and nearly could have broken his neck for how quickly it snapped to number three Oak Alcove. "No! My stars no! Not this place...not with these people. I was bothered to the degree of licking myself to show my discontempt. I never do such things...I don't…"

"They are his aunt and uncle. They are the only family he has left."

"Ma'am! I have been spying on them all day! You could not find two people less like us let alone less like Robert and Lena! They have a boy, Iris! He's ghastly! Running his mother like his own personal plaything. What influence would that sort have on dear Henry?"

"It's the proper place for him," Simbledore pressed firmly and with finality. "His aunt and uncle will have the obligation to regale this all to him when he is of age. I even wrote a letter! A script of sorts if the Normies' words fail them to explain."

"...a...script?" repeated Professor Garspatuon weakly. "This life...what we are, what Henry is! That...that is not something to all easily be regaled in a scripted letter?" He was too exasperated to continue standing and slowly lowered to the garden post where he had spent most of the day. "These Doofly's will never have the means to understand this boy. He's famous. He's...a legend...this very day could be a holiday in the history books. An infant survived a killing spell cast by the most powerful Untamed wizard of our time. Every child in our realm will know his name but here...in the Normie realm...he will be squandered."

"Precisely." Any whimsy that Iris Simbledore possesses at times can change on a dime to show the exact reason she was appointed Headmaster. This was such a moment. "Just think rationally, Mono. A famous child? One bearing the watching eyes of wondrous onlookers against his will. Before he can even walk or talk? Knowing nothing about what exactly he even did before able to cognitively recognize the gravity of it all. He shall have the chance to learn when he is old enough to process it appropriately at his will."

Professor Garspatuon could have spoken and very clearly wanted to. And yet, he was defeated. So instead he changed his thought into a question. "How is the boy getting here?" Maybe he could chance a small joke, "Is the babe beneath one of your millions of lapels?"

He was rewarded with a crack of a smile from Iris.

"Hagish has him and should be making his way momentarily."

"You feel it wise to fully trust...Hagish…?"

"One would be a fool to not trust Hagish."

"Ma'am his...heart and soul is never in the wrong place it's just...his...quirky ways…" He shut his mouth instantly when he realized exactly what kind of person Iris Simbledore was. Ah, it made sense.

Very low at first, a rumble penetrated the silence between the two colleagues. Louder and louder it grew until it seemed to be right on old Oak Alcove. But there was no headlight of a car or motorbike down this particular street. In fact, the wise wizards knew to in fact look...up.

And there it was! A two-wheeled motorbike with a sparkling teal paint job lost altitude and dropped with the tires squealing on the pavement in front of the little house. Garspatuon was mortified at the thought of the Dooflys waking up at this sight.

Astride the vehicle was a character that could look very intimidating if you did not know his sort of character. His shoulders were broad and he stood stocky. There was a twinkle in his coal black eyes set below an expressive brow. He always unsuccessfully tried to tame his coal black beard upon a pointy chin. When he smiled, white teeth stood as contrast to a tanned, olive face. This was Julius Hagish for whom the company awaited for. Upon seeing the Headmaster, Julius tipped her his dark plum newsboy hat with a single, turquoise feather tucked into the brim. In that split second his hat left his head, you could see the harsh point of his ears that gave away his parentage not being fully human. His whole dress was bohemian. Sagging frilled shirts with homemade patches of various colors and loose fitting trousers that ended in scuffed, buckled boots. He was homely, wild, and lived a life of solitude. However he was also loyal, good natured, and fiercely kind. But for all the gruffer stuff this man could be made of, in his ginormous arms he was holding a bundle as gently as one would caress a bubble.

"Hagish my boy!" Simbledore was utterly gleeful to see her friend make safe travels. Where, pray tell...did you get this fine contraption. Delightful!"

"Kindly borrowed it, Prof," the mountain man replied as he climbed down from the bike clumsily. As if he had two left feet. And yet, he carefully maneuvered the bundle appropriately with the shifting. "Diego lent it to me, bless his heart. What matters is this," Hagish gesticulates with his bundle. "I've got him!"

Simbledore looked at Hagish fondly. Then her features hardened and changed to sorrow in a very quick instant. Hagish completely understood despite the wordlessness.

"Their house was almost completely demolished but I...I got him all right before curious Normies started milling around. They sure love scenes, they do. He ended up nodding off once we passed over Brindleton Bay."

As Hagish said, when Iris and Garspatuon peered into the folds of the bundle, fast asleep was the great Henry Puffer. His hair was thick and silky blonde...and under the fringe was an oh so curious marking. A cut standing angry and red against the smooth baby skin.

"A...diamond…?" Garspatuon whispered.

"A plumbob," Simbledore corrected.

"Is that where he…?"

"Yes indeed. And it will scar over for sure. Be with him forever."

"Can you do...something. It could be painful or...it could outcast him."

"Scars are useful, Mono." Iris took a breath and an air of her whimsy returned. "They signify healing and therefore health. They're useful too! I have precisely twenty-seven scars. One in particular looks just like a freezer bunny!" She exhaled in a laugh. "Come now, Hagish! Let's do our deed!"

Henry was passed to Simbledore who took him in her arms and advanced up the walk towards the Doofly's front door. Hagrish cried out in anguish and began to sob.

"I gotta say g'bye, ma'am!" His monstrous arms flapping wildly.

"Quickly," Professor Garspatuon hissed. "With all of this, I'm surprised the Normies haven't awoken!" Unfortunately Hagish was losing all sorts of composure by the second.

"Oh Robbie! Oh Lenny, girl! Your babe! His fate with...with...Normies!" Out of nowhere, Hagish brandished a rag from beneath his cap to blow his nose and wipe his tears streaming from his eyes to his large, sloped downwards nose.

"Julius, good gracious!" Garspatuon persisted.

"I'm...s-s-s-oooo...torn up inside…" the bohemian blubbered.

"I rightfully am as well but we have to keep it together. Lest we wake the baby or the Normies." As Mono spoke, Simbledore was gingerly placing the baby boy on the stoop of Number Three Oak Alcove. The letter she had spoken of was conjured from one of those lapels. Solemnly, when Iris returned to her companions, the three could not bear to move a muscle without looking upon the bundle for what could be the last time in a long time. Even Professor Garspatuon had to dab the corners of his eyes again. He then changed his approach to just merely blink at an increased pace to hopefully ebb the emotion. Simbledore was stoic and dark. Where enchanting mirth lights her features like a beacon, was instead hollow shadows outlined in streaks of tears.

"It is done. And we have no business here now."

"I could do with a celebration, actually," Garspatuon chanced which made Simbledore's lips turn up just in the slightest.

"We will see him again, right?" Hagish's voice was as unsure as a child's.

"I expect so," Iris sighed and turned to her company. With a cordial nod, she watched Hagish bow slightly before kicking the bike back to life, taking flight and out of sight. And to Professor Garspatuon, who crumpled fluidly and sleekly back into that gray spotted tabby. He bounded down the road, around a corner, and out of site.

For Simabledore, she retrieved her Auto-Light and returned the street lights to again illuminate the quiet street. Over her shoulder she looked to the little bundle on the stoop of Number Three Oak Alcove. The baby beneath with the plumbob scar. Clutching a letter delving into his great secret life he would never know until he was ready. No stress of fame. No scrutiny. Just a humble Normie home to keep him safe and loved until his greatest adventure was to begin.

"You have my luck, dear boy," Simbledore whispered towards the little bundle before she turned on her heel to walk away. "To Henry Puffer-the boy that did not die!"