~oo00oo~

Chapter 8

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―==(oIo)==―
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12 January 1985

It was a grey Saturday morning when Little Whinging was surprised by a parade of sleek silver Vauxhalls gliding through and catching the attention of more and more residents before slowing to a stop in front of number 4 Privet Drive. From a half dozen vehicles came a black suited swarm carrying with them tools, lighting equipment, and large professional looking cameras. Out of the single black car emerged a striking woman in pink, her blonde hair piled in a neat chignon, waving her hand with a high gloss manicure at the black swarm as she called for her bag.

By this time the Dursleys, who had taken to relaxing in front of the television after a filling breakfast, had noticed all of the commotion outside of their home. Vernon Dursley, a furrow making deep gouges across his forehead, roughly shoved a boy underneath the stairs with several firm threats about what would happen to him if he should even think of existing let alone what would happen if he made any noise. Petunia quickly went into the kitchen to put the last of the dishes in the drying rack that the boy had been working on. Their son had started peaking his head under the curtains to see what all the fuss was about. His father pulled him back gently and motioned him over to the door, opening it with a jovial smile and a twitch of his walrus like mustache before the knock even came.

They were greeted by the bright lights of cameras flashing and celebratory crackers going off around a young woman with a radiant smile. He cautiously returned the smile with his wife over his shoulder and his son trying to peak out the door.

"Congratulations!" The crowd joyously shouted at the bewildered Dursley family, more flashes as cameras went off while they tried to steady themselves and failed. "I'm Sandra Moore of the Intrepid Travel Agency and you have won the GRAND PRIZE!"

If any of the inhabitants of Little Whinging were not aware of the commotion going on at number 4 before, they certainly were now. Between the many photos being taken, the pops of crackers, and the congratulations on the grand prize win, there hadn't been so much noise since Mr. Number 9 had gotten a cherry red Porsche after his wife left him for a Spanish businessman.

Ever the friendly sort, the Dursleys invited the woman inside while waving to the curious onlookers that had gathered around their home to see what the commotion was all about. As they entered the home, the pink queen bee settled into a seat of the salmon colored living room while her little swarm went about their work elsewhere. A man, roughly the same age as the Dursley couple, stood off to the side quietly letting the woman work.

"By winning the grand prize you qualify for our all expenses paid month long holiday. In accordance with the rules that you agreed to upon entering you will have your photos published in our newsletters and brochures as well as be sent off to the local news in celebration!" the words flowed out of Moore like a tidal wave in the most Right Proper to have ever graced the Dursley household. Her exuberance and joyful demeanor was contagious and soon Petunia was smiling while Vernon rubbed his hands together over this lucky win.

"We are required to get your permission on a number of things though and that requires John here," she gestured to the middle aged man with dark brown hair that had drifted towards the sitting room. "John is here to notarise these documents for us to allow everything that you are agreeing to for your holiday. Do you both have passports and driving licenses?"

"Yes, I think I have them upstairs," Petunia said in a soft confused voice. "Shall I go get them now?"

"I have my driving license just here. Pet, why don't you go and get those and I'll handle this?" recommended Vernon amiably as he pulled out his wallet to produce the photocard. His wife slowly made her way up the stairs towards their bedroom, passing by more of the workers as they crowded the halls and staircase. They seemed to be measuring things as they took pictures and Petunia didn't want to get in their way. "Good then, Dudley, go and get your mother's purse from the other room. There's a good lad."

"Is, um, Dud? Dudley?" asked Moore with a faint moue pursing her lips, even as Vernon nodded confirmation that he had indeed named his son Dudley. "Is Dudley the only minor in your family? On the entry your wife put two adults and one child for the holiday."

"Apple of my eye, my boy Dudley," replied Vernon as he nodded, his voice thick with emotion. He ruffled his son's blond hair and looked back up at her. "Growing up too fast, he'll be five soon. Ahh," he said as he pulled his prize from the handbag. "Here is mine and my wife's."

The notary took the photocards as he finally sat down with the others. While he was looking them over Petunia rejoined them and handed over their passports for him to examine. He didn't speak a word the entire time and seemed to be rather uncomfortable in the Dursley's home.

"Now," said Sandra Moore with a smile. "We need to go over what we will be signing, though, of course, you should read it as well. These first documents are for us to legally use pictures of you. I need both of your signatures here," she slid over two sheets of official looking papers with a mark at each place they should sign. Then she pulled pens for each of them out of her bag, they were large marbled fountain pens laying in a velvet lined box and it added an air of seriousness.

"Please make sure to carefully read everything in the documents." She said while taking out yet more papers from the bag. The Dursleys signed the papers happily at each marked spot as they smugly envisioned a luxury holiday and how all their neighbors were going to be so jealous.

"These are for taking pictures of the house," she waved her hand out towards her little busy bees with a rueful smile and a raising of a single delicate brow. "Obviously they have already started. They are taking some pictures, but mostly it's measurements and lighting requirements and whatever else they will need in order to do the best job possible." She shook her head a bit and sighed, "It's not really my area of expertise, I'll leave it to them to figure out all the best ways and places to set this up. But these papers," she said with a gesture to the new documents, "are rather particular, which of you is on the deed to the house? It seems to make some difference legally speaking."

"I am," Petunia said hesitantly. "We used my inheritance to buy it outright." Vernon nodded his confirmation and so the paperwork that dealt with the house was moved over to Petunia. She signed it happily dreaming on how her home would be in travel brochures and adverts. Her home, and her family, known far and wide because she had put them into a drawing. Though she didn't rightly remember what drawing it was, she must have done it and not thought of it again. How lucky was she?

While the couple were signing away at papers that Sandra Moore kept putting in front of them, laughing a little between the three of them at how much was demanded of them to meet all the requirements of the law, she had been deftly setting out glossy booklets with breathtaking photos for the Dursleys to peruse. But it was Dudley who picked them up first as the adults had been preoccupied, they noticed when he started squealing and jumping up and down though.

"Dudders, really," Petunia said as she tried to calm her child she pried the pamphlet from his tiny hands.

Sandra Moore just smile at them though, her plum colored lips showing them how much she was enjoying this moment. "Oh, dear! Did you not tell the little one where your trip would be Mrs Dursley?"

Petunia and Vernon looked confusedly at each other before glancing down at the glossy pictures themselves. The Grand Floridian, it said in bold curling letters above an image of Mickey and Minnie Mouse. "Disney World," the Dursleys exclaimed simultaneously before starting to laugh at themselves.

"Oh yes, it is a wonderful package. That's why we at the Intrepid Travel Agency ran the promotion to begin with, we wanted to make sure that people were aware that the package could be done easily and more affordably than most parents believe. Now if you would like, and we would certainly love it if you did, we could use some of the photos and family snapshots that you take while you are away. People love seeing real families going to the places that we advertise instead of just the marketed images." Mr and Mrs Dursley gave each other smug smiles and each signed more papers Sandra had pushed towards them as she spoke, though by this time their hands were starting to hurt. "Wonderful. We can get those negatives from you when we come to do the after photos and get your reviews. Make sure you are writing down little things that you liked about your trip during your stay, trust me it makes the review process so much easier.

"That's about it, I think. Oh, but you have a minor as well so we will need you to sign these papers if you would like him to be in any of the pictures and these for travel and so forth." She passed one set of papers to Vernon and another to Petunia. "As you can see we have simply put in 'Minor(s)' for his name since you didn't identify him in your entry. You said he was how old? Five, did you say?"

"No, no he'll be five this year," came Vernon's merry reply as he patted his son's head again.

"Lovely I'll just fill in the age as four, born 1980 on the paperwork here," Moore said as she pulled it back to her, Petunia went to offer her the fancy fountain pen she had used when signing the paperwork, but Moore just smiled and showed off the pen she had ready to make the changes. "Right then, after you sign this I think that's the last of the paperwork. You did read all of the paperwork, right?" she said in a concerned voice. But the Dursleys just nodded and said that of course they had. "Wonderful, then John here will notarise everything and we will let him do his job while the photographers do some 'surprised before the trip' type pictures with the whole family. Don't worry we have a makeup artist set up and ready to make you look a little less surprised."

It was almost going on five hours by the time the cars had packed away the thrumming swarm of workers and were on their way. The parade of sleek vehicles out of Little Whinging caused a secondary stir amongst the residents. The family at number 4 would keep them waiting, however, as they had gone back inside to sort themselves. The three Dursleys were feeling rather tired after the whole affair and were only too happy to tuck themselves into bed for a nap with little fuss. They would get up in time for dinner, probably.

In a cupboard under the stairs, lay a boy who was much too small on top of a mat that was worn thin. In the dark all by himself he finally breathed a relieved sigh, though it sounded more like a sob. With the others most assuredly asleep the little boy opened the magic purse and pulled out a small orb. The ball lit as soon as he touched it and his face relaxed in its gentle light. Setting down the glowing orb, the child pulled out food and began to nibble on it. When he had eaten as much as his small, mistreated stomach could he put the orb near his head and the purse in a good hiding spot. With a sigh, the battered and starved child hoped that everything had worked out.

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8 January 1985

The night had been filled with monsters. I did not have nightmares because one must sleep for dreams to become terror. Instead I was haunted by my own imagination, whatever it could dream up on the subject of Tommy Riddle playing around in little Harry's head. As soon as I was ready for the day, I contacted the last solicitor. I did not want him to properly lodge or file the agreements. I told him it would only be necessary if there was a fight. Instead I simply needed them to sign what amounted to a contract. In the end this was the biggest hitch, as I still needed someone with the authority to make those contracts legitimate on the muggle side of things. If not a solicitor and the courts then a notary would be needed. Notaries were something I could handle however, it would just take a little convincing.

Which was why I was currently whizzing along the streets of England in a violently purple triple decker bus. A fellow squib who had been helpful in many ways before, happened to be a notary. I hadn't thought of using a contract only method on the Dursleys before or I might have asked him to help. As it was, I wasn't sure that he would help. It's difficult for anyone on this side of the darkness to go against Albus, even those of us that live on the outskirts of society. I was certain that I could ask him without Albus ever finding out about the conversation though, and that was why I was willing to drudge out to Bristol to see him.

There's nothing wrong with Bristol, per se, but it seemed like the number of overly exuberant men who shouted at each other increased rapidly as you approached the inner core of Bristol. That place where only true "Brizzle born an' proud" seem to spill out on to the streets. Right now, smack in the middle of the 1980s, Bristol was a music and club underground hot spot that drew in the more rowdy segments of the population since they couldn't get their fix from mainstream venues. Sometimes people rioted in the streets, but that was less Bristol pride and more "police are abusing their power and I'm angry" recently.

It was funny, now that I thought on it. Every generation seems to fight with the police and think that they are the only ones to have ever done so in all of history. I was always of the opinion, in both of my lives and this one, that positions of power attracted those who liked to abuse power. Injustices done by police or the legal system were done by those who could not be impartial and were often enjoying their positions of power over others.

My friend, however, was a well spoken man just over fifty who was capable of enunciation and had a calm demeanor. He was the type of person that truly did judge by actions rather than by name or heritage. He has been a notary for decades now and does tend towards the muggle side of things rather than the magical.

An odd thing seemed to often happen to those within the magical society, one that I had never been able to understand, where it was believed that the majority of those born without magic were killed by their magic wielding family. It was not true, not now and not even historically, and I should know given that most of my web was made up of just such people. There were some families that supposedly killed off their kin, "pruning the family tree" or some such euphemism. But even then that was maybe two or three families in all of Magical Britain. The Figg family was an old family even if it wasn't as old or as noble as the Blacks, there were plenty of families who instead did what they thought was best for their kin. Not every family is so extreme.

It isn't easy to reach across that divide though, for parents to watch their children never experience the wonders of magic like they did or for the children who often never feel like they completely belong to either world. For myself, I found a passion that I could pursue as a career in the magical world from a young age. For John? His family helped him get the best muggle education they could find.

John had gone on from that wonderful gift to earn a scholarship to university. He ultimately became a notary public. Which is a solicitor, but not the kind I initially was looking for when trying to help Harry. John deals with businesses, contracts, any time someone needs documents certified for international authentication. He doesn't deal with family law. But since I am now putting together what amounts to a contract and I need the documents to be witnessed and certified, he's perfect. That is, if I can convince him to help.

I got off the Knight Bus a few blocks away from where we would be meeting. He knew that I wanted to talk about something that couldn't be overheard so any of his usual places in the area were out. We needed a place that wouldn't seem to be unusual for us to go to, but that we had never been to before.

Out on the wharf there was Brunel's SS Great Britain, a ship that had been hauled out of the waters and restored simply to be a tourist attraction. It wasn't much just yet, but by the time of my younger self's future it was a staple of the area. Around it had cropped up little eateries and shops. This is where I would be promenading with John. We would start at Brunel's Buttery and then walk along with our butties. It would look like a casual get together between old friends, no one would have any warning about where we were going as we had set up the meeting point in codes used during the height of the war, and with the number of people bustling around us it would be difficult to eavesdrop. Not to mention that most magical people would certainly stick out in the crowd.

He was already there, casually scanning the crowd, looking as tall and handsome as he always had. There were a few groups of walkers doing their daily go round who gave him assessing looks. He pretended not to notice it, which made me smirk. Tall, fit, and with his warm eyes, easy smile, and chiseled jaw, everyone always noticed him. Even now that his hair had turned to silver.

"Have you been waiting long?" I asked as I made my way over to him still in my cat lady persona. I couldn't drop it now, even though John was aware that it wasn't really who I was, there were too many people. If it did get back to anyone that he and I had met up for a friendly afternoon, then they should report seeing the old cat lady and the handsome notary. John's pocket square, however, was positioned just so to tell me that he did not believe he had been followed and he did not see anyone suspicious in the crowd. As I moved towards him I acknowledged this with a touch to my brooch. No one had followed me, I agree that this area appears clear, was all said in that small gesture.

"Not long, dear," he said as he took my arm. "You look lovely as always. I am happy that we could finally find time for each other. Thank you for the Christmas gift."

"You haven't changed a bit. I'm glad that you liked it, but I am sorry for not being a better friend, I've been dealing with some things." He gave me an unimpressed look and a raised brow. "After her death and the war and everything…"

I was surprised that I was struggling so much. It was true that we hadn't kept up contact as much as we should have after the war. When my wife had died I did little else but my work as a spy for the Order. I had neglected my friends unless they were useful for the cause. A single minded focus that had left me with an even deeper depression to deal with once the Potters had died. Depression isn't the best motivator for reaching out to neglected friends and so my friendships had languished even more. It wasn't until this conversation that I realized how much my friendships had been affected by my emotional state.

While I was struggling with the idea that I had dozens of friendships in disrepair with a desperate need to fix them, John had walked us over to the Buttery and given an order. When he gave my hand a little pat, I looked back up to him with a small sad smile.

"No worries, Bella." His voice was soft and smooth with just a little melancholy hidden within the understanding. "I know how hard you took her death. You didn't even have any time to truly grieve her while you were fighting. I don't presume to know how you felt, I have never experienced the depth of love the two of you had for each other. But I am glad that you are feeling well enough now for a walk with me."

We both shared a glance and a smirk as we began walking along, slowly eating our fare. Nothing was said for a bit of any true importance as we needed to make sure it was believable that we had simply met up and had a walk about. Eventually, it was time to get down to the heart of the matter and I was more than a little nervous about what my friend might say and what I might need to tell him. We couldn't speak in a traditional code that we might have used to move information during the war, it would sound too strange and it had been some time since either of us had to use that type of recall on the fly. Instead I settled on the kind of communication that comes from being friends for so long.

"I was wondering if you had gone to a Founder's Day Party this past year," I began slowly. "Did you know much about the parties held in the Square?"

I watched his steely eyes as they moved back and forth, his smile showing he had missed this bit of our neglected friendship. He would understand that the Founder in the Square was Godric, the place where the statue of Godric Gryffindor had once stood was Godric's Hollow. The party that is most often associated with Godric's Hollow was that of 31 October 1981 when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated by Harry Potter.

"No my dear, I haven't been to a Founder's Day Party in many a year. Not much for me there, is there? Last one I went to had a few too many friends missing," he laughed. "Did I miss out on some juicy gossip?"

The translation of that boiled to "I understand what you are saying, but I don't know what the hell you are on about."

"Yes, quite the gossip. Turns out we had it all wrong about little Arthur Prince's situation. His uncle Agravaine was wrongly turned out of the house with all the locking changed. And with his mother and father, bless them, gone the young Prince has gone to live with people outside of the sphere of the Golden City. All of it done on the words of a beekeeper."

They had always had a fondness for word games based on the stories of Camelot, though this was a bit twisted to make sense to few but them. Harry Potter had already been pushed forward as the next leader of the light, destined for greatness, much like had happened to Arthur. The use of Agravaine to describe Sirius Black was very purposeful as well. Agravaine had started out in the tales of Camelot as a well loved and respected knight before becoming one that often had negatives attached to him for no apparent reason. John would understand that the sphere of the Golden City meant the magical world and that Dumbledore was the beekeeper, based on our previous conversations.

The slight halt in his walk as we continued along our promenade was the only sign that he had figured out what this had all meant. I gave him a few beats to come to terms with it before delving further into the issue. "It seems the beekeeper is not as concerned with the hive as we had previously believed. I will not tell you more if you do not wish to know, such juicy gossip is difficult to know and not act on. And who knows what the reaction will be by those we are gossiping about?"

This gave John a way out, if he didn't want to become involved he would simply change the conversation back to the lighter topic of earlier. If he did want to continue he would ask for more gossip. I wouldn't force him to help, but it would be better if I had someone else in the know while I worked on things.

As John took a moment to think on it we turned at the end of the main path to go back again the other way. I was very firm about not forcing his involvement. The muggle solicitors would not be in as much danger as he would. They might be obliviated, but his whole world could come crashing down around him with the wrong words to the right people.

"Hells Bells, you do know how to make things difficult don't you?" he huffed out a laugh while shaking his head.

"It's been a while since anyone has called me that, Johnny boy," I rejoined with a smile.

"Are you saying the beekeeper was aware that Agravaine was not responsible? And by not responsible you mean… all of it?"

"It's more than that, are you sure you want to know?" He threw his head back as though he was impeaching the sky for patience before nodding. "He had plans to obscure Arthur and Agravaine would have gotten in the way."

With a bit of mild muttering, that sounded suspiciously like swearing, John redirected us to the edge of the walkway. We leaned over and watched the murky waters as other walkers passed behind us. He had never been as good as some at keeping his expression in character and was struggling to keep something mildly neutral.

I may have been able to confirm that Harry did not have any of the most well known characteristics of an obscurial, yet, but that did not mean Dumbledore's plan wasn't to make Harry an obscurial. A better weapon that only Albus would be capable of controlling.

"That's a pretty serious bit of gossip. Do you have any proof or is it just something you heard through the grapevine?"

"Of course I have proof. You know it hasn't just been dark times that kept me away from the Golden City. I have a little house out there now. Nice neighborhood. Nice families."

It really took him longer than it should have to realize I was telling him I lived near Harry Potter and was keeping an eye on him. He was so troubled by the idea that the so called Leader of the Light would try to purposely create an obscurial out of The Boy Who Lived that he wasn't catching on as quickly.

"It's a place of pretty flowers," I said after giving him a few moments more to collect himself. Judging by how fast his salt and pepper eyebrows shot to his hairline before he gathered his composure, he understood that I mean Lily Potter née Evans family was charged with the raising of Harry. He would remember that Lily and Petunia had a huge falling out and that Petunia was a muggle who hated magic.

He pulled on my hand and we began walking again, though we didn't say anything for a long time. It had been centuries since there had been a confirmed obscurial in Britain, but there were rumors of them happening in other countries infrequently. Human memories are such short and strange things. When enough time passes some things seem more like a legend or tall tale than reality. Sometimes it is dismissed as something our ancestors or the old society didn't fully understand, but has a perfectly reasonable explanation now. The effect of the witch hunts on our society was immense and deep, it changed the way we treated our children because the number of obscurials escalated the more we tried to hide and save them from the violence and the fires.

Between the memories of rumor and the upbringing that my older self had in the magical world and the constant confusion on the subject in my younger future days, I still wasn't sure if there really were obscurials or if everyone simply believed that they would happen. But if it was true, and by now I had read a rather large amount on this, it was a horrible thing to happen for all involved.

And here I had presented John with the understanding that Albus wanted to purposefully create a powerful living weapon by making a child an obscurial. Anyone who had grown up on the magical side of the divide believed that they knew what was required to create an obscurial. Repeated abuses and caretakers who hated magic or in some way tried to force the child not to be magical when they were magical. John knew that Petunia was just the right type of horrible to accomplish Dumbledore's plan. Whether John believed it was his plan or not, was still not decided yet.

"Perhaps the beekeeper is not aware of the issue with the flowers?" He sounded like he was desperate to believe it and I didn't begrudge him that as I was aware most would want to believe the best of Albus Dumbledore. He had wormed his way into every corner of our society promising to be a hero. He guided the community, the education, the laws, our connections to other magical countries. How could he be a monster?

I gave him a gentle pat and leaned into him a bit for comfort as we continued our walk. "No, I made sure to repeatedly inform the keeper that there was an issue with the flowers." I looked up at him and waited until he looked me in the eyes. "I sent him photos of the black and purple spots."

It was such a sad thing to watch as such a stately man had his heart collapse in on itself. I moved us over to a bench so that it would just look as though his erratic breathing was because we were a bit overtaxed from our walk. He wrapped an arm around me and we sat in the stillness of our own making, the world blurring past us.

"What do we do now, Bella?" he whispered roughly, his eyes suspiciously wet.

"We take it back," I said to him firmly. "We take it all back. How much has been stolen by him? We are going to take it all back."

He sat a bit straighter at that, his resolve set. An incredulous smile ghosting across his lips, "And how do you think we can manage to do that?"

I leaned into him further with a slightly cruel smirk I whispered, "I have a plan."

The sharp sound of laughter rent through the air, "Of course you do. Can I safely assume that plan includes me in some capacity?"

"I need a few people to sign a contract. I'm going to make sure that the beekeeper and any of his charming help believe that everything is going according to his plan. I can do that while keeping our little prince safe, so long as I have access to the things left to him."

Smiling dazedly and shaking his head, he laughed and pulled me up to walk along the edge of the wharf. We looked off into the waters for a bit, watching it ebb and flow. "Never small steps for you is it Bells?"

"Not usually, no." I gave him a wiry smile, "I have the contracts from both sides. They look like perfectly normal legal documents. I just need someone I can trust to make it all official without making it too official."

"It's just a contract?"

"It's multiple contracts, but just one that really needs your stamp. Can't have anything going to court. It will just be a nice little contract between a few people."

"They have to read the contract though, Arabella. I can't just stamp it if they haven't read the real contract."

"It will absolutely be the real contract. They will have plenty of time to read it. And, if it makes you feel better, I will even encourage them to read it."

"It would make me feel better, actually, thank you. But surely they won't want to sign it?"

"The problem isn't getting them to sign it really, the problem is that the beekeeper can't know. Which means that they need to sign it without…" I trailed off. John was a good notary and wouldn't want to get involved in anything that might be just this side of legal. I didn't want to even imply that they had to sign it while thinking they were signing something else. Hopefully, telling them to read it will allow him some peace of mind.

"Don't tell me. I will take the situation for what it is when I get there. If the beekeeper finds out I have been there-"

"Not to worry," I cut in before the concern could bubble up. "I already have something for both of us to wear. All you have to do is concentrate on not having your emotions play across your face." A small huff of annoyance was all I got in reply. "They will not see who you are physically. And it would be difficult for anyone to prove that you were there unless I show off the papers. No one who I show the papers to will be the least bit interested or concerned. They certainly won't be overly fond of the beekeeper either. He will not know through me."

"And just how do you plan to keep the charming tracking going if you are taking things away with this contract."

"I can't really elaborate John, just know that it's more like I'm adding myself than taking away. At this point at least."

"You really are just as exasperating as I remember," the humor in his eyes belying the annoyance in his tone. "We should get together more often without the need for fixing catastrophes."

"That would be wonderful," I smiled as we began our walk again. "Let me tell you what I had in mind for your part of things. I don't want you to be too surprised, but there's only so much we can discuss here."

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