15.
The fire in the hearth of Albus Dumbledore’s office crackled softly as the old wizard stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze fixed on a series of intricate, magically moving instruments. The metal hands and glass disks turned and ticked in a rhythm he had known for years. They kept track of the magical balance of the world—and in particular, one particular soul.
Dana Potter.
Dumbledore frowned as one of the instruments began to vibrate. The hands suddenly jolted back and forth, as if they had lost their regular pattern. A soft tinkling sound filled the room, and a thin cloud of smoke rose from one of the glass disks.
He walked slowly to the instrument and placed his hand on the cool metal. The vibration did not stop. Instead, the tinkling became a steady hum, as if the instrument was trying to tell him something.
Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed behind his half-moon glasses. He knew this kind of reaction. This meant that something unusual had happened to Dana—something that had altered her magical status.
“What have you been through, my girl?” he whispered.
Just then there was a loud tapping on the window. An owl was sitting impatiently on the sill, a letter clutched tightly in its beak.
Dumbledore walked to the window and opened it with a quiet movement. The owl flew in, landed on his desk, and dropped the letter before leaving with a short screech.
With a slight frown, Dumbledore picked up the letter and immediately recognized the handwriting on the envelope. Arabella Figg. He tore open the envelope and read the first few lines.
His face tightened.
The letter was short and to the point, but its contents left little room for doubt. Dana had disappeared from her family home, and the Dursleys had returned to England without her. Arabella suspected that something had gone terribly wrong.
Dumbledore slowly sank into his chair and dropped the letter on his desk. His gaze drifted back to the vibrating instruments. The timing of it all was too striking to be a coincidence. He leaned back, his fingers interlaced in front of his face. His mind was a jumble of worries and questions.
He had made mistakes, he knew. He had placed Dana with the Dursleys with the best of intentions—to protect her from the world that would do her harm. But had he done her more harm in doing so?
Arabella’s letter, combined with the reaction of his instruments, seemed to confirm that suspicion. He closed his eyes for a moment, a deep sigh escaping his lips. He felt the weight of his decisions weighing heavier than ever. In the past, he had ignored the warnings of Arabella, because the girl was most protected in her aunt’s home.
After a long pause, he opened his eyes again and focused his gaze on the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, who was regarding him with a mocking expression.
“So, your master plan is not going as you had hoped,” Phineas sneered. Dumbledore looked at him intently. “I did what I thought was best. It was not perfect but for the greater good.” Dumbledore stood up, his gaze determined. “It’s time to seek answers.”
He looked at Arabella’s letter and then at the vibrating instrument on his desk. He couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes. “Where are you going?” Phineas asked, his expression amused.
Dumbledore picked up his staff and turned to the portrait. “To America.” His voice was calm, but there was a deeper concern hidden in it. “I must find her before it is too late.”
****
Crowley was in his private archive, a vast chamber deep in the depths of Hell. The air was thick with sulfur and the soft whispers of spirits still trapped in old contracts. But he heard none of it; his attention was focused on an old parchment, his fingers tracing the worn ink.
A small demon appeared beside him, nodding nervously. “My lord, the information you sought has been found.”
Crowley looked up, his eyes dark and sharp. “Well, what have you? And be quick. My patience is as finite as your existence.”
The demon handed over a heavy, dusty book. “The genealogies of ancient magical families, my lord. And… there are mentions of the Potters. They are descended from the youngest brother of the Peverell dynasty.”
Crowley froze for a moment, a rare sign of genuine interest. “The youngest brother… the holder of the Cloak of Invisibility. Interesting. Very interesting.”
He quickly flipped through the book, reading passages about the Peverell family and their legacy. “The three brothers,” he muttered softly. “Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus. The story of the Deathly Hallows.”
The demon nodded quickly. “According to tradition, Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard, is descended from Antioch Peverell. The Potters… from Ignotus.”
Crowley closed the book and leaned back in his chair, a smug grin on his face. “So the blood of the Peverell’s runs through that little girl’s veins. That explains a lot. The question is, does she know? And more importantly… does Dumbledore know?”
The demon hesitated. “What exactly does it matter, my lord?”
Crowley looked at him with a look that was both contempt and amusement. “It matters because this girl is no mere child. She is connected to one of the most powerful bloodlines in the magical world. And if the stories of the Deathly Hallows are true, then she is potentially more dangerous than Voldemort ever was.”
“And now what, my lord?” Crowley stood, the book tucked tightly under his arm. “I will continue my search. The Peverell’s and their legacy are too important to be left unexploited. I need to know why Voldemort specifically went after the Potters. It cannot be a coincidence.”
He turned and looked at the parchment on the table once more. “The girl who lived… and the last heir of Ignotus Peverell. What an interesting combination.”
With a puff of smoke, Crowley disappeared from the room, determined to unravel the full story behind Dana Potter and her connection to the Deathly Hallows.
****
The air in the Hogwarts dungeons was cold and damp, as always. The smell of herbs, rotting leaves, and chemical fumes filled the corridors. Albus Dumbledore walked quietly through the dark corridors, his cloak trailing softly across the stone floor. He paused in front of the door to Severus Snape’s office and knocked softly.
“Enter,” Snape’s voice sounded curt. Dumbledore opened the door and stepped inside. Severus was sitting at his desk, sorting ingredients, but looked up when he saw his visitor.
“Headmaster,” Snape said with a slight bow of his head. “This is unexpected.” Dumbledore smiled briefly. “Severus. I have something important to discuss with you.”
Snape put down his work and leaned back in his chair. “I’m listening.” Dumbledore walked over to the desk and sat down in one of the chairs on the other side. He pulled a stack of letters from his cloak and carefully placed them on the desk. Snape glanced at it briefly.
“Letters?” Snape asked. “From who?”
“Arabella Figg,” Dumbledore replied quietly. Snape raised his eyebrows. “The Squib who lives near the Potter brat?” Dumbledore nodded. “She wrote to me about Dana.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed at the name. “And what does she say? That the girl is spoiled and doesn’t get enough cake?” Dumbledore’s smile faded, and his gaze grew more serious. “Read the letters, Severus.” Snape looked at Dumbledore suspiciously before picking up the letters and beginning to read. As he continued, his face tightened. When he was finished, he slowly put the letters down.
“This… can’t be true,” Snape said, his voice low and dangerously calm. He stood up abruptly, his hands pressed flat on the desk. “She’s been living under a staircase? She’s barely been fed? And no one has done anything to help her?” Dumbledore looked at him calmly, though there was regret in his eyes. “No one knew, Severus. Arabella tried to inform me, but I ignored her messages because I thought she was overreacting.”
“That’s no excuse,” Snape snapped. “You left her there. In the hands of people who despised her. How could you let that happen?”
Dumbledore sighed deeply and closed his eyes briefly. “Because I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought she’d be safe there, beyond the reach of the magical world. But I should have known that physical safety wasn’t enough.” Snape’s gaze remained hard. “And now? What are you going to do?”
Dumbledore looked at him determinedly. “I’m going to find her. She disappeared from that house, and Arabella says she’s in America. I’m going to find her and make sure she gets what she deserves.”
Snape stared at him for a moment longer before slowly sitting back down. “And if you find her?” he asked softly. “What then? Are you going to take her back to Britain? Put her back in a situation where she has no say?”
Dumbledore shook his head. “No. She deserves the truth. And she deserves a choice. Something I never gave her.” Snape paused, his gaze thoughtful. “And if she doesn’t want to come back?”
“Then she stays where she is,” Dumbledore said without hesitation. “I don’t intend to abandon her again. She deserves a family to care for her.” Snape’s gaze softened slightly. “You’ve made mistakes, Albus. Big mistakes.”
“I know,” Dumbledore said softly. “But it’s never too late to make things right.” Snape looked at him questioningly for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Go, then. But be careful. If the wrong people find out where she is, she will be in danger again.”
Dumbledore stood up and picked up his staff. “Thank you, Severus.” Snape stopped him with one final question. “Albus… why have you told me this?” Dumbledore looked straight at him, his gaze more serious than Snape had ever seen it before. “Because I know you care about her. About her mother. And I want you to know that I will not fail you again.”
Snape nodded briefly, without saying anything. As Dumbledore left the room, Snape remained behind, his gaze resting on Arabella’s letters. A deep frown appeared on his face.
“Potter,” he whispered. But this time there was no hatred in his voice. Only confusion and something that almost seemed… sympathy.