"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster." – Friedrich Nietzsche.

Privet Drive

Yuri Bortnikov sat alone in the dim light of his small, cluttered study. The flickering screen before him showed the solemn footage of the Soviet flag being lowered for the last time, the red banner with its hammer and sickle replaced by the Russian tricolor. He watched in silence as Mikhail Gorbachev announced the dissolution of the Soviet Union, his voice carrying the weight of an empire's end. Yuri's jaw tightened, his weathered face creased with fury and sorrow.

The beer glass in his hand shattered against the wall with a sharp crash, amber liquid and shards of glass cascading down the faded wallpaper. Yuri cursed loudly, his voice hoarse and trembling with rage. "Cowards! Traitors! Every last one of them!" he spat, his thick Russian accent heavy with disdain. "Weak! Too weak to stand against the West, to defend what we fought for, bled for!"

His breathing was ragged, each breath drawn through clenched teeth. He closed his eyes, the memories of his youth flooding back unbidden. Stalingrad. The stench of death in the air, the relentless roar of Stuka bombers above, the desperate cries of his comrades as they fought to the last man. He had been a teenager then, barely old enough to hold a rifle, yet he had fought with a ferocity that had earned him the notice of his superiors. He had survived the war, but now, in this moment, he wished he had perished in that hell. Better to have died under the bombardment, fighting for the Motherland, than to live to see its disgraceful end.

When the NKVD was dissolved, he had been purged from the Soviet apparatus, a casualty of the shifting tides of power. The official story was that he was on a long-term espionage mission in Britain, but Yuri knew the truth. He had been exiled, discarded like so many others who were no longer useful to the state. He had reinvented himself as John Harper, a harmless old lawyer, blending into the gray monotony of British life. But inside, the fire still burned, the hatred and resentment festering like an old wound.

He forced himself to shut off the television, plunging the room into silence. Leaning back in his worn leather chair, Yuri took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the storm within him. He had to stay in control. There was still work to be done, even if the Soviet Union was no more.

The revolution wasn't over until it was complete. This merely another phase in its long cycle. The workers will one day come back with a roaring fury that would knock down the pillars of oppression flat to the ground.

The sound of footsteps brought him back to the present. He straightened up, wiping the anger from his face and replacing it with a forced, brittle smile as his protégé approached.

"Mr. Bortnikov," a young voice called, tentative but warm. "Your coffee is ready."

Yuri looked up and saw Alice James Potter standing in the doorway, holding a steaming mug. The girl was barely ten years old, yet there was a calm, focused intensity in her bright green eyes that belied her age. Alice handed the mug to Yuri, who accepted it with a nod of thanks. As he took the mug, he couldn't help but study the girl with a mix of awe, pride, and fear.

Awe because Alice Potter was perhaps the brightest lass Yuri had ever met. Her IQ had been tested at 140, a genius by any standard. A genius amongst intelligent humans. Pride because Alice had taken to Yuri's teachings like a sponge to water. At just ten, the girl could lose a tail with ease, pick any lock, plant listening devices in the most secure locations, mix chemical concoctions with precision, and even strip and reassemble an AK-47 in under a minute. In her studies, she was a straight-A student, always well ahead of her classmates.

Fear because it was the other side of Alice that filled Yuri with unease. The first time they met, Yuri had stumbled upon the girl levitating an object in a garden, no strings, no tricks. It was a power Yuri had only heard whispered in rumors, strange tales of paranormal abilities, and even darker rumors of heinous experiments ordered by Stalin in his quest to create a new breed of soldiers.

Of German scientists and SS operatives airlifted to Moscow to work under the walls of Lubyanka.

Yuri had often wondered if Alice was the product of such experimentation, a final legacy of Soviet ambition.

But whatever the truth, Yuri had taken the girl under his wing. Alice was special, and she was Yuri's last hope, the last soldier of the Soviet Union. One day, Alice would infiltrate the enemy from within, and with the skills Yuri had taught her, she would bring about their downfall. The Soviet Union might be gone, but its spirit would live on through Alice Potter, the weapon Yuri had forged in the shadows.

"Thank you, Alice," Yuri said, his voice softening as he took a sip of the hot coffee. He looked at the boy again, seeing the potential, the raw power, and the innocence that still lingered in his eyes. But most of all, Yuri saw a future—his future, the Soviet Union's future.

Alice smiled back, unaware of the weight of the expectations resting on his young shoulders. "Are you okay, Mr. Bortnikov? You seem upset."

Yuri forced another smile, this one more genuine. "I'm fine, lad. Just… thinking about the past. But that's not something you need to worry about. We have work to do, after all."

Alice nodded, her expression blank.

Good. Good. she has reigned in her emotions, she is learning.

The rage still bubbled beneath the surface, and he felt an overwhelming need to share the lesson that had been seared into his soul by decades of struggle. With a grunt, he reached for the remote and switched the TV back on. The footage resumed, showing the Soviet flag as it descended from the Kremlin for the last time.

He gestured toward the screen with his coffee mug, his voice low and gravelly. "Look, Alice," he began, his eyes fixed on the image of the flag. "This… this is what happens when you are weak. When you allow weakness to fester, when you let it take root inside you like a disease."

Alice's eyes followed the direction of Yuri's gesture, but her expression remained impassive, a polite smile playing on his lips. She had heard these lectures before, the same fervor, the same bitterness. But she knew better than to show any disinterest. That could result in punishment.

Yuri, oblivious to Alice's detachment, continued, his voice rising with intensity. "When you are weak, Alice, your enemies sense it. They circle you like hyenas, ready to tear you apart, piece by piece. But when you are strong, when you show no mercy, they fear you. They wouldn't even dare to stand in your line of sight."

He paused, his gaze still locked on the television, the memories of a stronger, harsher Russia flooding his mind. "When the Soviet Union was ruled by men like Stalin, Russia was strong. Stalin… he was a man of iron, a man who tolerated no weakness. He crushed it, rooted it out, wherever it tried to hide. That is why our enemies feared us. That is why we were powerful."

Yuri turned his gaze toward Alice, his eyes narrowing. "You, too, must have a soul of steel, Alice. You must allow no doubt to weaken the foundations of your mind. These modern Russians, these fools who let the lies of a comfortable life weaken their souls… they gave in to consumerism, to the West's temptations, and look what it cost them."

Yuri grabbed Alice's shoulder and looked at her dead in the eye, "When you find an enemy, you mustn't give it respite. Like the ancient man hunting a mammoth, you must chase after it. Provoke it, skirmish against it. Strike hard against when you are strong. Hide from it when you are weak. Appear strong when you are weak. Appear weak when you are strong."

He then grabbed Alice's mouth and forced her to look into his eyes, "Above all, never forget who your enemies are. Even if they confess, repent, and profess to being you friends – never forget who they are."

Alice nodded again, her polite smile unwavering. "Yes, Mr. Bortnikov. I understand."

But Yuri wasn't done. "An empty mind, Alice, is like a fortress with its gates left open and its battlements unmanned. It's an invitation to disaster. You must never allow your mind to be idle, to be weak. Always be vigilant. Always be strong."

As Yuri spoke, Alice listened, her outward demeanor attentive, but inside, she was counting the seconds, waiting for the old man to tire himself out.

But as the lecture dragged on, Yuri began to feel a strange heaviness settle over him. His eyelids drooped, and a wave of drowsiness washed over him, dulling his senses. He tried to fight it, to push through the haze, but it was no use. His grip on the coffee mug weakened, and it slipped from his hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Yuri's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked at Alice, his voice slurring as he tried to speak. "Y-you…" But the words wouldn't come. His body betrayed him, and before he could do anything more, the darkness closed in. His head slumped forward, and he fell into a deep, unnatural sleep. His final one.

"Dumb moron." Alice muttered as she cleaned the furniture with a wet rag to wipe away any traces of his presence. "One would expect after losing every time, all the time – you people would've learned your lesson by now."

She spat at his corpse, "Cosumerism this, Consumerism that. Didn't stop you from using colored tv or jerking your willy off to swimsuit models, now did it?"

Still Alice relented, the man had taught her valuable skills in life. An enemy or a traitor never deserved any mercy. For that lesson, Yuri, at the very least deserved a decent funeral. Alice raided the man's hidden piggy bank and left just enough for a small coffin to fit his body. She took his gun, poisons, wire tap equipment, and cameras with her.

The Curious Case of Arabella Figg

Yuri's lessons about enemies and vigilance ran through Alice's mind as she crouched in the front yard, diligently tending to Petunia's tulip garden. Her hands moved methodically, pulling weeds and rearranging soil, but her eyes were focused on something else entirely. Arabella Figg walked by their house as she did every Sunday afternoon. She moved with the same deliberate slowness, her gait pathetic and weak. But it was the pause that caught Alice's attention— She would drop something, pretend to pick it up, and then continue on her way as if nothing was amiss.

Had Alice not been so trained to notice the smallest details, to see the patterns others missed, she might have ignored it. But Yuri's teachings had sunk deep into her, making her hyperaware of everything. So, one Sunday, Alice decided to dig deeper. She "borrowed" a camera from Yuri's collection, an old device that the man kept meticulously maintained. Setting it up discreetly, Alice used it to spy on Arabella Figg.

But every time she came into view, the camera went haywire, as if a magnet had been brought close to its circuits. The image would distort, the lens would stutter and twitch, and the screen would fill with static. It was maddeningly consistent. No matter what angle she tried, no matter how well she concealed the camera, the result was the same.

Then, Alice felt it. That faint trace of the paranormal phenomenon Yuri had warned him about, the one that set him apart from the rest. It was like a sixth sense, a tingling at the back of her mind, a ripple in the air that only she seemed to notice. But what she sensed from Arabella was different—dull, dry, like a plant left too long in the sun. In contrast, Alice's own abilities burned bright within her, a supernova at its crescendo. The disparity was stark, and it told her everything she needed to know. Arabella Figg was not who she appeared to be. Yet she won't be a threat. However, she was older. Odds were, she probably knew more about it than he did.

This made Arabella Figg eons more dangerous to Alice than she was to her. She needed more information. She needed to interrogate her.

From that moment, Alice resolved to keep a closer eye on her. The next day, when Petunia forced Alice to accompany her to the supermarket—A mule, as she so often called her—Alice felt Yuri's training kick in. She moved through the aisles with purpose, but her mind was on high alert. The faint prickle of awareness tingled at the base of her neck. She was being followed.

Alice didn't let on that anything was amiss. Instead, she picked up a shiny soda can from the shelf and pretended to inspect it closely, holding it up to the light. The reflection in the metal showed her—Arabella Figg, not shopping, not browsing the shelves, but simply watching her. Her gaze was fixed, unblinking, as if she were waiting for something. Alice's heart pounded in his chest, but her face remained neutral. Just like Yuri had beaten it into her to maintain it all times.

Before she could think of her next move, Petunia appeared beside her, her expression twisted in anger. She snatched the can from her hand with a sharp glare, her nostrils flaring as she made a clear, cutting gesture with her fingers—a silent order to behave. Without a word, she turned and marched down the aisle, leaving Alice standing there, the tension between her and Arabella was nothing compared to the fury she felt towards Petunia.

Alice more annoyed right now at Petunia than Arabella Figg, sneaked off into the clothing section. Nobody noticed the small, skinny kid sneaking about. However, Petunia knew something was wrong and it was probably the freak's fault. The first shock came when she walked towards the exit and the security alarms blared.

Then she turned tomato red as the security guard pulled out a racy, high end thong hidden beneath her grocery with the price tag still attached. Alice had made sure Misses Polkiss heard all about the incident in full view of Petunia. Petunia would hide in her home for two weeks. She didn't answer invites for dinners, tea parties, or knitting sessions. However, she did make sure that Vernon beat the tar out of Alice every night for two weeks straight. It was worse than the time a toddler Alice had levitated a vase in full view of Petunia, Dudley, and Vernon. Back then it was only a few slaps and with Vernon yelling at Alice that was the anti-Christ.

"You miserable little freak!" Vernon yelled as he punched Alice again in the guts. "You think you can go and insult my wife like that!" Another punch. "After all we've done for you! After you steal the food of our back you thieving little freak! Demon!"

Alice never cried during these sessions. She always remained calm. However, as soon as he was tossed in his attic beneath the stairs. The water works would start immediately. After much sobbing and quiet wailing, Alice would always regain composure. Yuri told her to never know show weakness in front of an enemy and she never would do so.

The sound of careful unlocking of latches reached her ears and Alice had quickly made herself presentable. The small door opened and the smell of soup was the first thing that assailed him. She opened her glowing green eyes and stared at the creature before her. The young boy gasped and took a step back before Alice's eyes softened and he gestured for the boy to join her. Dudley stammered before entering the cramped space and joining Alice. He wordlessly handed her the soup and worriedly looked at her.

"Stop it." Alice muttered after a while as he ate his soup and Dudley relented and mumbled an apology. "Don't apologize, fool. Only the weak apologize."

Dudley tried to mumble another apology before stopping himself mid-sentence.

"Good." Alice simply said and a childish smile of pride appeared on Dudley's face.

"You shouldn't have taken the risk." Alice said as he waved the empty soup bowl in Dudley's face.

"I heard the screams." Dudley said in a meek tone. "I just couldn't … I wish I was stronger like you…"

Alice snorted at that, "Fat load of good it did me, Dudders."

"What if he does it to me one day?" Dudley said.

"I will kill that pig from inside out, if he ever did that." Alice sharply said and Dudley looked even more morose.

"He will hurt you even more if he tried big sis." Dudley said.

"I dunno Dudders. You aren't a demon like me." Alice spat. "You lot are normal. Not like me. So you are safe."

"The same things have been happening around me too Alice." Dudley said and put his face in his hands and sobbed softly. Alice snorted again but then stopped as she replayed Dudley's words in his brain.

"Dudley." Alice said in a deathly quiet tone. "What do you mean things have been happening to you too?"

Dudley didn't respond but kept sobbing. Alice forcibly grabbed the larger boy's hands away from his face and forced him to look at her, Dudley didn't respond. Alice slapped the boy.

"What did I say about crying, boy?" Alice demanded.

"T-that o-only the weak do it." Dudley said.

"Are you weak?" Alice asked.

"N-no." Dudley whimpered.

"Now again, what is it that's happening to you." Alice asked. Wordlessly Dudley pointed his hand towards the bowl and it shot up in the air and levitated before Alice's eyes. Alice stared at the bizzare display in a wide open shock. A spike of jealousy, pride, and worry went through Alice.

Jealousy because she was no longer the special one amongst all this commoner filth.

Pride because her baby brother was just like her. A point to stick to Vernon someplace down the line.

Worry because sooner or later, Dudley would slip up and she shuddered to think what Vernon would do to him. Dudley was not like Alice. He was a poof. A softboy more inclined to arts then he was towards masculine things like Vernon wanted.

She had mollycoddled Arabella for far too long, she needed to act against her and need to do it now.

Operation Super Spies!

An old hangout from the time she hung with Yuri. Naming secret operations with secret names was fun! It was still tickled his childhood spy fanstasy when she thought all about it. Dudley had bullied Piers with his larger size and forced him to remove the stone Arabella had curiously dropped infront of their house.

Alice hadn't dared to touch the smooth stone. She had been reading folklore surrounding witches and wizards on the internet. Haunting tales of what Baba Yaga could do still rang in her mind as he and Dudley looked at the stone. They hid it in their school locker so that it remained far away from Petunia and Dudley.

They had taken turns to levitate it and move around between themselves in hopes of something happening. Nothing did. Out of frustration Alice grabbed the stone and tossed it a fair distance away. Dudley looked at her in annoyance but dared not contradict her openly. Suddenly the stone passed an invisible barrier, glowed red, and disintegrated. Dudley this time couldn't hold back and looked at Alice, "Great!"

Alice glared at him and he raised his arms in an apologetic gesture before backing off. Dudley looked around trying to avoid eye contact with Alice.

"You got a problem with my methods, kid?" Alice demanded

HOOT!

"Oh come on, Alice!" Dudley protested.

"oH cOmE oN Alice!" Alice mocked him in a babyish voice. "Alice what, boy?!" Alice roughly tugged at the boy's ear and twisted it.

"Alice stooop!" Dudley whined.

HOOT! HOOT! HOOT!

"Would someone shut those shitty owls!" Alice yelled. Wait.

"Uhh…. Alice why are there owls here?" Dudley asked and squinted at them. "Wait… are those letters tied to their legs?!"

Alice's anger at Dudley immediately vanished as more and more Owls gathered around them. Alice exchanged one look with Dudley before they descended on the poor creatures.

"Tunnel near the tracks. Now." Alice said as she and Dudley gathered the Owls in their arms.

They soon opened the letters to see what all the fuss was about.

Dudley clutched a handful of letters, his face a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Why are they all for you, Alice? What's this about?"

Alice didn't have an answer, but her own curiosity was piqued. She and Dudley began to sort through the mail, sitting cross-legged on the concrete, the letters spread out between them. The more they opened, the stranger things became. Some were simple fan letters, written in broken English by children, with crude drawings of Alice alongside scribbled notes thanking him for vanquishing someone called the Dark Lord or You-Know-Who.

"Who's this Dark Lord?" Dudley asked, his brow furrowed as he tried to decipher the messy handwriting of one letter.

Alice shrugged, frustration tugging at her. "I don't know. They're all using codenames. Yuri would love this—he's always going on about codenames."

They continued opening letters, some penned in elegant cursive, clearly written by adults, thanking Alice profusely for her bravery and courage. One particularly thick envelope contained a book titled *Hogwarts: A Legacy*. Alice's name was written on the inside cover, with a note from the author wishing her a happy birthday and hoping she would enjoy this latest volume about some school.

"Look at this, Dudley!" Alice said, holding up the book. "It's like a present."

Dudley's eyes widened as Alice flipped through the pages, revealing beautiful illustrations of castles, magical creatures, and enchanted classrooms. But there was more. Some letters, appearing quite ordinary at first, revealed their true nature when Alice touched them. They would spring open, much larger packages unfolding before their eyes, containing assortments of chocolates, toys, and other delights.

"Blimey, Alice, look at this!" Dudley exclaimed as one such letter exploded in a burst of fireworks, showering them in a dazzling display of lights and colors. Another letter, which they initially thought was empty, expanded into a box filled with sweets they had never seen before—chocolates that changed flavors with each bite, candies that fizzed and popped on their tongues, and biscuits that floated just above their hands until they grabbed them.

The kids ate greedily, their laughter echoing through the trees as they reveled in this unexpected bounty. It felt like heaven on earth, a secret world of magic and wonder that belonged only to them. Some of the candies had cards in them and pictures of famous people she had never heard about before.

"Reckon they are like baseball cards for weird nerds?" Dudley asked and Alice shrugged as she skimmed through the story of a very stereotypical looking wizard called Albus Dumbledore. Alice read the lines, "Considered the strongest wizard of our age" and pocketed the card for later review.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the playground, Alice and Dudley continued to explore the letters. They played with the toys could move on their own, the sweets that seemed to multiply as they ate, and the letters that sang songs when opened. They were so engrossed that they didn't even notice how late it had become until the sky was darkening, the first stars beginning to twinkle above them.

Even Alice's cold twisted mind, brainwashed by Yuri, couldn't help but revert to childlike wonder and trance.

It wasn't until the last of the fireworks fizzled out that Dudley looked up, his mouth still full of chocolate. "Alice… it's past six," he said, the realization slowly dawning on him.

Operation Odin

She knew she shouldn't take her anger of Vernon out on the Figg, but Alice was mad. She needed to hurt something. Everytime she turned and her bruised muscles winced, her anger would bubble again in a terrifying fury. Vernon had not spared the rod when he caught Alice and Dudley trying to sneak in after hours. The man was already drunk and Alice's mere existence only exacerbated the matters. Just when Alice had thought it was over, to her horror, a furiously crying Dudley levitated a heavy vase above Vernon's head, ready to bring it down. Only Petunia's timely shrieks had saved him. Vernon demanded an explanation. Alice quickly interervened before Dudley could, saying it was an accident. It was then that Vernon had unleashed hell….. She had been locked inside her cupboard for two days straight as a punishment.

It was partly so that Petunia could hide the girl from her school teachers and pretend that nothing was wrong. She had instructed Dudley to say at school that Alice was merely having a fever. Luckily, that time alone had allowed Alice to thourouhgly read Hogwarts A Legacy twice over. She went over every line, made meticulous notes, and with his editec memory, stored everything in a mind palace like Yuri had taught him.

Arabella Fig had a lot to answer for. The ancient lore stated that Odin had once lost an eye in pursuit of knowledge. Alice was sure a damned near broken rib was a fair price. As such, she named this venture Operation Odin.

The sound of a car engine shutting off reached Alice who braced himself. Arabella walked inside and closed the door behind her. She tried turning off the lights, but nothing happened. She haphazardly walked in darkness and heard a crunch sound. She bent over to pick the shards only to realize it was her light bulb. An uneasy feeling went inside her. However, before she could get over, Alice jumped from her hiding spot and on her back. Arabella opened her mouth to scream but a rug clamped down her face. It was laced with coloform and Arabella in panic took deep breaths of the thing and fainted.

And The Truth Shall Set Ye Free

Arabella Figg groggily awakened, her senses returning in fragments. Her head throbbed as she blinked against the blinding light that shone directly into her face, preventing her from seeing anything beyond its harsh glare. She struggled against the ropes that bound her, only to find herself tied securely to a chair, her body stuffed into a corner of what she quickly recognized as her own basement. Panic clawed at her chest, but she forced herself to stay calm, taking deep, steadying breaths.

A cold, monotone voice echoed through the room. "It would be wise if you answered truthfully and concealed nothing."

Arabella snarled, the sharp pain in her wrists intensifying as she pulled against her restraints. She could barely make out the silhouette of the man standing just outside the circle of light, his features hidden in shadow. "You have no idea what kind of trouble you're in," she spat, her voice rough with anger and fear. "Albus Dumbledore will hear about this, and when he does—"

The creature or was it a woman? It paused, its form motionless, as if contemplating her words. She took out a small notepad, the sound of er pen scratching against paper unnervingly loud in the silence. "Albus Dumbledore," she repeated, making a note of the name. Then, with a chilling calmness, she continued, "Tell me everything you know about Alice Potter."

Arabella felt a jolt of terror but quickly masked it with defiance. "I'll tell you nothing," she hissed, spitting in his direction, though the effort was futile in the blinding light.

"Very well," the agent replied. There was a brief silence, followed by a sudden, sharp pinprick on her neck..

"Sodium Pentothal," the agent stated matter-of-factly. "Resistance is futile, Mrs. Figg. I suggest you cooperate."

Arabella groaned, her vision blurring as the truth serum began to course through her veins. She tried to fight it, clinging to her thoughts, but the drug's effects were relentless. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, each pulse a drumbeat of rising panic. Sweat poured down her face as her mind twisted and distorted, dragging her into a nightmarish landscape where reality and memory blurred together.

She was in Diagon Alley, the bustling street filled with the smell of cauldron smoke and the sounds of laughter and chatter. Arabella saw herself as a young woman, vibrant and full of life, walking arm-in-arm with her late husband, a proud Auror. The memory was so vivid she could almost feel the warmth of his hand in hers, the weight of his presence beside her.

"Tell me everything about Alice Potter," the agent's voice cut through her hallucination, dragging her back to the present.

Arabella tried to resist, but the words spilled out, unbidden and unstoppable. "I'm a Squib," she began, her voice trembling as she relived her past. "I married an Auror... a good man... but he died... during the First Purity War... against the Dark Lord..."

The agent's voice grew sharper, more demanding. "Who is this Dark Lord?"

Arabella winced, the very name sending a shiver down her spine. "Voldemort," she whispered, the name slipping from her lips like a curse. "He was... he was terrifying... but Albus... Albus Dumbledore stood against him. He was the only one who could... and Alice Potter... she was the miracle baby... the one who somehow... somehow defeated Voldemort..."

The agent leaned in, his shadow looming over her as he pressed on. "And Dumbledore placed Alice Potter with the Dursleys. Why?"

Arabella's breath hitched, her thoughts growing hazy as the drug continued to muddle her mind. "Dumbledore... he believed... he believed it was the safest place for Alice... but Vernon... Petunia... they abused her... they treated her like a servant..."

The agent's voice grew cold with accusation. "And you did nothing?"

"I told Dumbledore," Arabella cried, her voice breaking. "I told him, over and over... but he said... he said to ignore it... that Alice was safest there... that I couldn't interfere..."

Tears welled in her eyes as she recounted her helplessness, the frustration of being a powerless Squib watching over a boy who was supposed to be the savior of their world. "I was just supposed to watch... to make sure she was alive... but I couldn't do anything... nothing to stop their cruelty..."

The agent remained silent for a moment, absorbing her words. Arabella's head lolled to the side, the fight draining out of her as exhaustion took hold. The light continued to burn into her eyes, but she was too weak to care anymore. The truth had been pulled from her, and all that was left was a hollow sense of defeat.

"That's enough," the agent finally said, her voice still eerily calm. She stepped back, the light dimming slightly as she moved away. Arabella slumped in the chair, her mind a tangle of fear, regret, and anger.

As she drifted into unconsciousness, her last coherent thought was a desperate hope that Dumbledore would somehow come for her, that he would save her from the consequences of her words. But deep down, Arabella knew that no one was coming. Not for her.

Arabella never felt her body being levitated into a bathtub. She never felt the bathtub being overfull and her head falling below. The police would later rule it to be an accidental death. An old, frail woman tragically dying in a bathtub.

Moment of Truth

Alice and Dudley stood a block away from Number Four, Privet Drive, their hearts pounding as they stared at the wand Alice had looted from Arabella Figg's house. The sleek wooden shaft, though slightly worn with age, felt oddly warm in Alice's hand, almost as if it were alive. The late Mr. Figg's wand, Alice reminded himself. And the gold coins—Galleons, they were called—jingled in her pocket, heavy and unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the thin, papery money she was used to.

The air around them was thick with tension. The reality of what they were about to do hung between them like a looming storm cloud. This was the moment of truth: either magic was real, or this was the most elaborate, well-orchestrated prank in history. And with each passing second, the weight of that realization pressed down on both boys, stifling their breath.

Dudley, who was nervously biting his lip, shifted uneasily beside Alice. His wide eyes flicked from the wand to Alice's determined face and back again. "Maybe we should just go home, Alice," Dudley suggested, his voice trembling slightly. "We can try this again on the weekend. I don't want to get in trouble with Dad again… you know how he gets."

Alice shot him a withering glare. "Coward," she spat, his voice laced with a mix of anger and anxiety. "If you want to go back to Petunia and Vernon and be their slave, go ahead. But don't drag me down with you, fat boy."

Dudley visibly recoiled. He opened his mouth to protest, but Alice cut him off, his voice rising with frustration. "We're at the edge of freedom, Dudley! Just when we might have a way out, you want to back off? This is our chance, and you're being a coward!"

Dudley's face flushed with embarrassment. He mumbled something incoherent, shuffling his feet in the dirt. "I'm not a coward," he muttered, barely loud enough for Alice to hear.

"Then prove it," Alice shouted, the defiance in his voice masking his own fear. He held up the wand, its dull wood gleaming faintly under the dim streetlight. The world around them was silent.

Dudley instinctively took a step back, half-hiding behind Alice as if the wand might suddenly explode. For a moment, nothing happened. Alice could feel the sweat trickling down her back, her grip on the wand tightening as doubt began to creep in. Maybe this was all a lie. Maybe—

BANG!

A deafening explosion shattered the stillness of the night, and both kids jumped in fright. Dudley yelped and stumbled backward, while Alice nearly dropped the wand in shock. Her heart raced as she looked around wildly, trying to figure out what had just happened.

Before them, a towering, triple-decker purple bus screeched to a halt, its loud, rambunctious music echoing through the quiet street. The bus's neon lights flickered madly, casting strange, dancing shadows across the pavement. The doors of the bus swung open with a loud creak, and a lanky young man with a crooked grin and gangly limbs stepped out, wearing a uniform that looked a size too big for him.

"Top of the evening to ya!" the man greeted in a thick Cockney accent, his voice full of cheer. He took off his cap and scratched his head sheepishly. "Apologies for bein' late, lads. Traffic was a nightmare, but I'll make it up to ya with a complimentary cupcake, eh?"

Alice and Dudley stared at the man, utterly dumbfounded. Neither of them spoke, their eyes wide with disbelief.

The man, undeterred by their silence, continued with a grin. "Now then, where do you fine lads wanna go tonight? I'm your man, Stan Shunpike, conductor of the Knight Bus at your service!"

Alice's mind was reeling. This was it—this was real. The wand, the bus, the conductor, everything. She swallowed hard, trying to muster the courage to speak.

"Diagon Alley," she finally said, her voice sounding much, much braver than she felt. "We want to go to Diagon Alley."

Stan's eyes lit up. "Diagon Alley, eh? A fine choice, if I do say so meself. Hop aboard, lads! Diagon Alley it is!"

Alice glanced at Dudley, who was still staring in shock, then back at Stan. The reality of what they were about to do began to sink in. They were leaving. They were really leaving. Without another word, Alice grabbed Dudley's arm and pulled him toward the bus.

"Come on," Alice urged, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement. "We're not going back."

Fin!

Author Notes: Read and Review people!

If Philippa Eilhart, Morrigan of The Kocari Wilds, and Deathstroke had a kid – it would be Alice Potter. That's an accurate way to think about this character.

Also don't forget to check my 200,000+ words long HP fic magnum opus, "The Serpent Sheddings Its Skin". A time travelling AU set in Grindelwald era.