The mage

As you saw in Chapter 2, some things have changed and for the better. I honestly didn't want to write about the Dursleys and then, let's be honest, who wants to see "Aunt Petunia" and her two bacons who serve as her husband and son?

So without further ado, enjoy.

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London ~~ Ministry of Magic ~~ Atrium ~~ Night of October 31st 1981

Buried beneath the millennia-old cobblestones of London, hidden from the curious eyes of a world too busy to perceive the whispers of a forgotten past, flourished the enchanted corridors and halls of the Ministry of Magic. This underground citadel, a well-kept secret by those who master the art of the unseen, sprawled within the bowels of the capital, far, far below the bustle of the subways, in a space where time and reality seemed to bend to the will of enchantments.

It was in the vastness of the Atrium, the beating heart of this fairy-tale structure, that Sirius Black, Albus Dumbledore, Rubeus Hagrid, a young Harry Potter still unaware of the weight of his destiny, and a visibly disoriented Potter cat made their appearance. Surrounded by dark woodwork and sparkling marbles that reflected the light from an enchanted sky above, the reception hall welcomed witches and wizards from the United Kingdom, their robes of various colours rustling with every movement, in a symphony of whispers and hurried steps, while thousands of letters in the form of paper airplanes flew in a ballet above their heads.

Around them, the comings, and goings of Ministry employees, recognizable by their robes of assorted colours according to their departments, created a constant hum, a mix of conversations and hurried footsteps. The wizards and witches headed towards the many fireplaces lined up along the back wall, their favourite means of transportation thanks to the Floo Network, or towards the golden-doored elevators that led to the various levels of the Ministry.

Dumbledore, with his imposing stature and majestic beard, attracted attention. His aura of power and wisdom, even in a place as accustomed to magic as the Ministry, commanded respect. By his side, Sirius, despite his haggard appearance and the traces of the tragic night still visible on him, proudly bore the weight of his loyalty to the Potters. Hagrid, with his impressive size and strength, seemed too large for the space, but his benevolent expression reassured those who crossed his path.

The unexpected arrival of this notable group did not fail to arouse curiosity and murmurs among the occupants of the Atrium, whose numbers had dwindled with nightfall. Those who remained, clinging to their obligations, or lost in solitary thoughts, lifted their eyes from their parchments and potions, intrigued by this eclectic assembly. Among them were resolute sorcerers, working until late hours, seeking inspiration or concentration in the silence of the night that the day denied them. Others chose solitude, having neither home nor loved ones to turn to after dusk. And then, there were those for whom every extra hour meant a little more gold in their purse, essential for the sustenance of their families.

But among these nocturnal figures, one group stood out distinctly: the Aurors. These guardians of magical law, always on alert, seemed to form an invisible circle of vigilance around the Atrium. Their presence was a constant reminder of the tension that weighed on the magical world, a tension that had increased since the rise of dark forces. Their scrutinizing gazes, accustomed to piercing the shadows in search of threats, rested on Dumbledore and his companions with an intensity mixed with respect and inquiry, aware of the importance of these visitors and the extraordinary events that must have brought them here at such a late hour.

Among the figures still moving in the vast Atrium of the Ministry, one man stood out with almost supernatural clarity, advancing towards the small group gathered around Dumbledore. He was a man whose appearance could leave no one indifferent, marked by the trials of life as much as by the battles he had fought. Once, his hair must have shone with a golden lustre, but the marks of time and battle had sown silver streaks in his locks, witnesses of his lifelong experience.

His face, a landscape of memories etched in flesh, bore the scars of duels, each cut telling a story of courage, even recklessness. The man had lost part of his nose in combat, giving him a fierce look, and his leg, replaced by a wooden limb carved in the shape of a claw, resonated on the marble with an almost hypnotic regularity.

But what captivated the most was his gaze. One eye, dark and scrutinizing, strikingly contrasted with the other, a magical eye of electric blue that had a life of its own, swivelling in all directions with insatiable curiosity. This unique eye had earned him the nickname "Mad-Eye," a moniker that, far from bothering him, he seemed to wear with pride.

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, for it was he, was a living legend within the magical community. Known for his boldness to the point of recklessness, his sagacity almost paranoia, he was the nightmare of dark forces, a formidable opponent that only the most powerful dark wizards had been able to mark with their dark spells. His approach did not go unnoticed, and a respectful silence fell among the sorcerers around, all aware of the living legend moving among them. Moody, though marked by trials, wore his wounds like medals of honour, each scar telling a story of courage and determination.

When he reached the group, his sole dark eye fixed on Dumbledore, while his magical eye continued its ceaseless vigilance. His voice, hoarse and imbued with undeniable authority, broke the silence.

"Albus, what a surprise to see you here at this hour. And with such companions," he said, nodding slightly towards Sirius, Hagrid, and the young Harry, still unaware of the history unfolding around him.

"Alastor, my dear friend, our presence here, unfortunately, does not stem from a social call," Dumbledore shared with an unusual gravity in his voice, gently rocking the young Harry, whose eyelids began to droop under the weight of sleep.

"What has happened to James and Lily? Weren't they supposed to be in hiding, safe with their child?" Moody inquired, his brow furrowed with worry and suspicion, his magical eye scanning the surroundings as if to detect a hidden threat.

"That is precisely why we are here, Alastor. Could you summon Millicent Bagnold? The situation is dire, and I fear my strength may start to wane. A brief respite would not go amiss," the wise man conceded, waving his wand to conjure four unequally comfortable armchairs: one for himself, lavishly upholstered; another, firmer one for Sirius, accustomed to the austerity of spartan comfort; a third, grand in size to accommodate Hagrid's stature; and the last, adorned with the Ministry's emblem, intended for the Minister herself.

"I do hope you'll have the decency to reserve a fifth one for me," Moody grumbled in his gruff tone, before heading towards the elevator, his limping stride echoing on the Ministry's floor. He gestured to the aurors to form a security perimeter around the group, ensuring their privacy and protection. The aurors, with impeccable discipline, promptly complied, forming an impenetrable human bulwark.

Albus, with a smile in response to Moody's remark, conjured a fifth armchair identical to his own, in anticipation of his return.

"By Merlin, what is all this commotion about?" inquired a strong, authoritative voice.

The man behind the query was Bartemius Crouch, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, whose black hair, meticulously groomed, was beginning to be touched with silver, while his impeccably trimmed mustache lent him an air of almost austere respectability. As a candidate in the upcoming ministerial election, his demeanor was that of a man of conviction, ready to uphold order and justice. By his side stood Amelia Bones, his staunch deputy, whose severe appearance was accentuated by a tight bun and a monocle that seemed to concentrate the intensity of her scrutinizing gaze. She was holding several files in her arms, likely cases she intended to work on at home.

"Bartemius, I assure you that our conversation will not be in vain," Dumbledore began with a reassuring smile, his eyes twinkling with wisdom and calm that seemed to soothe even the most troubled minds. "I would appreciate your patience until Milicent arrives. Your role in the unfolding events will undoubtedly be crucial."

As he spoke, Dumbledore made an elegant gesture with his wand, summoning two additional chairs to accommodate the newcomers. He didn't stop there; with the ease of years of practice, he also conjured a small coffee table adorned with a levitating teapot and cups that filled themselves with steaming tea.

"The situation demands our full attention, Bartemius," Dumbledore continued, as a cup of tea gently made its way to his lips, spreading a comforting aroma in the air.

The conversation was briefly interrupted by the questioning meow of the Potter's cat, drawing the attention of the assembly. With its half-Kneazle features and piercing gaze, the creature seemed to almost grasp the gravity of the situation.

"Ah, it seems our little companion is also thirsting for answers... or perhaps just for milk," Dumbledore quipped with a hint of humor. With another flick of his wand, he materialized a saucer of milk which the cat eagerly lapped up, lightening the charged atmosphere of the Atrium.

Despite the weighty circumstances, the wizards couldn't help but smile at the scene, a reminder that life went on, filled with small moments of joy even in the darkest of times.

The assembly's tranquility was broken when Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody made his entrance, his limping and determined stride heralding his return. He was not alone; a figure of elegance followed him, instantly drawing attention with her distinguished demeanor and natural charm. The young woman accompanying Moody contrasted the Auror's gruffness with her grace and refined beauty.

Her piercing steel-gray eyes sparkled with intelligence and resolve, while her dark chestnut hair, styled with care, framed her face in a way that highlighted both her authority and femininity. The young Minister of Magic, despite her youth, already carried the responsibilities of her office with an assurance that commanded respect.

Her Scottish plaid coat, vibrant with red and bold patterns, draped elegantly over her figure, while the pink shirt beneath added a touch of softness to her ensemble. The sapphire-encrusted clasp, taking the place of a traditional tie, added a touch of sophistication and originality to her look. A string of white pearls around her neck and matching earrings completed her outfit, giving the Minister an imposing yet approachable appearance.

Her presence in the Ministry's atrium, alongside figures such as Dumbledore, Sirius, and Hagrid, inevitably raised questions and piqued the curiosity of those present. Her youth, far from undermining her authority, seemed instead to add to the aura of novelty and hope she represented for the magical world in these troubled times.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore, Auror Black, Mr. Hagrid," the young woman greeted. "I understand my presence was required?"

"Good evening, Milicent," Dumbledore began with a warm smile, his eyes twinkling mischievously in the light of the atrium. "And please, remember that school formalities are behind us. Albus will do just fine."

Milicent Bagnold, the young Minister, offered a half-smile, amused by the familiarity her former mentor was keen on establishing between them, despite the respect she held for him. She settled comfortably into the designated armchair, her posture reflecting both her status and the lightness of their past relationship. Moody, meanwhile, took his seat with less grace, his wooden leg thumping against the floor, but with an efficiency that spoke of his long familiarity with emergency situations.

When the cup of tea reached her hands, Milicent accepted it gratefully, her gaze briefly resting on the sleeping child in Dumbledore's arms, a shiver of anticipation running through the assembly at the prospect of the revelations to come.

A palpable silence fell, each wizard present holding their breath, aware that the forthcoming words would carry the weight of events of paramount importance. In this suspended moment, no one seemed to notice the young blonde woman on the sidelines, a green quill in hand, ready to capture every word, every nuance, to etch them into magical history.

Albus Dumbledore took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping the audience with benevolence before settling on Milicent, signaling the start of a conversation that would undoubtedly mark a turning point in the magical world.

"Upon my return from the meeting with the International Confederation of Wizards, an alert from my enchantments drew my attention to an imminent peril threatening the Potter family at Godric's Hollow," he began, his voice filled with a solemnity that immediately captivated his audience. The despair in Sirius's eyes testified to the magnitude of the tragedy.

"To my dismay, upon arrival, I found Sirius, distraught and tear-filled, cradling an innocent soul in his arms, and Hagrid," continued Dumbledore, his expression a mix of sadness and resolve.

"You're referring to the dwelling protected by the Fidelius Charm, intended to shelter James Potter and his family?" inquired Bartemius Crouch, his expression suddenly sharpened.

His understanding of the situation was complete, having himself granted James a leave of absence to ensure his family's safety in the face of the growing threat from Voldemort.

"Indeed, upon my arrival, Sirius swiftly confirmed my darkest fears: Voldemort had attacked the Potters," Dumbledore softly acknowledged, affirming Bartemius's concerns.

The previously attentive audience was seized with horror. Whispers of surprise and disbelief spread among the wizards, the shock of this news echoing through the atrium.

"What I am about to reveal might seem like a tragedy we are unfortunately accustomed to, but it is not entirely so," Dumbledore continued, a melancholic smile playing on his lips. "Voldemort did indeed kill James and Lily, but, against all odds, his curse backfired when he attempted to target their young son, Harry. Yes, you heard correctly: Harry Potter survived the Killing Curse, and that night, Voldemort was defeated, at the cost of James and Lily's lives."

Dumbledore's revelation plunged the assembly into stunned silence, broken only by the distant echoes of the Atrium and the ragged breathing of those witnessing this historic announcement. Eyes turned to little Harry, nestled in the arms of the old sorcerer, an aura of innocence enveloping the new symbol of hope for the magical world.

Bartemius Crouch, usually so composed, seemed to struggle to grasp the full extent of the information revealed. The loss of James Potter, one of his most competent and brave Aurors, was a personal blow as well as a loss for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The death of Lily, known for her kindness and sharp intellect, added a tragic note to an already somber tale.

"But how is that possible?" inquired Milicent Bagnold, her voice betraying a mix of skepticism and wonder. "How could a child survive a curse that no one has ever countered?"

Dumbledore, his eyes filled with deep sadness mixed with a spark of pride, leaned forward slightly, as if to share a secret of the utmost importance.

"That is where the true miracle of that tragic night lies," he explained. "Lily's unconditional love for Harry created a protection that not even the most powerful wizard could penetrate. By sacrificing herself for her son, she gave him the most powerful shield."

A murmur ran through the assembly, each person reflecting on the power of maternal love and how it had shaped the course of history that night. Faces were marked by a mix of mourning for the lost lives and wonder at the miracle of Harry's survival.

"So, the 'Boy Who Lived' is among us," murmured Amelia Bones, her monocle catching the glow of the surrounding candles. Her usually stern and impenetrable gaze was softened by the emotion stirred by this extraordinary tale.

The Potter's cat, having finished its milk, nonchalantly rubbed against Dumbledore's legs, reminding everyone that, despite the darkness, life continued, carefree and filled with simple joys.

In the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, under the watchful gaze of the statues of great wizards from the past, a new chapter in magical history was being written, carried by the calm but firm voice of Albus Dumbledore. Suddenly, the general assembly was engulfed in an atmosphere transformed by transfigured voices. Cheers of joy and jubilation erupted, with wizards and witches overflowing with happiness at the thought that the era of terror orchestrated by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was coming to an end. On his part, Bartemius Crouch exchanged a complicit look with Amelia Bones, nodding slightly to signify their silent commitment: to track down the Death Eaters and deliver them to justice.

"Despite the severe toll of these dark times and the sacrifice of the Potters, I cannot help but feel a sense of relief knowing that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will no longer haunt us," Milicent Bagnold confided, a melancholic smile on her lips, while observing the young survivor with benevolent curiosity. "The name of this young hero will be celebrated in every corner of our world, and his fame will even cross our borders. After all, his threat extended to the old continent as well."

"What fate awaits our young prodigy?" pondered Amelia Bones, thoughtful about the tragic fate of the parents. "Sirius?"

The young man, once again plunged into the night's revelations, was pulled from his thoughts by the call of his superior and, for those in the know, his fiancée. Indeed, a betrothal contract, sealed by their families, bound Amelia Bones and Sirius Black, perpetuating an ancestral tradition among wizarding families. This was also the case for the union of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, Sirius's cousin. However, unlike their peers, Sirius and Amelia faced a complex dilemma. Sirius, a fervent proclaimer of his love for women, found himself developing feelings for his friend Remus, feelings that seemed to be reciprocated. As for Amelia Bones, her heart had initially leaned towards Regulus Black, Sirius's younger brother, who had disappeared under mysterious circumstances the previous year. Unfortunately, the betrothal contract was irrevocable, and Regulus's disappearance dashed any hope of him taking Sirius's place.

"I am his godfather, and it is my duty to look after my godson," retorted Sirius, standing up to receive the child from Dumbledore's arms. "I will raise him in the spirit of what James and Lily would have wanted."

"And we will be by your side to support you, my boy," Dumbledore added, entrusting the child to Sirius. "Let's not forget that he will be the prey of all of Voldemort's followers."

Dumbledore's words reminded everyone of the harsh reality. Although the dark wizard had been defeated, his followers were still wreaking havoc, spreading chaos and desolation. Would they surrender now that he was defeated? Or would they lose their minds and become uncontrollable? This prospect was terrifying, especially considering some of the Death Eaters, whose mental health was already precarious. Bellatrix Lestrange, born Black, was a perfect example, just like the Lestrange brothers...

"We must therefore organize a press conference to inform the magical community," announced Milicent, standing up. "Tomorrow, I will invite the journalists. Will you join us?"

"It would be prudent to hide Harry for now. Moreover, this night has exhausted us, and we are in great need of rest," Dumbledore replied, already planning to head to another level of the castle. "But before that, we need to consult an old friend for some questions."

"Who might that be?" asked Bartemius, suspicious.

"Elton Elderberry," Dumbledore replied, with an enigmatic smile.

Unaware of the true intention behind this visit, Bartemius stood up, signaling Moody and Amelia to follow him. "On that note, good night. Time is pressing, and we have much to do."

The group of Aurors gathered around him. The head of Magical Law Enforcement walked away, oblivious to the archivist's dark past, known only to the Ministers of Magic and the Chief Warlocks of the Wizengamot. Milicent, for her part, cast one last intrigued glance at Dumbledore before withdrawing. The group headed towards the nearest Ministry All-Purpose Room where Dumbledore knew his friend would be, not forgetting to pick up the cat that had once again ventured towards the milk bowl.

What they did not know was that an article would appear in the Daily Prophet the next morning, even before the press conference could be organized. Yes, Rita Skeeter was about to achieve the first great scoop of her career, and she was determined to closely follow the incredible story of the Boy-Who-Lived.

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