The Dursley home was exactly what Elijah expected.
Perfect lawn. Pristine shutters. A front garden designed to impress the neighbors, not comfort the soul.
He stood at the front step a moment longer than necessary, hand still on the wrought iron gate. Number Four Privet Drive radiated the kind of magic that wasn't magic at all—false stability built on control, appearances, and quiet desperation.
It was already unraveling.
He rang the bell once.
Footsteps. A pause. The door opened with a practiced smile.
"Elijah Greystone," he said, offering a clipped nod. "Here by appointment."
Vernon Dursley was heavier than he'd been in the file photo, but the jawline was still tight with pride. "We'll make it quick," he said brusquely. "I've a meeting this afternoon."
"Of course." Elijah stepped inside.
The house was immaculate. Cold.
Petunia hovered in the hallway, lips pursed. Her hands were perfectly still—but not relaxed.
"You're here for… legal things," she said, glancing toward the man beside her. "For Harry."
"For his guardianship," Elijah confirmed. "The paperwork requires both of your signatures. And I'll need a few minutes to review the existing protections on the property."
"The ones Dumbledore put in place?" Vernon asked. "Years ago?"
"Yes."
He didn't say more.
Vernon led him to the kitchen, where the documents had been laid out on a pristine table, each sheet weighted at the corners with small glass dishes like paperweights. They'd been read. And not by accident.
"Tea?" Petunia asked stiffly, already halfway through the motions.
Elijah declined with a polite shake of the head. "This won't take long."
He removed a small orb from his coat—a ward scanner etched in old goblin script—and set it in the center of the room. It pulsed once, then again, slowly dimming.
He frowned.
The protections were thin. Barely functional. A lattice, not a barrier. A net with holes.
They hadn't failed—but they had never fully formed.
Elijah's brow furrowed.
That only happened when blood protection—true kin magic—was rejected by the very people meant to uphold it.
He looked at Petunia. Her face was rigid, but something flickered behind the eyes. Guilt? Fatigue? Both?
"I need a moment alone," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"Not long. Just here." He tapped the ward scanner. "This will reactivate the tether. I want to see how the house responds."
Petunia hesitated, then turned away without comment. Vernon didn't move.
"Elijah, is it?"
"Yes."
"Let's not pretend we liked having the boy here."
"I'm not pretending anything, Mr. Dursley."
Vernon folded his arms, clearly expecting an argument. Instead, Elijah stood silent, letting the weight of not responding settle like fog.
"You're not like the others," Vernon said finally. "The ones who came for him."
"I'm not here to take Harry. I'm here to understand."
Vernon frowned.
"The protections here should have been stronger," Elijah said, voice calm. "They were anchored to your household—but they were never rooted."
"So?"
"So." Elijah tapped the orb again. "Blood protection requires more than blood. It requires acceptance."
He looked at Vernon, then let his own shields drop.
Just for a moment.
He wasn't a skilled Legilimens in the way some were—he didn't crack minds open like safes. But he was practiced in listening through magic. Through truth.
And this house was loud.
Memories drifted like smoke:
A cupboard.
Screaming.
A child crying too long before someone came.
Dudley in the center of every photograph.
Harry in none.
The smell of bleach. Of guilt and shame masked with lemon polish and floral air freshener.
Resentment, deep and old, carved into the walls.
Pain.
Elijah exhaled once and pulled himself back.
Not to kill them. Not today.
"You'll sign the forms," he said. "It changes nothing about your lives. It simply ends the oversight. Harry won't be returning."
Vernon looked relieved. "We won't be charged? Made to answer for anything?"
"I'm not a lawman. And Harry's not asking for punishment." He paused. "Yet."
Vernon grunted, but his hands moved. A pen uncapped. Ink on paper.
Petunia re-entered just as he finished.
She held a folded note in her hand.
"He—he had a letter. The one from Dumbledore. I kept it." Her voice was thin. "It's in the drawer, near the china. I don't know why I kept it."
Elijah inclined his head. "May I?"
She nodded. He retrieved it, opening the drawer gently. The parchment shimmered faintly. Still charmed.
"Did you ever read it fully?" he asked her.
"I tried," she whispered. "But it hurt. I mean… not emotionally. Physically. Like it didn't want me to read it."
"Because the magic knew," Elijah said softly. "It knew your heart."
She looked at him, and for the first time, there was something there besides resentment. Not warmth. But maybe… shame.
"He cried," she said suddenly. "That first night. I didn't… I didn't go to him right away. I told myself it was because Dudley was sleeping. But it was because I was tired. And angry. And scared."
Elijah didn't reply.
"He cried less after that."
"Yes," he said. "He would."
She looked away.
"We'll be relocating you," Elijah said. "There will be a ward team through tonight to repair what can be repaired. The house will be protected in your absence. Should you ever return."
Vernon raised an eyebrow. "You want us to come back?"
"I want Harry to have the option of knowing this chapter is closed," Elijah said. "And for you to move on with as little interference as possible."
Vernon huffed. "My firm's offered a transfer. Promotion, really. I would've had to turn it down to stay here."
"You won't have to now."
Petunia straightened. "And Dudley's at school. We were worried the timing would upset him, but… I think we could use a fresh start."
She glanced at Vernon. "His best friend Piers can come visit. That will help."
Elijah inclined his head. "Then it's settled."
He collected the forms, the ward orb, and the letter. Petunia didn't ask for it back.
"Thank you," Elijah said. And meant it.
He turned to go.
Before the door closed, he looked back just once.
They weren't monsters.
They weren't heroes either.
They were people—small, frightened, warped by grief and pride and old wounds. People who had failed a child, and who might never fully reckon with it.
But for Harry's sake… they were finished.
And for the first time since stepping onto this street, Elijah could breathe.
Elijah stepped through the interior threshold of Gringotts, wards passing over him like invisible velvet. No alarms. No hesitation. The magic of the bank recognized him—Blood-Sworn, Contract-Bound, and currently carrying a file folder that might change everything for one boy in particular.
He moved swiftly through the upper corridors to the private offices reserved for senior goblin staff. At the end of a polished basalt hallway stood a door inlaid with old dwarven script. No nameplate. No guard.
He knocked once.
"Enter," came the voice from within—raspy, familiar.
Tharkun, Account Director of Legacy Clients, was hunched over a set of finely wrought ledgers, his silver-rimmed monocle catching the ambient glow of the room's wardstone chandelier. He did not look up as Elijah stepped inside.
"It's done," Elijah said, setting the folder down with clean precision.
Tharkun flipped a page in his ledger and finally looked up. "Signed?"
"Both. Vernon Dursley and Petunia Evans Dursley. I witnessed it, sealed it, and cleared the protective lattice around the home. It was never fully formed."
Tharkun's expression didn't shift. But his voice went low. "Rejected kin magic?"
"Subconsciously, perhaps. But yes."
He passed a palm over the folder. It glowed briefly, then sank into the warded drawer at his left.
"I'll submit it to the ICW Registry tonight," Tharkun said. "They'll need it on file to finalize Harry's status. What else?"
"No sign of the Potters' will or their portaits," Elijah said grimly. "Nothing in probate. Nothing in the family archive. I've gone through three vaults by hand. No primary documentation beyond the marriage scroll and the Gringotts bond."
Tharkun scowled. "That's not possible. I processed their paperwork myself. James left a will. Lily likely had her own. Both were filed."
"Then someone's moved it."
"Or hidden it." The goblin tapped the table once, sharp. "I'll assign a team to the Potter Legacy Vault. I want every inventory tag reverified. If the will was bound to a magical artifact, it may have been misfiled under object class instead of estate record."
"Or someone made sure it vanished."
They let the implication hang.
Tharkun folded his arms. "What of the boy? His state?"
Elijah's jaw tightened.
"Healers have completed their assessment. Quietly, of course. He doesn't know yet."
Tharkun's eyes narrowed. "How bad?"
"Elven-scale malnutrition. Slowed height and bone density development. Internal scarring from untreated infections. Hearing damage. Signs of early-onset arthritis in one shoulder—likely from a break that healed wrong."
The goblin hissed under his breath.
Elijah continued, his voice clinical, but only just. "Add psychological trauma consistent with long-term neglect and emotional abuse. There are markers of hypervigilance. Patterned behaviors. And the trauma wasn't limited to the Dursleys. Hogwarts added its own."
"Tell me what I don't already know."
"There's a foreign magical presence bound to his magical core. A fragment. Parasitic in nature."
Tharkun went still.
"A Horcrux?"
Elijah nodded once. "We believe so. The healers can remove it—but it will take planning. Protection. And time."
"His rings?"
"Offer some warding. The Pendrath sigil stabilizes the parasitic interference for now. But it's not a solution. Just a delay."
Tharkun leaned back in his seat, tapping the edge of the table with one sharp nail.
"We'll initiate contingency protocol. If the vault inventory reveals nothing useful on the Horcrux, I'll escalate to our Artifact Division."
Elijah inclined his head. "Agreed."
There was a knock at the door.
Clarisse entered without waiting, dressed in travel robes, a satchel slung over one shoulder.
"You've just returned?" Elijah asked.
Clarisse nodded. "Hermione's ward scan is complete. As expected, her identity has triggered flag alerts."
Tharkun straightened. "Define 'flag.'"
"No contact yet," she said, "but Gringotts' international intelligence networks have recorded two separate magical pings referencing Vera Aurelie de Malfoy. One in Belgium. One in France. Likely bloodline-bound vault alerts reacting to her Loom registration."
Tharkun muttered something in Gobbledegook. "That won't stay quiet long."
"I know," Clarisse said. "We're preparing."
Elijah gestured for her to sit, and she dropped into the chair beside him.
"I've confirmed that she'll need a dedicated account liaison—someone who can track Grove-aligned holdings and conduct sacred asset audits. Her inheritance portfolio may be significant, depending on what was placed in trust during the Rite."
"I'll assign someone," Tharkun said. "I want monthly briefings on her status and interactions."
Clarisse nodded, then paused.
"I'll be honest," she said, glancing at both of them. "We've crossed a threshold. These children are no longer secrets. Their names are being whispered, not just in offices or papers, but in circles that remember what these bloodlines meant. What they could mean again."
"They're not ready," Elijah said quietly.
"No," Clarisse agreed. "But they're trying. And they're not alone anymore."
Tharkun's voice was dry. "We have eleven days until Hogwarts. And a war's worth of work to do."
Elijah allowed himself a breath. Not relief. But… progress.
"Eleven days," he echoed. "Let's make them count."