Chapter Text
Shockingly, I do not own Harry Potter, the characters, world etc. No money being made yada yada yada
Chapter One
The cloaked figure silently appeared opposite the ruined remains of a cottage in Godric’s Hollow. His disillusionment charm was second to none and didn’t even produce the telltale shimmer in the air when he moved. The warm aesthetics of the cottage were still visible despite the gaping maw which had once been the roof to the two-story building. Now at least half of said roof lay spread around the garden circling the building as whisps of smoke drifted through the hole.
Less than 30 minutes had passed since alarms had rang in the man’s office, alerting him to an unprecedented, unnatural outpouring of magic which begged to be investigated. The surprise quickly changed to excitement for the man. Both a surprise and a mystery he was almost giddy to investigate the incident in such an unremarkable location. Although the village in the West Country was well known for having a larger than average wizarding population, and home to many a prominent name in the magical community, the man could not think of anything which could have caused such as disturbance.
As the man began casting a number of diagnostic and detection spells from his concealed cover, the quiet of the night was disturbed by the crescendo roar of a mighty engine. Pausing to look up and down the road he stood on, it was a moment before the man noticed the sound as descending from above. With a roll of his eyes, he refocused his attention on this new development. As the black motorcycle landed, the black-haired rider practically jumped off before racing the path to the wrecked building. The man shook his head at the lack of precaution the rider displayed by charging in.
“James?! Lily?!” the rider shouted as he pounded towards the cottage.
A moment of silence transpired before a wail of grief filled the night. While still over the road from the centre of destruction, the man could still pick up the rider’s choaked sobs intersected with the words “James” and “No”.
As the minutes passed the noise of despair lessened before the rider started calling again for the second named person. The voice became quieter as the rider moved further into the house and further from the splinted front door before eventually becoming louder as it could be heard through the recently created chasm of the roof.
“Lily?! LILY?!... Lily no! No not you too!” the voice of the rider shouted through the roof before the sounds of a child crying filled the night. “HARRY!” came the shout followed by a smoothing indistinct muttering of the rider as he obviously tried to comfort the child.
Beneath the hooded cloak the man’s eyebrows raised at the noise of the crying child. Another unexpected mystery to add to the night. While he would never delight in the death of others, a hypothesis proved by the distress of the rider, the prospect of so many unexpected events fired the blood of the man. How could have a child have survived the obvious centre of the unknown blast?
Minutes passed as the man continued his charms to decern information before the rider appeared at the broken door with a small bundle in his arms. The child presumably. This being the first time the man was able to see the riders face in the pale moonlight, he instantly recognised the face of one Sirius Black. The man considered what he knew of Black. Once heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, the boy had broken tradition upon entering Hogwarts by being sorted into Gryffindor House. If the man’s memory was correct, which it almost always was, as his teenage years progressed, Black spurred his family further when he ran away to live with the Potters… The Potters… James Potter… “James?! Lily?!” Black had shouted. That answered the question of where the event had occurred for the man, although it was the least important of the night’s questions.
As Black neared the motorbike, another figure silently appeared at the scene. The size of the new arrival left no question as to his identify. At over 11 feet tall and covered with wild hair, this could only be the Hogwarts Groundkeeper, Rubeus Hagrid. The hooded Man subconsciously filed Hagrid’s arrival as a portkey rather than apparition due to the silent nature of the arrival as well as Hagrid’s lack of magical capabilities following the poor man’s exclusion from Hogwarts at an early age.
As Hagrid and Black approached each other, the Man struggled to hear the hushed conversation. Catching only a few words from Hagrid such as “Harry”, “Dumbledore” and “orders” and “Godfather” and “mine” from Black, the two quietly argued for several minutes. Hagrid repeatedly holding out his hands towards Black which were retuned by shakes of the head and turning of his body of to move the bundle away from the giant of a man.
As the argument went on, the hooded man could see Black start to lose conviction in his stance, eventually succumbing and handing the bundled infant to the giant of a man. As Hagrid turned away with the child black called out.
“Hagrid, take my bike. It’ll be safer for Harry” Black pleaded as the light of the moon picked up the steams of tears falling down his face.
The giant nodded before moving to the motorbike, nearly destroying the suspension as his large frame sank the chassis, practically settled on the floor.
The hooded man made a quick decision. The house wasn’t going anywhere, the child was. If he lost track of the infant now, he may never pick it up again. With a flick of his wand, the bike was hit with a tracking spell. As the giant driven bike departed, the man resumed his diagnostic charms while waiting for the tracking charm to give him a final destination. He paid little mind to the despondent, slumped form of Black until shout of anger and loss filled the night.
“Peter” growled Black, followed by a louder “PETER!” at which point Black spun and disappeared with a loud pop.
The man shrugged and continued his work. He needed information. Information solved mysteries and if there was one thing Algernon Croaker lived for, it was solving mysteries.
- O O -
A little over an hour later, the tracking charm informed Croaker that the motorbike, and therefore both riders had stopped moving. He had moved into the house as he carried out his investigation and was not likely to gleam any additional data from the cottage as this time. Maybe after examining the child, he would have further tests to carry out, but the important thing for now was to keep the infant with reach.
With a spin and a near silent pop, the still disillusioned Croaker appeared next to the abandoned motorcycle and a road sign show he was on ‘Privet Drive’. A muggle neighbourhood to be sure. The name of the road meant nothing to him so he focused his attention on where the two riders may have gone. Two houses down the road stood a group of three people. Hagrid was again obviously recognisable. Focusing on the other two, despite the odd lack of working streetlights, Croaker could easily recognise the Head and Deputy Headmasters of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore.
Albus, Fucking, Dumbledore.
Albus, Fucking, Percival, Arrogant, Wulfric, Condescending, Brian, Shit-eating, Dumbledore.
Gods, Croaker loathed the man.
What had started for Croaker as an academic rivalry had escalated over the years. While the rest of the wizarding world saw Dumbledore as a saviour, a caring old man who fought for the light, Croaker had long ago realised that the ‘leader of the light’ was nothing but an opportunist who swooped in to appear great once all the work was done.
Discovering the 12 uses of dragon blood my ass, thought Croaker, Ivor Dillonsby had already found and shared 8 of them! Using Dragon’s blood as an oven cleaner! Gods, the fraud really was clutching at straws. He might as well have claimed one of the usages for sausages was as a bookmark!
He was also willing to bet most of the man’s work with Nicholas Flamel was Flamel’s work with Dumbledore’s name added as thanks for fetching ingredients. That was all nothing compared to how Dumbledore had ignored Grindelwald’s reign of death and destruction over mainland Europe until the tyrant was already on the retreat and facing defeat.
Focusing back on group in front of him, Croaker watched as the child was put in a basket with a letter and left on the doorstep of the house.
“Well, that’s that. We’ve no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations” Dumbledore spouted cheerily.
As Hagrid dried and blew his nose, McGonagall gave Dumbledore a look of incomprehension at his attitude as the three of them walked past Croaker towards the Motorbike the end of the road. Although no-one could see him, Croaker wore the same look on his face. The leader of the light was leaving a child on a doorstep in a basket at the end of October in Britain. Who knew how long it would take the muggles to discover the infant. Dumbledore may as well have given the child a vial of Basilisk blood to play with at the same time.
Croaker approached the property and set about recasting his diagnostic spells. After several minutes he reviewed his findings. Blood wards? Intention based blood wards! Linked to the child. Once again Croaker mentally chalked another mark in the ‘Albus Dumbledore couldn’t apparate his way of a wet paper bag’ ledger. With a sign and no intension of harming the child, Croaker walked up the driveway to the front door and deposited basket.
His spells this time were focused on what could be learnt from the child. How had he survived the blast in the house and what had caused it. Spell after spell were sent towards the boy causing no end of surprise to Croaker. The child’s magical core had been bound. Twice! Even so, the core still rivalled his own! He shook his hooded head with wonder at what the size would be if or when the binds were removed.
The next scan showed trace magic the child had been in contact with. Multiple trackers, Notice-Me-Not and Confundus charms had been placed on the child very recently. Within the last 10 minutes. Dumbledore’s work obviously thought Croaker. The next spell, nearly two hours old by this point, really caught Croaker off guard. The Killing Curse!? How? Forgetting he was a wizard for a moment, Croaker couldn’t help poking the child with his finger to check it was alive. The boy pulled a face and wiggled in his sleep before settling again.
Sheepishly Croaker realised his less than academic approach to checking the child was alive and cast a Homenum Revelio spell on the child. Once again, he was floored by the results! Two Souls!? What was going on? Focusing on the spell he noticed the size difference between the two souls as well as the locations. While the larger seemed to fill the child, the second smaller soul was localised to what appeared to be a scar on the child’s head.
Having expected to be able to resolve some of the mysteries regarding the event that started his investigation, Croaker was only left with more. He conjured a chair and sat in front of the basket, watching the boy sleep.
Obviously, he wasn’t going to solve anything in the middle of the night on a muggle’s doorstep. He needed time. He needed a controlled location. He needed equipment to help run tests. He needed to take the child with him.
Croaker considered the blood wards and tracking spells on the boy. Albus had cast them and would likely be aware if the wards fell and be able to find the ‘abducted’ child. He pondered his next steps for a while before standing and transfiguring his chair into a ball of skin covered meat. While Croaker did not have a particularly weak stomach he grimaced at the sight of it. Next, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cylindrical stone roughly the size of his thumb. He spent several minutes carving runes into the stone before nodding to himself, satisfied with his creation.
Drawing a small knife, he pricked the boy’s finger and squeezed until a droplet of blood appeared. The boy whimpered in this sleep but showed no other signs of discomfort. Croaker rolled the rune covered stone over the finger to coat it with blood. His task nearly done, Croaker sliced a small hole into the meat ball before inserting the rune stone and then sealing the cut. He channelled a small amount of this magic into the ball and his stomach lurched once again as the bag of flesh started pulsating as if a beating heart. Despite his distaste, he was pleased with the homunculus he had created as a decoy for the Potter boy. The final step in the process was to transfer the blood wards and other various charms from the boy to the homunculus. Checking the child again he was pleased all of Dumbledore’s monitoring spells had been removed.
Using his wand, Croaker removed some turf from the lawn and excavated a hole 4 foot deep. Lowering in the homunculus, he cast a number of charms to preserve and hide the disgusting pulsating object before covering it with dirt and re-laying the grass.
“Would you like to come with me little one?” Croaked asked.
The sleeping child gave no response.
Looking around with a satisfied nod, Croaker concluded his work was done. Picking up the child containing basket, he walked outside of the wards before apparating away.
- O O -
The cloaked figure appeared at the Ministry of Magic apparition point with a small pop. He was momentarily surprised by not only the number of people in the atrium considering the time of day/night, but also the state of them.
Walking as close to the edge of the atrium towards the elevators he picked up various parts of conversations:
“… I can’t believe it! After all these years!”
“… I haven’t been this happy since my youngest first bit of accidental magic…”
“… You-Know-Who is gone! Just a few Death Eaters left now and they won’t….”
“…Thank god for the Potters!”
“…Three cheers for Harry Potter! The-Boy-Who-Lived! Hip-hip…”
“Hooray!”
The various comments filled more gaps in Croaker’s investigation. He now knew part of the outcome of the incident, but not the how and why or what other outcomes there may be. Edging through the atrium, his obscuring hooded cloak masking his features, no one stopped him. Reaching the elevators he took the first available one down to level 9. Exiting, he walked down the black-tiled walls to the single black door. Opening it, he stepped inside with a sign of relief. He looked down at the sleeping infant.
“Welcome, Harry Potter, to the Department of Mysteries!”