Chapter Text
31 October 1981 (Saturday)
It was an unusually cold Halloween night. Dark, ominous clouds covered the sky, and a ghostly grey mist blanketed the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The ancient castle itself stood eerily quiet, its inhabitants having long gone to bed after their Halloween feast. Even the ghosts had retired, and only the occasional prefect or teacher stalked the dimly lit corridors, on the lookout for any student foolish enough to break curfew.
But all wasn’t as it seemed.
Outside the castle, where no prefect nor teacher ventured after nightfall if they could help it, a lone wizard was seen moving through the darkness, heading towards the thick forest that bordered the school grounds for as far as the eye could see:
The Forbidden Forest.
Every now and then, the wizard would come to a sudden stop and take in his surroundings before resuming his walk. Around him, the Forbidden Forest swayed slightly in the light breeze, but otherwise everything remained quiet.
Soon, the wizard spotted a small cabin in the distance and quickened his pace…
Said cabin was more of a rudimentary structure at best, made of cheap crude bricks and wood, serving as the home for Hogwarts’s gamekeeper: the half giant, Rubeus Hagrid.
A lone candle shimmered inside this “hut”, casting an insidious shadow over the enormous frame of its sole occupant. Devoid of any emotion and clad in a large trollskin jacket, Rubeus Hagrid stared silently into the burning flame, anxiously awaiting word from his master.
Hagrid’s orders were crystal clear: as soon as the Potters were confirmed dead, he was to kill Albus Dumbledore and with the help of his master’s followers, take over the school. Anyone who tried to resist would meet a quick end. They would then usher in a new era for the witches and wizards in Great Britain and abroad, an era of prosperity and freedom from the chains of the statue of secrecy.
This is what Hagrid had been waiting for ever since becoming gamekeeper at Hogwarts almost two decades ago, whilst he patiently bid his time for the perfect opportunity to strike back at Dumbledore. Slowly, he had managed to earn the trust of the old man and his accomplices, all while secretly undermining them whenever and wherever possible.
Revenge was the only thing that kept Hagrid sane.
Revenge for that fateful day when he was wrongly accused of opening the Chamber of Secrets almost forty years ago.
Tom Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle. That name was forever etched into his mind even after all those years. He was the Hogwarts student who framed him and went on to become famous for stopping the supposed monster of Slytherin, while Hagrid was expelled from Hogwarts. Wherever he was, one day Hagrid would find him and he would suffer dearly.
But Tom Riddle would have to wait. First, it was going to be Albus Dumbledore, the man whom Hagrid once trusted and looked up to and the only person to know the truth about who really opened the chamber that day.
And yet Dumbledore did nothing.
He did nothing to defend Hagrid, when the Ministry robbed him of his education.
He watched as they snapped his wand.
He stood by as they expelled him from Hogwarts and spread lies about him to the public.
He wasn’t even present when Hagrid was forced to leave the school grounds in front of the staff and the student body, in a final act of humiliation.
With nowhere to go, a bitter Hagrid had to resort to begging on the streets, as no witch or wizard wanted to do anything with someone like him. Being a half giant, he was shunned everywhere he went and thanks to the numerous racial laws and bigotry of magicals, finding work was impossible.
Eventually, he returned to the Forbidden Forest to take refuge in the solace of his only true friend: Aragog, the giant Acromantula spider he had raised from a small hatchling. Half mad after years of neglect, it was there where his future master had found him one day and gave him a new purpose in life:
Revenge against the corrupt Ministry and to be part in changing the world.
To fulfil this purpose, Hagrid was secretly taught in the way of the true Dark Arts and other obscure magic he could only dream of while attending Hogwarts. He found his new master’s knowledge and powers to be unparalleled, owing to an enormous collection of rare books and illegal artifacts in his possession.
Slowly, Rubeus Hagrid regained his health and much of his sanity, rising to become of the most powerful and trusted members of his master’s inner circle. As part of his first assignment, he was planted at Hogwarts as a spy, under the guise of becoming a new gamekeeper, eventually taking over full time when the previous one went into retirement. Few of the other followers - or Death Eaters as they eventually came to be called - knew of Hagrid and his true identity. Even fewer still realised his extensive relationship with their master. Not even Severus Snape, their other spy in Dumbledore’s ranks within the Order of the Phoenix, suspected anything. Meanwhile, Hagrid disliked the sly man and his true allegiance continued to elude him.
When Snape told of a prophecy surrounding their master, Hagrid knew he only did so for his own selfish reasons, and not out of loyalty to the cause. Of course, only a selected few knew of this supposed prophecy’s existence and Snape had only heard the first part. Unfortunately, that was more than enough to convince the Dark Lord, even if it’s meaning remained unclear:
“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…”
A child born at the end of July who would one day vanquish the most powerful wizard who had ever lived? To Hagrid, this was utter nonsense. He did not once believe in Snape’s little cock-and-bull story of how he came to hear it in the first place neither.
It made little sense for Albus Dumbledore, who had become headmaster of Hogwarts by then, to be interviewing someone inside a shady pub down in Hogsmeade, rather than in his own office, and for Snape to randomly be there at the exact same time to overhear it. Even more so after Hagrid had found out that the pub they were in belonged to one Aberforth Dumbledore, Albus Dumbledore’s younger brother. It was widely known that the two brothers did not speak much and did not get along well, so Hagrid decided to do a little bit of investigating of his own. After a few pints with the man, he learned that Aberforth did not know why his older brother decided to pick his pub that night.
That was very strange, if one could say so.
As for the seer who made the prophecy, it was Sybill Trelawney, a drunk and a known fraud who was distantly related to the famous seer: Cassandra Trelawney.
Albus Dumbledore of course gave her the job of Divination teacher and she has been living in secrecy inside Hogwarts castle ever since. She hasn’t been seen in public for years, and getting close to her was impossible without arousing suspicion.
Could it all have been a complete fabrication made up by Dumbledore to lead the Dark Lord into a trap? A scare tactic employed by the Order of the Phoenix to demoralise the enemy? Perhaps an elaborate lie made up by Snape?
Hagrid tried raising his concerns with his master, but was ultimately dismissed. The Dark Lord became obsessed in finding out who this supposed prophecy could speak of. It took him months of searching far and wide across the magical community in the country, employing his vast network of agents and loyal ministry officials, before he set his eyes on James and Lily Potter and their new-born daughter. The Dark Lord remembered the young couple well of course, as he had tried to turn them to his side in the past, but the fools defied him and instead joined the Order of the Phoenix. Yet even before their daughter was born on the last day of July, Dumbledore had come to the same conclusion as the Dark Lord, and immediately hid the Potters from the world at large. But the Dark Lord was patient, he knew that sooner or later someone would make a fatal mistake, and he would be there to exploit it.
He was proven to be correct a year later, when to the Hagrid’s surprise, none other than that snivelling, useless Peter Pettigrew had become the Secret Keeper for the Potters, and had willingly given up their location. Thus, the Dark Lord decided that he would personally see to the death of the Potters and their child on Halloween night…
Now all Hagrid had to do was wait.
Luckily it wasn’t very long before he could hear the crunching of gravel outside his hut and his attention was diverted.
With a pinch of his stubby fingers Hagrid extinguished the flame on the candle, plunging the room into complete darkness. Peering out the window, he could just about make out the silhouette of a person fast approaching through the thick fog. He picked up his already loaded crossbow with one hand and waited. A moment later, a series of loud, yet gentle knocks reverberated on the door in quick succession.
Hagrid opened the door and cautiously stuck his head out, expecting a messenger from his master or someone like Barty Crouch Jr.
“Good evening, Hagrid. Apologies for my late intrusion, but this is urgent.”
Instead, it was Dumbledore himself dressed in one of his ridiculous pink robes.
Hagrid’s grip tightened on his crossbow and he was a hair width away from shooting the old man. Dumbledore might have been a powerful wizard, but power can only go so far in stopping a five-inch-thick steel bolt from hitting you in the chest at point blank range. He would be dead before drawing wand.
“Professor Dumbledore, sir!” Hagrid exclaimed loudly instead, expertly slipping back into his friendly giant persona. “Wha’ can I do for ye this fine evenin’?”
If there was one thing he learned from his master, it was to never underestimate Albus Dumbledore.
“I’m afraid there’s been a terrible incident.” the old man shook his head. “The Potters… they’ve just been attacked.”
Upon hearing the mention of the Potters, Hagrid tensed up. This was it. The moment of truth. Decades of planning led up to this point.
“There isn’t much time,” Dumbledore quickly continued, “right now, I’m going to have to ask you to head on over to their house in Godric’s Hollow to investigate these rumours. If their daughter still lives, then she must not fall into the hands of the enemy.”
“Wha— wha’ about You Know Who, sir?” Hagrid asked, never taking his eyes off the forest behind Dumbledore.
“I believe he might have suffered a setback. I’ve received reports of people under his Imperius starting to wake up around the country and other curses being broken.”
Hagrid was speechless. This couldn’t be happening. His master couldn’t be dead. The blood traitor Potter and his mudblood wife couldn’t have destroyed him. Dumbledore had to be lying.
“James an’ Lily, are they —?”
“Sadly, I do not know,” Dumbledore sighed “but the Fidelius Charm around their property fell just now and it is only a matter of time before the muggles or the Death Eaters find out. If the Potters are still alive, then they must be gravely injured. That is why you need to hurry, as I must inform the Ministry and the rest of the Order. This portkey will take you to Godric’s Hollow.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny golden watch.
“Once you have the girl,” he continued, “head to the order safehouse just outside Bristol to lie low, and wait for my owl for further instructions. You know the one.”
Hagrid snorted again. As an original member of the Order of the Phoenix since its founding in 1970, he had access to many of their safehouses scattered across the country. Unfortunately, he could not disclose their exact locations, no matter how hard he tried.
A pity. He had to make due with giving away only their general locations, which led to many close calls between Death Eaters and members of the Order of the Phoenix. They soon realised that someone was leaking information and started being more careful. Many suspected Sirius’s werewolf friend, creating tenson within the group.
“Good luck, my friend.” Dumbledore smiled and held out the pocket watch to Hagrid.
Hagrid took one last look around the grounds, hoping that his master or another one of his followers would appear. Only when it became painfully clear that such a thing would not happen, did he grab his umbrella hidden behind the door and the pocket watch from an impatient Dumbledore. As soon as his skin made contact with it, Hagrid disappeared with a small pop.
Only to instantly reappear in Godric’s Hollow, a small village some six hundred miles to the south, in the West Country. The stench of burning wood and magical residue immediately assaulted his nose and he found himself standing before the remains of a large burnt-out cottage that had belonged to the now (hopefully) late Potters. Sickly green flames danced across its roof - or at least what remained of it - burning ever strongly. Above it all was the all too familiar emerald skull used by the Dark Lord and his followers:
The Dark Mark.
It hung menacingly in the black sky; an open warning for anyone unfortunate enough to be passing by.
Even if James and Lily Potter weren’t dead, Hagrid would make sure they will be soon. He raised his pink umbrella, which served as a hidden, powerful wand - a gift from his master, since he wasn’t legally allowed to own a wand -, and approached the blown-out door of the cottage that was barely hanging on its hinges. He then squeezed through into the entrance hall, where at the bottom of the stairs, he spotted the lifeless corpse of James Potter, his eyes frozen open with terror under his glasses. The pathetic worm didn’t even have a wand on him.
Hagrid stepped over the body in disgust and started climbing up the stairs. With each step he took, the wooden boards shuddered more and more, straining under his colossal weight. Small flames burned freely around him, but he ignored them. Even if the house collapsed, he was confident that he could hold down the rubble. Upstairs, the air was full of toxic dust and ash that burned his eyes and nostrils. Nevertheless, he pushed on, his thick beard and coat protecting him from most of it. When he entered into what used to be a child’s bedroom, he was left mouth agape:
It was a massacre.
The roof had been completely blown away, and broken bits of furniture lay splintered across the burnt carpet, having been violently torn apart. Everything was destroyed beyond repair and recognition.
Everything, except for a small crib in the corner of the room, which remained in pristine condition. In front of it lay a woman’s body, untouched by the marauding fires.
A powerful explosion must have torn through the room. But how? What happened? Hagrid noticed a set of black robes next to Lily Potter’s body, and his eyes went wide.
They were his master’s!
He scrambled to pick them up, relieved when he found nothing underneath, not even a pile of ashes.
What dark magic could have done this? Hagrid wondered, when he felt something sharp jab at his fingers.
His master’s wand!
He quickly pocketed it and turned to the baby in the crib, who had somehow survived despite the carnage around her.
“So, you are the reason for my master’s downfall.” Hagrid said to the girl, his voice becoming dark. “You are lucky I’m not going to kill you right here and now, but make no mistake, you will get what you deserve just like the rest of your pathetic family.”
A small voice at the back of his mind told him to just kill her then and there and tell Dumbledore that he was too late and that the girl was already dead. But he couldn’t. Despite all the anger, all the sorrow and pain he had endured, Hagrid was no child killer.
He then pondered on the idea of simply taking the girl and disappearing. But where would he go? He had no money and no place to raise a child on the run. Even if he did have those things, who would raise her? He absolutely despised the idea of raising the brat.
He turned his attention back to the girl, who was now silently studying him with. There, on her forehead, was a strange red mark, shaped like a lightning bolt. Hagrid had never seen anything like it, but knew it had to be a curse scar. When his fingers made contact with it, the girl immediately began to wail, and Hagrid could sense foul dark magic oozing from the wound.
But he had no time to dwell on any of this. He was on a mission.
He yanked the crying girl out of the crib and wrapped her up tightly in his coat to protect her from the heat and the dust, before heading downstairs. He managed to make his way outside just in the nick of time, as the front wall of the ruined house collapsed in on itself and went up in a terrible green flame.
After dusting himself off and making sure that the girl was still alive, Hagrid began to plan his next move. The muggles, as stupid as they were, had to have heard all this by now.
Now what was he going to do?
That’s when he heard a distant rumbling sound. It was like a muggle car or motorcycle, and it sounded like as if it was coming from above. Indeed, up in the sky, a huge yellow motorcycle was now flying towards him. He could only watch as it descended with a loud roar amidst a puff of smoke in the middle of the driveway.
A man leapt out from behind the controls, not even bothering to shut the engine off. Hagrid gripped his umbrella, ready to defend himself if necessary.
“Hagrid!”
It was Sirius Black still in his pyjamas, and he looked livid. His eyes were darting back and forth between the giant and the smouldering ruin behind him.
“Black,” Hagrid spat and took a step backwards.
“What happened? James and Lily, are they —?”
“Dead.” Hagrid stated in an emotionless voice.
“No! It can’t be. It just —” Sirius tore at his wild hair. His eyes widened when he spotted the baby wrapped up in Hagrid’s arms.
“Alexandra...” he muttered. “You have her. Quickly, give her here.”
Sirius extended his hands in a gesture to take the baby, but Hagrid remained firm:
“No.” he said coldly.
“What do you mean, “no”? We have to get her out of here, it’s not safe!” Sirius yelled.
“I said no, Black. Dumbledore told me to get her. She is my responsibility!” Hagrid puffed himself in an attempt to look more menacing, but Sirius was beyond caring at this point.
“Like hell she is! I’m her godfather!”
An angry Sirius was now inches away from little Alexandra, who was being held tightly between the half giant’s large arms.
“I’m warning ye Black, step away from me. Dumbledore gets the girl. Now, where’s the rat?” Hagrid snapped.
“The rat? How do you — " Sirius began, but Hagrid wasn’t having any of it.
“Just answer the question!” he roared. “Where is Pettigrew?!”
At the mention of Pettigrew’s name, sensing that something was wrong, Sirius finally reached for his wand.
It all happened in a flash; Sirius stood no chance against the better prepared giant who could wield his umbrella wand in one hand, and still hold on to the small baby with the other.
“Imperio!” Hagrid shouted without hesitation.
Sirius’s eyes became dazed as his mind went foggy, and he soon lost what little concentration he might have had.
Hagrid smirked.
That cowardly Pettigrew was probably still hiding around here somewhere. As the true secret keeper for the Potters, he had to be silenced, for he knew too much. If he was to be captured and interrogated by either Dumbledore or the Ministry, it would spell disaster for Hagrid and the other followers of his master. The Dark Lord had said so before in the past; Pettigrew was expendable. Hagrid couldn’t go after him like this, but now he had found the perfect candidate.
“Find Pettigrew and kill him for betraying the Potters. When he is dead, you are to give yourself up to the aurors. You will also not remember any of this, only that you lent me your bike to deliver the girl to Dumbledore. Obliviate!” Hagrid relayed his new orders to Sirius.
They locked eyes and the thought that he might be strong enough to resist the Imperius crossed Hagrid’s mind. The Blacks were supposedly very powerful and well trained in Occlumency and the Dark Arts.
But Sirius Black wasn’t.
Hagrid watched in delight as Sirius broke into a sprint and disappeared down the street into the night, yelling frantically for Peter Pettigrew. His screams like that of a mad man, echoed throughout the muggle neighbourhood. At this point, it mattered little whether or not the Aurors or Dumbledore knew who the real secret keeper was, as long as Pettigrew was permanently out of the picture and Sirius did not remember any of this.
Wasting no time in taking Sirius’s motorcycle for himself, Hagrid quickly flew off on it, just as the muggle police and fire engines descended on the ruined property.
As the bike pummelled effortlessly upwards through the clouds, Hagrid wondered if Dumbledore had planned for this little encounter with Sirius Black. He wouldn’t put it past him. The old man seemed to be two steps ahead of everyone else. After all, how was he to get to Bristol if the portkey he was given only worked one way, and Dumbledore did not know that he could apparate?
He tossed away the now useless pocket watch in anger.
While Hagrid was not marked like many of the others, deep down he knew that somewhere, somehow his master was still out there, and it was only going to be a matter of time before he returned to full power.
And then, the whole world would tremble once again… for Lord Voldemort was the most powerful wizard who had ever lived!
Spring of 1991
Somewhere in Devon existed a village so tiny and remote that it wasn’t even on any of the maps. Nestled in a small valley and surrounded by the Devon moors on all sides, anyone who stumbled upon it would assume it abandoned. Indeed, it was mostly inhabited during the summer seasons by the occasional farmer or muggle tourists and hikers who came to the area to relax and recuperate. The entire settlement consisted of a single dirt road running through it, serving three houses that were built centuries ago. Out of those three cottages, only one looked habitable, where an eccentric husband and wife couple continued to live all year round. Nobody was quite sure how they managed it, given that the nearest shop was almost half an hour drive away, and the nearest hospital at least three times that.
And what’s more, the old couple didn’t even have a motor vehicle!
But they continued to persevere, year after year, and perhaps even decade after decade, seemingly not getting any older in the process. Their immaculate garden was a sight to behold next to the wild countryside, and despite their crooked house looking like it was built sometime during the Middle Ages, it remained in very good condition.
Clearly, someone was actively tending to the property.
The few local muggles who were fortunate enough to have met and talked to the couple, said that they were really old. So old in fact, that many jokingly believed them to be immortal.
Surely such a thing was not possible?
Right…?
Humans had sought true immortality since the beginning of time, only to fail again and again. While muggles believed in technology, using it to gain increased life expectancy and curing many diseases and ailments, the magical folk continued to rely on magic to extend their lifespans.
One such wizard was none other than the famous alchemist, Nicolas Flamel. He was known to both muggles and magicals alike as the creator of the Philosopher’s Stone, an alchemical substance capable of turning base metals into gold, and the main ingredient for something called the “Elixir of Life”, which would grant immortality to its drinker. The Muggles of course immediately dismissed such nonsense and over the centuries used their science to disprove it. For them, it slowly faded into nothing more than a myth.
Witches and wizards on the other hand were much more open to such things.
Among them was Albus Dumbledore, who himself was over a hundred years old. But Dumbledore was not immortal, nor did he seek immortality.
He had already met the by then immortal Nicolas Flamel a century ago, and the two immediately took a liking to each other. Nicolas eventually decided to take Dumbledore on as his apprentice in alchemy. Over the next decades, they formed a close bond and worked together to discover and write such works as The Twelve Uses of Dragon’s Blood, a historical discovery for the wizarding world.
Of course, even more decades had passed by since then, and the two had long parted ways. They saw each other less and less and their correspondence was reduced to the yearly letters at Christmas or on one of their birthdays.
It remained that way until a late spring afternoon in 1991, when Dumbledore decided to pay a visit to his old friend and his wife, Perenelle. They hadn’t seen each other in thirty plus years, and while the gears of time grinded away at Dumbledore, making him a withered old man, both Nicolas and Perenelle looked exactly as Dumbledore remembered them. Timeless would be the best way to describe their looks, for their true age was impossible to judge by an outsider. They were wrinkled with grey hair yes, but they also had the spark of life still shining strong within them.
The old couple was extremely surprised by this sudden visit, having only received a brief message beforehand from Dumbledore. He apparated straight to their doorstep and decided not to waste any time before immediately announcing the reason for this: Voldemort.
The name would make even the most powerful witch or wizard shudder, but Dumbledore and the Flamels were different. They did not as much as flinch. But no matter how old or how isolated the Flamels were from the world; they too knew who he was. When Dumbledore explained that Voldemort wasn’t truly dead, they refused to believe it:
“— you sure that it’s him? Everyone said that he had died. The ministry, the papers —”
“I am positive.” Dumbledore nodded, carefully sipping a hot cup of tea in the living room of the Flamels, while they stuck to drinking wine. “As for how he had survived… I can only speculate, but I do know this: it is only a matter of time before he makes a move.”
“Are we in danger?” asked Nicolas’s wife, Perenelle, who was just as old as her husband. It looked as if both she and Nicolas were held together by magic at this point, living a cursed life. Dumbledore felt sorry for them.
“No.” he said dismissively and put down his teacup. “But the stone is.”
The Flamels glanced at each other, suddenly looking grim. Despite being over six centuries old, they moved as if they were still in their forties.
“That’s why you’ve come, isn’t it? For the stone.”
“I see you are as sharp as ever, Nicolas.” Dumbledore smiled and leaned back into the sofa, “Yes. That is, if you’ll let me.”
“Absolutely not!” said Perenelle instantly. She was on her feet before Dumbledore could blink.
“My dear Perenelle, if you think that I would want the stone for my own uses — “
“Don’t be stupid, Albus. We both know that you don’t need it.” Nicolas reassured him, “But you know how dangerous it is. In the wrong hands, it could spell disaster for our world. It is why I have never made another, and it is why I will take the secrets of it beyond the grave one day.”
“Many have tried,” Dumbledore nodded in understanding, “and it is but a miracle that they have not yet managed to create another. But do not think that that will last.” the headmaster’s eyes turned dark and hard. He leaned over the table before continuing, “There is a storm coming, Nicolas. Sooner or later, Voldemort will find out where the stone is hidden, and he will not rest until it is either his or it is destroyed.”
“Then it’s settled!” Nicolas stood and abruptly raised his glass of wine, as if giving a toast. “I shall destroy the Philosopher’s Stone, even if that is the last thing that I’ll ever do!”
“No!” Dumbledore shouted, “You cannot.”
“Whatever you mean, Albus?” The alchemist asked, sounding rather offended.
“Don’t you see, my dear friend?” Dumbledore pleaded, his voice back to normal, “It’s been ten long years since Voldemort disappeared off the face of the earth. All that time, he’s been hiding abroad somewhere, slowly gathering whatever strength and followers he still has left to obtain a new body. It is only now that my suspicions were confirmed, that he has returned to the country once again. This is our best chance to catch him and to expose him to the world once and for all.”
“Expose him?” Perenelle couldn’t believe her ears. “Do you think this is just a game, Dumbledore?”
“A game? No, far from it.” Dumbledore said sullen, “This is about our future. The public believes Voldemort to be dead, and so does the ministry. They stubbornly refuse to change their viewpoint, but if I could present them with undeniable evidence that shows otherwise, they might just be forced to listen and then act.”
“A stretch, is what this is!” Perenelle continued to protest.
Dumbledore knew better than to argue with someone as temperamental as a six hundred- and fifty-eight-year-old woman. He turned to Nicolas for help, who having noticed this, decided to at least hear out his old friend:
“What do you have in mind, Albus?”
Dumbledore shifted uncomfortably in his seat and straightened his silvery beard. Perhaps if he told them more…
“Let me tell you a small story,“ he carefully poured himself some more tea and raised the antique French porcelain cup to his chin. “Two weeks ago, I received a surprise visitor in my office, one I did not expect to see for a while. It was my ex-muggle studies teacher, a young man with a brilliant mind and a thirst for knowledge. He came back looking for a teaching job, after spending a year abroad. A grand tour, he had called it.” Dumbledore forced himself a distant smile and sighed, “Naturally, I wouldn’t have thought anything of this but…”
He shook his head and took a sip of his now warm tea. “He came back different. He had changed drastically in such a short period of time.”
“And?” Perenelle asked impatiently.
Dumbledore closed his eyes, clearly struggling with a painful memory.
“He reminded me too much of someone else. Someone who too had once sought a teaching position from me a long time ago.”
“Get to the point, Albus.” Perenelle urged once more.
“Very well.” Dumbledore drank the rest of his tea before continuing: “That someone was Voldemort, before he fully committed himself to the dark arts and to the point of no return.”
Nicolas crossed his arms.
“Albus… tell me you didn’t give him the job?”
“I sent him away of course. Even then I could already tell that he was on the wrong path.”
“I meant this other fellow,” Nicolas rolled his eyes, “What was his name again?”
“Oh, Quirrell? Yes, as a matter of fact I did give him the job. I am rather looking forward to him teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts from September.”
Dumbledore let that last part sink in. The Flamels could only stare at him with disbelief.
“I do not understand then.” Nicolas said.
“It is quite simple. Quirrell chose the wrong path and had become one of Voldemort’s followers.” Dumbledore noted with sadness in his voice. “I do not know how or why, but I have had the pleasure of encountering many of them over the decades, to know when I see one.”
“And you let this man teach in your school? Albus, what were you thinking?”
“Nicolas, I know Voldemort better than anyone in this world. Neither him nor his followers would openly attack or harm any of my staff or students in his current state while I’m around, unless he is pushed into a corner. Right now, he is after two things and two things only: me, and a new body.”
And Alexandra Potter, Dumbledore thought bitterly, but the Flamels needn’t know that.
“You?” Perenelle asked.
“Yes,” Dumbledore chuckled “they say that I am the only one he has ever feared. No doubt he wants to keep a close eye on me.”
“Or to kill you.” Perenelle said.
“That is a possibility,” Dumbledore nodded, “but I think that part will come only after he has obtained a new body. Something that the stone would no doubt help him with.”
An uncomfortable silence has descended over the room.
“You think?!” Perenelle shouted, but his husband silenced her.
“Whatever it might be, right now the stone is perfectly safe in Gringotts.” Nicolas said firmly.
Dumbledore let out a loud sigh again. He had expected this stubbornness and the unwillingness to believe otherwise from his friends. After all, breaking into Gringotts was unheard of. Even someone as old as the Flamels could count it on their one hand the number of times it had happened.
“I don’t doubt the ingenuity of the goblins and their security measures,” Dumbledore carefully adjusted his glasses, “but I’m going to have to disagree. Gringotts is much too far from here and there are too many unknown variables in place. The stone would be much safer in Hogwarts castle, under my and my staff’s protection.”
“Your staff?” Perenelle laughed, “You mean the person who according to you, is actively working on trying to steal it?”
“Yes.”
Perenelle could only blink at this bluntness. Meanwhile behind her, Nicolas had slowly walked over to the window. He stared outside at the setting sun casting a low rosy hue over the horizon.
“Albus, Albus….” he shook his head. “What am I meant to do with you? First, there was that foolishness about a child surviving the killing curse, then people coming back from the dead and now this? If I hadn’t known you for the last hundred years, I would probably be offended. Fortunately for you, I have seen and heard of many strange things over the centuries.” Nicolas suddenly shuddered. “Some of which I shall never speak of again.”
“You know, he has a funny name, this Voldemort. “Flight from death”?” Perenelle noted curiously and drank the remaining wine in her glass.
“Thank you for believing me, my friends.” Dumbledore beamed, “You both know that I am not trying to do this for personal gain. I do not wish to live for another twenty years, let alone five hundred!” he said merrily, “Once I have provided enough evidence of Voldemort’s survival to the ministry, I will immediately return the stone to you, of that you have my word.”
Perenelle glared at Dumbledore, but before she could say something, Nicolas, who hadn’t moved an inch from the window, interrupted:
“My dear, a word please?” he noted to his wife.
With one last look of contempt at Dumbledore, Perenelle walked over to her husband, and the two immediately started whispering to each other in French. They were having a heated conversation, if the words “bonhomme” and “vieux fou” were any indication to Dumbledore, whose French was rudimentary at best. They went on and on, completely ignoring the aging wizard. He could only watch and think on what to do if they refused to give him the stone.
In any case, he would respect their ultimate decision and find another way.
He listened to the grinding gears of a rusty, mechanical contraption that the Flamels called a clock, something that was already outdated even back in the 1800s. It was bolted to a nearby wall with all sorts of moving pieces and a bronze bell on it’s top. Every minute, it made a loud click and its heavy arms would inch their way to the next number. Dumbledore wondered how many times those arms had done a full circle in the last four hundred years.
“Very well, Albus. We agree to it on one condition.” Nicolas finally said after the seventh click. He returned to the table and poured some more wine for himself and his wife, but none for Dumbledore.
“And what would that be?” Dumbledore’s eyes lit up with excitement. Could it possibly be…
“That the stone is to be destroyed when you are done with it.” Perenelle said instead.
Dumbledore’s eyes went wide.
“Perenelle —”
“Don’t, Albus.” Nicolas said sternly before either of them could say more. The determination was clear on his face. “That is our condition and you will not convince us otherwise.”
“Are you sure?”
“We’ve lived far too long, Dumbledore. Much longer than anyone should have.” Perenelle said with a bleak voice and sat back down.
“We’ll make enough elixirs to last us for a few more years, and that will be that.” Nicolas agreed. “The world will be a much safer place without such a dangerous object around.”
Dumbledore was speechless. He never would have imagined that the two would give up their lives that they worked so hard to preserve this easily.
“Very well.” he said, “I will let you know at once when the security measures in Hogwarts are in place, and that the stone can be safely moved from your vault. I expect it to be no later than July.”
The Flamels nodded and with a clink of their glasses finished the rest of their wine.
30 July 1991 (Tuesday)
Ten uneventful years went by since that terrible Halloween, until one early summer morning. Hagrid had just finished his breakfast when a brown school owl landed on his window sill, carrying a small, unmarked envelope between its claws. He opened it with a heavy frown. This was extremely unusual and could only mean one thing:
Dumbledore.
This time, Hagrid was being summoned up to his office in the castle.
This is how it was with the great Albus bloody Dumbledore. Never did the man bother to visit, preferring to communicate with owls instead from his office. Never did the man ever say a simple “thank you” for all the hard work Hagrid had done for him over the decades.
But when Dumbledore asked him to put up and decorate enormous fir trees for Christmas all over the castle, grow pumpkins for the school, keep the animals watered and fed, take care of the forest and the grounds, all the while dealing with annoying children and Peeves the poltergeist, Hagrid was expected to do it all without a single word of complaint.
He snorted loudly at that.
Both students and staff alike considered Hagrid to be just a mere servant, who lived only to serve their every whim, and the needs of the school. The backbreaking manual labour he did around the grounds went unappreciated by the students who frequently ruined his work, or verbally abused him when they thought he wasn’t listening. He cursed the mudbloods and the spoiled brats that now inhabited the castle.
Only his master continued to hold him in high regard, and Hagrid’s unwavering commitment did not go unappreciated. The chaos that followed the Dark Lord’s downfall had seen virtually every marked Death Eater killed or captured by the ministry of magic.
Dolohov... Jugson... Selwyn... they were just some of the few names Hagrid remembered being sent to Azkaban. But at least they remained alive.
Barely.
Some like Rosier had fought to the death.
But not all…
Of those captured, many were more than happy to sell each other out in exchange for their freedom. Hagrid loathed them all, especially the likes of Snape who weaselled his way out of prison by pretending to be a spy for the Order, and Lucius Malfoy who also managed to avoid being sentenced. He sauntered around the ministry, continuing to live a life of luxury while the true loyalists such as Bellatrix and Barty Crouch Jr, rotted away in Azkaban. Malfoy and many others claimed that they were under the Imperius and were simply unwilling pawns in the Dark Lord’s game. Upon reading such nonsense in the Daily Prophet, Hagrid had almost burnt down his hut in rage. Then there was also that coward Karkaroff who alone was responsible for the capture of at least dozens of Death Eaters before being exonerated in exchange and later becoming Headmaster of Durmstrang.
What a sick joke that was!
At least Hagrid’s last-minute plan had worked with an added bonus: Sirius Black had also been sent to Azkaban as well, for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and a group of muggles. With the rat long dead, nobody, not even Dumbledore questioned a thing about what had happened that fateful Halloween night.
All loose ends were cut.
Eventually, - as Hagrid expected - his master had returned, albeit in a very weakened state. Quirinus Quirrell, the former Muggle Studies professor in Hogwarts had found him in the forests of Albania earlier this year, possessing the bodies of small animals. Hagrid had no idea that Quirrell was secretly loyal to the Dark Lord, so it came as a great surprise when he had appeared outside his hut one night. Quirrell explained that it was the Dark Lord who demanded to return to Britain in hopes of obtaining the fabled Philosopher’s Stone and because the Forbidden Forest was one of the few remaining reservations in Magical Britain where wild unicorns still roamed in the wild. The Dark Lord knew that drinking their cursed blood kept one’s self alive and at an inch away from death, but at a great cost. Hagrid shuddered at the thought, but in return for his unending loyalty, he was rewarded with an extremely rare and precious dragon egg.
It was then when Hagrid realised that the Dark Lord’s power truly knew no bounds.
But this was all in the past. He shook these thoughts away when he entered Dumbledore’s lavish office.
“Hagrid, my friend! Please, have a seat.” boomed Dumbledore from behind his desk when the giant entered.
“Professor.” Hagrid merely nodded and sat down on the prepared chair that was no doubt magically enchanted, otherwise it wouldn’t have been able to hold his weight.
“How have you been doing?” the headmaster asked kindly.
“Oh, I’ve been doin’ fine sir. Lot’s o’ work, preparin’ fer the new term, yeh know.”
Hagrid knew that the old man had something big planned for him, otherwise he never would have asked about his health.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Dumbledore peered at the giant from behind his spectacles and a mountain of paperwork. When Hagrid sat down, he continued: “I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t urgent. You see, there’s something I’d like you to assist me with. Two things actually, but I’ll start with the more important one first: Alexandra Potter.”
Hagrid narrowed his eyes. The Potter girl… The Girl Who Lived as she was now known. She would be starting her first year in Hogwarts in just a month. Last time he’d seen her, she was just a baby. He cursed himself for completely forgetting about her. Did his master forget too? She hadn’t been mentioned at all.
“It looks like her relatives are proving to be more difficult than I had anticipated.” Dumbledore continued with a chuckle, “They’ve been ignoring our letters and have recently gone into hiding. I believe they may not want Alexandra to attend Hogwarts.”
Hagrid had to stop himself from snorting out loud. Even if they wanted to, how were they supposed to answer to owl post if they were muggles? It was all playing perfectly into Dumbledore’s hands.
“Of course, there is no place in this country where they can hide from us,” Dumbledore went on, “but it is rather irritating. It is why I’d like you, to finally retrieve young Alexandra and take her shopping for her school supplies tomorrow. Introduce her to the wizarding world or so to speak. The first impressions are always the most important.” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and smiled.
“Me, sir? Wha’ about Professor McGonagall?” Hagrid asked dumbfounded, trying his best to stay in character. He could feel the compulsion magic radiating off of the headmaster and he focused his mind to stay in control. A small scowl formed on Dumbledore’s face.
“Yes, well… normally it is her who goes after students raised by muggles, but I feel that Alexandra’s case is a unique one. I fear her relatives could prove to be a bit more troublesome to deal with, for someone like Professor McGonagall. I was hoping that you could take care of this little problem and keep it between us. Besides, I’m sure Minerva has her plate full already. We are seeing a record number of muggleborn students arriving this year!”
The cogs in Hagrid’s head began to turn. This could be one of the greatest opportunities for him to find out more about the Girl Who Lived for his master. He would murder the bloody muggles if that’s what it took to get to her!
“It would be an honour, sir!” Hagrid violently clasped his enormous hands together, waking up the sleeping portraits behind Dumbledore.
“What in god’s name is this racket?!” yelled one of them, a former grumpy headmaster if Hagrid was right.
“Excellent.” Dumbledore said, paying the portraits no mind. He produced a small golden key, a folded piece of parchment and an envelope with the Hogwarts crest on it from one of the many drawers beneath his desk and slid them over to Hagrid.
“Please give Alexandra her Hogwarts letter, then take her to Gringotts to get some money out from her vault to cover the shopping expenses. While you’re there, I’d also like you to retrieve what is in Vault Seven Hundred and Thirteen. This note should be sufficient.” Dumbledore pointed at the unmarked parchment. “It is very important that you bring the vault’s contents back to me personally and let nobody else know about this. I trust that you’ll have no issues.”
Hagrid slowly picked up the unmarked note, as if scared that it would curse him on touch. It was for the Philosopher’s Stone; it had to be. The Dark Lord had suspected it being held in a high security vault under Gringotts somewhere, and was currently making plans for a break in. Dumbledore’s eyes continued to twinkle, and Hagrid knew that he would be personally held responsible for whatever happened to the stone. The Dark Lord would not be pleased at this new development. Still weak and without followers, they both knew that it would not be wise to play against Dumbledore just yet.
“Alexandra and her family are currently on their way to a place called Hut-on-the-Rock, a tiny island just off the south coast near London, if they are not there already. I’m sure you will have no trouble in finding it.” Dumbledore said with a jovial smile. Only Hagrid wasn’t smiling. He did not want to play babysitter again to the child responsible for his master’s downfall.
“If I might ask professor, how am I ter get to this islan’?”
“I believe the nearby town has a muggle train station.” Dumbledore said casually, and began flicking through some of the papers on his desk, “You can floo to the Leaky Cauldron from my office, if you so wish.”
Hagrid couldn’t believe his ears! He was now fuming. Dumbledore expected him to use muggle transportation?! He gripped the edges of his chair so tightly that the wood started to visibly crack.
“Once you are there, you should be able to procure a small boat.” Dumbledore continued, completely immersed in his paperwork by then, “It is good practice for you before you get the girl. I do not want her to learn too much and too quickly about magic and our world just yet. Portkeys and the floo are out of the question while you are with her.” he warned sternly.
Hagrid snorted. He would never use muggle transportation unless absolutely necessary or his true master commanded him to. If Dumbledore refused to give him a portkey, then he would get there another way. He had learned much advanced magic over the years that allowed him to cross great distances without apparition. Unassisted flight was not beyond his powers.
“I better go get prepared then if I am ter get there by tonight. Was there anythin’ else, Professor?” he now smiled happily at the thought of going behind the great Albus Dumbledore’s back.
“No, Hagrid, that is all. Just send me an owl when you’ve given young Alexandra her letter.”
Hagrid nodded, but his mind was already in another world, thinking about the opportunities and the damage he could cause to Dumbledore’s carefully laid plans. The old man would never know what hit him.
But before all that, it was time to inform his master and orchestrate an “accidental” meeting with the Girl Who Lived.
Oh, and find a bloody owl to take along with…