---
Professor McGonagall's lips trembled, as if she wished to say more, but Dumbledore had already strode towards the door.
Before closing it, he looked back at her and nodded.
"Albus..." Professor McGonagall's voice caught in her throat, dissolving into a sigh. "This isn't just your responsibility..."
At that moment, she suddenly realised that the man she had revered for half a lifetime was now a weary old soul. His shoulders were slightly stooped, as if an invisible burden weighed heavily upon them.
His footsteps gradually faded down the corridor, leaving Professor McGonagall alone in the quiet Headmaster's office, where the portraits of old headmasters were uncharacteristically silent. Only the ticking of silver instruments marked the passage of time.
---
As Dumbledore stepped out of the Hogwarts gates, the storm raged even more fiercely.
Icy rain lashed against his face, streaming down the folds of his travelling cloak.
The castle lights behind him gradually blurred, becoming flickering yellow specks.
"Fawkes," he murmured softly, his voice almost swallowed by the wind and rain.
The phoenix landed on his shoulder, its warm feathers gently brushing his cheek, steaming away the surrounding rain and forming a misty halo of light, creating a rain-free space for Dumbledore.
A flash of fire, and they vanished, leaving only a few golden afterimages slowly dissipating in the rain.
---
London's night was drenched in rain. On the streets of Westminster, the dim streetlights looked like inkblots blurred by water.
Dumbledore stood beneath an awning, watching the rain form tiny whirlpools in the storm drains on the asphalt, swallowing fallen leaves and dust.
"Time for a rest, Fawkes," he whispered, carefully tucking the phoenix into his inner pocket. Fawkes obediently shrank, becoming a bird the size of an ordinary robin, gently nuzzling his fingers in the pocket.
Dumbledore adjusted his cloak and stepped into the fine drizzle. He seemed to merge with the rain, becoming a part of the city's night.
He walked forward, his pace unhurried, his boots making faint sounds as they stepped into puddles, yet miraculously, not a single splash was made.
Muggles carrying umbrellas rushed past him, strangely veering around him, as if subconsciously sensing a presence they shouldn't disturb.
A lady with a shopping bag suddenly changed course, nearly bumping into a lamppost; two boys heading home simultaneously split up, circling him from either side, yet not knowing why they did so.
Dumbledore kept his wand hidden in his sleeve, ready for any sudden event, but on the surface, he merely seemed like an old man strolling in the rain, perhaps an eccentric scholar, a reclusive hermit.
He continued to search for traces of magic on the street, his eyes scanning every corner, sensing any unusual fluctuations in the air.
Soon, Dumbledore turned into a residential area.
---
Turning the street corner, the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted from a bakery.
Through the misty window, Dumbledore saw the baker's family gathered around a small table in the back room. The father was telling a funny story, the two children were laughing so hard they nearly fell over, and the mother was spooning hot stew into sunflower-patterned bowls.
These ordinary scenes felt so distant from him, as if they belonged to another world entirely.
His fingers unconsciously traced the long-healed scar on his twisted nose. How many years had it been? He had always protected other people's families, yet he could never mend his own broken one.
He simply walked alone on the street, passing one intersection after another. Nothing here belonged to him; to be precise, in this world, apart from the feasts at Hogwarts, he had no other opportunities to share meals with his family.
Aberforth, his brother, though a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore knew he had never forgiven him.
"We are merely fighting the same enemy," Aberforth had once told him in the dim light of the Hog's Head Inn, his blue eyes, so like Dumbledore's, devoid of any warmth. "I sincerely hope you understand that."
Dumbledore certainly understood. Aberforth fought Voldemort not because Dumbledore was his brother, but simply because Aberforth was a man of justice. He could not bear the tragedies of parents and children separated by Voldemort, just as he did not wish to recall his own separation from his siblings all those years ago.
He shook his head, dispelling these untimely memories.
---
The rain gradually lessened. Dumbledore left Westminster and arrived at another village in England where Muggles had recently gone missing.
The disorienting sensation of Apparition had not fully faded when he smelled the damp earth and grass.
The night in Badgley Barbeton village was peaceful, as if nothing had happened, save for the missing person posters plastered on lamp posts and scattered on the ground, already soaked by the rain.
The edges of the paper were swollen and curled, the faces in the photographs blurred by water, barely recognisable.
Dumbledore paused, reaching out to smooth a paper blown by the wind. The poster showed the smiling faces of a couple and their three children.
The eldest daughter looked old enough for secondary school, already as tall as her mother; the little girl, about eight, wore two small braids; the boy looked even younger, missing a front tooth, grinning foolishly at the camera. Their entire family had disappeared three days ago.
"The Carters," Dumbledore murmured softly. "Last seen in their own garden—" His voice trailed off. The rain had blurred the colours of the children's smiling faces in the photo, like memories washed away.
Unconsciously, Dumbledore found himself outside a modest brick house. From the mailbox by the door, he knew this was the Carters' home.
In the small garden in front of the brick house, a plastic pinwheel spun weakly in the rain, occasionally letting out a creak. The windows were dark, frost condensed on the glass; police tape still cordoned off the house, the yellow and black strips fluttering in the wind with faint flapping sounds.
"Revelio—Homenum Revelio—Specialis Revelio—" A string of spells flowed from his lips.
The tip of his wand glowed with a faint blue light, but extinguished in an instant. No traces of Dark magic, no signs of struggle; the house seemed to have been Obliviated, even the air didn't remember that life had once resided there.
Dumbledore wandered from city to city, passed street after street, looked into window after window.
---
On Spinner's End, he saw a police car parked by the roadside.
Mist condensed on the car windows, vaguely revealing two blurred figures. Dumbledore slowed his pace, listening to their conversation. "—I'm telling you, this is definitely an organised kidnapping." The young police officer, his face indignant, took a fierce bite of his hamburger, ketchup staining his uniform. "Eight people, overnight!"
"I've never seen a case like this," the older police officer said, his face troubled, squinting at the world outside the car window. He rubbed his temples wearily. "No forced entry, no fingerprints, and the street's CCTV only shows them returning home normally—then they just vanished like thin air.
"These bastards," the young officer clenched his fist. "Don't let me get my hands on them!"
"Perhaps we should pray we don't encounter them," the older officer chuckled bitterly, a laugh imbued with fears the younger man didn't yet understand. "We don't even know if they're human or ghosts." He lowered his voice. "The chief got a call from up top this morning, asking us to stop the investigation, you understand what I mean?"
After pausing by the police car for a moment, Dumbledore finally felt a faint magical fluctuation in the darkness.
Not far off, he saw two individuals dressed similarly to him, cloaked in black. They stood in the shadows of the street corner, their silver masks reflecting a cold light.
The two openly surveyed the surrounding houses. Seeing the police car's emblem, they even approached it, circling it disdainfully, remarking on the Muggles' law enforcement's incompetence.
Their laughter was as grating as scraping metal.
"Look at these Muggle protectors," the male Death Eater sneered, tapping the police car window with his wand. The police inside looked out in confusion. "Calling themselves 'Bobbies,' yet they can't even see us right in front of them."
"Stop playing," another female voice warned, raspier, as if her vocal cords had been scorched. "The Master wants fresh material, not your playtime."
Dumbledore, concealed by a Disillusionment Charm, quietly followed them.
---
Finally, they stopped outside a small, lit house nearby—"25 Spinner's End, the Wells family."
Through the curtains, Dumbledore saw a young woman busy in the kitchen, her husband sitting on the sofa reading a newspaper, and two small boys building blocks on the carpet.
The warm scene of an ordinary family, yet it made the Death Eaters smile like predators.
"This is the one," the lead female Death Eater said, her voice filled with cruel excitement. "Two adults, two children, that'll save us a lot of trouble."
A red light flashed, wood splinters flew. But the explosive light was swallowed by magic, and the street remained quiet. The police car on the corner also remained motionless.
The Death Eaters stepped over the threshold and entered the house.
Standing at the front door, Dumbledore could see the occupants screaming, but no sound reached his ears.
He skirted around a few Death Eaters, and only then did he hear their voices.
"Who are you—" Mrs. Wells's voice was twisted with fear, her fingers gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, her knuckles white.
Mr. Wells stood up, shielding his children, grabbing a vase as a weapon, though his legs trembled slightly.
A laugh emanated from beneath the male Death Eater's mask. The vase in Mr. Wells's hand turned into a squeaking, scrambling mouse.
"Ah—" he shrieked, flinging the mouse away. But he did not move his feet, still shielding his children.
His voice trembled. "What do you want? Please, at least spare the children—"
"Muggle children will always be Muggles," the male Death Eater sneered, pointing his wand directly at Mr. Wells. "You should feel honoured, you filthy pig."
The Death Eaters expertly stunned the family and then bound them like livestock.
"Another batch of goods," the male Death Eater let out another grating laugh, saying in a hoarse voice, "The Master will be pleased. Do you think this time we'll get a chance to learn a few little tricks?"
"Stop babbling," the witch snapped impatiently, waving her wand. "Even if the Muggle law enforcement here is useless, being discovered is still troublesome."
Dumbledore's fingers lightly stroked the Elder Wand; he still made no move. Fawkes stirred slightly in his pocket, seemingly sensing the turmoil within him.
He stood in the shadows, calmly observing every movement of the two Death Eaters. He didn't want to do this, but this time, he had no other choice.
It wasn't time yet. He could easily dispatch these two Death Eaters and save the family. But then it would be difficult to find out where the other missing people had been taken, and what Voldemort was truly doing.
Sometimes, for the greater good, one might have to endure the present evil.
As the Death Eaters' magic took effect, everything damaged in the Wells' home was restored, all traces of destruction silently erased.
"I really don't understand why the Master wants us to clear traces," the male Death Eater grumbled, kicking a building block with his foot. "These are such beautiful trophies."
"Shut up," the lead female Death Eater said, pulling out a small black vial. "Portkey, take it. Activate it in half a minute," she commanded. "You go first; I'll look for a few more Muggles."
Dumbledore quickly made a decision. He stealthily approached, and before the Portkey activated, he slipped a phoenix feather into Mr. Wells's coat pocket.
The male Death Eater and the captured Wells family vanished.
In the empty house, only Dumbledore and the female Death Eater remained in the living room.
The boy's building blocks were still on the floor; the half-finished tower collapsed with a gentle tap from the witch's wand.
"A few hundred more, and the Master's needs will be met," she said, removing her mask and taking a deep breath, revealing a young but cruel face.
Dumbledore then recognised her as the Selwyn daughter—the Slytherin who had transfigured a Fwooper into a music box during her O.W.L.s.
At that time, though arrogant, her eyes still held a pure love for magic. Now, a strange piety hung on her face, and she murmured to the empty room, "It won't be long until we no longer have to hide—"
After clearing the last traces and leaving the Wells' home, Selwyn carefully selected a new target.
Muggle families were helpless before her wand. Dumbledore again left a phoenix feather on the victim.
He knew he couldn't wait any longer. All across the country, many Death Eaters must be at work. Perhaps it wouldn't be long until they had captured enough Muggles.
After Selwyn left with her prey, Dumbledore sensed the direction of Fawkes' feather.
He closed his eyes, letting the phoenix's magic guide him.
Support me by leaving a comment, voting, and visiting myPat-reon at ilham20