— Cassian, Felix! Drop everything, let's go get some lunch! — one of the construction workers called out to two men in their thirties.
— Oh, lunch already? — Felix wiped the sweat off his forehead from beneath his hard hat. Turning around, however, he noticed his buddy—who had been acting strange and gloomy for the past couple of days—was still silently working. — Cassian, lunch! — he slapped him on the shoulder, snapping him out of his thoughts.
— Huh? What?.. Oh, lunch already? Yeah, let's go, — Cassian took off his hard hat and ran a hand across his forehead.
— So, are you going to tell me what's been going on with you lately?
Cassian looked heavily at his friend:
— Just trouble at home.
Felix smirked and winked at him:
— What, did you manage to offend Maeve again? Admit it, are you sleeping on the couch again?
Cassian rolled his eyes and gave his friend a light shove on the shoulder with a chuckle:
— No, everything's fine with us. Let's go already.
But just as they headed toward the stairs to go down, a loud hooting of owls suddenly echoed over the construction site. Turning instantly toward the sound, they saw two owls rapidly swooping down toward them with letters in their talons.
— Hey... Is that owl post from the magical world?! — Felix whispered in surprise, unable to believe his eyes.
Cassian nodded silently, but unlike his enthusiastic friend, his expression darkened significantly. However, when the owls gently dropped the letters right into each of their hands, he calmed down slightly.
Cassian inspected the thick envelope: written in neat handwriting on it was only his name and nothing else. While he was trying to figure out what was happening and who could have tracked them down here, Felix had already impatiently torn open his envelope and started reading aloud:
— "Dear Mr. Baker, I have learned of your outstanding magical skills and high potential. In light of this, I would like to offer you official employment and long-term cooperation. I invite you to a personal meeting this Sunday at 10:00 AM. The meeting will take place in Diagon Alley: you need to find a building with a dark-blue door, located immediately to the right of Mulpepper's Apothecary. Everything will be explained to you in detail on-site. Victor Moss."
— Job? In the magical world?! And who on earth is this Victor Moss? I don't remember any wizard by that name... And most importantly—how did he find out about my magical skills? I haven't cast a spell in eight years. Cassian, what does yours say?
Cassian, who had already opened his envelope by this point, answered dryly:
— The exact same thing.
— So, are we going? — Felix looked at him hopefully.
However, Cassian merely gave his friend a heavy look and shook his head gloomily:
— If you want to go, go. But I'm not going to. I'm done with the magical world. I'm completely fine with my current job.
Without another word, he turned around and walked away.
Felix let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head. What could possibly be satisfying about hard physical labor as a construction worker on an average wage? Yet deep down, he understood his friend's feelings all too well.
They had both studied at and graduated from Hogwarts during those dark times when Voldemort ran rampant. Unable to find a place in the magical community and terrified to death of being caught by Death Eaters, they had simply fled to the Muggle world to lose themselves among ordinary people. Felix could still afford to take risks, but Cassian had a family: his beloved wife Maeve—a Muggle-born witch just like them—and a young daughter.
That evening, Cassian returned home. The moment he crossed the threshold, he shed his gloom and smiled genuinely:
— Daddy's home! Where's my little princess? — he called out loudly down the hallway.
— She's staying over at a friend's house today, — a soft female voice called back from the kitchen, and a second later Maeve stepped out to meet him.
— Welcome back! — she said with a warm smile, affectionately kissing her husband on the cheek and taking his work bag. — Go wash up and let's have dinner: I want to have a serious talk with you.
Cassian let out a heavy sigh:
— Ah-h-h... Did you buy another useless trinket for the house?
Maeve's eye twitched:
— First of all, it's not useless! And those plaster angels by the door are very cute and lovely, — she shook her head stubbornly. — And second of all, I think I found a new job.
The moment Cassian heard those words, his smile vanished. With a grim look, he pulled the envelope out of his pocket:
— You don't mean this, do you?
Maeve's eyes widened in surprise; she quickly snatched the letter from his hands and scanned the lines:
— Yes! I got the exact same one! Except I'm being invited because of my skills in Potions!
— Forget about it, Maeve. We don't need any of this, — Cassian cut in firmly.
— What?! But why?! Cassian, Voldemort vanished over ten years ago! Isn't this a wonderful chance for us to return to the wizarding world?! What about our daughter? Both her parents are magical. Don't you think she might inherit magic too?
Cassian stared at his wife in silence, then rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly:
— She doesn't need to inherit anything. She's already a witch, — he let out a heavy sigh.
— W-what?..
— A couple of days ago, she had her first accidental magic outbreak in her sleep, — Cassian admitted.
— And when were you planning to tell me about this?! — Maeve frowned at first, but seeing the exhausted look on her husband's face, she instantly softened.
— I just don't want her to suffer the same fate as you and me! — Cassian exhaled, pain evident in his voice. — What if a new Dark Lord rises tomorrow?! Understand me, Maeve, I'm just trying to protect our family... Protect my princess.
Maeve sighed quietly, stepped up to him, and gently wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest:
— But that's not for us to decide, darling. She's a witch, and she deserves to know about it. And I'm sorry... but I'm really tired too. I don't want to work at an ordinary post office for the rest of my life. I want to hold a wand again, brew potions, cast spells...
She softly pulled back and looked into his eyes:
— Alright, no need to rush into decisions. Sunday is still four days away. Let's just go and hear what this Mr. Moss has to offer. If there's even a single thing we don't like—we'll just turn around and leave. Deal? As for Astrid... we'll talk to her when she gets her Hogwarts letter. He-he-he! I can't wait to see her face when that happens!
While Cassian was frowning and pondering how to persuade his wife, the culprit behind all this commotion handed the final letter to an owl. Since early morning, owls had been flying out of Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts, scattering to every corner of England.
— That's all, this is the last one. Sixty in total, — Victor nodded with satisfaction.
Dumbledore glanced at him and flicked his hand: the Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance vanished back to their usual place, and the scrolls containing former students' grades scattered across the floor dissolved into thin air.
— You shouldn't raise your hopes too high. You know, many of those you wrote to fled into the Muggle world back when Voldemort was running rampant, — the Headmaster said calmly.
— Well, if even half of them respond and show up, that'll already be good.
Dumbledore nodded and suddenly looked at him intently:
— You do remember that I am still watching you closely, don't you?
Victor smiled and, walking closer, calmly sat down across from the Headmaster:
— Why watch me? I'm not doing anything wrong.
— Victor, I understand perfectly well that you are gathering loyal followers this way. Therefore, I want you to clearly realize: the moment I see you following in Tom's footsteps, I will stop you.
Victor chuckled softly as he looked at the Headmaster:
— Oh, come on! If I were planning something truly bad, you would have put a stop to me long ago. By the way... why aren't you stopping me and even helping instead? Hm-m... Grindelwald, right? He predicted something about me, didn't he? What exactly did he say? I'm genuinely curious.
Dumbledore looked at Victor and let out a heavy sigh:
— Where do you get all this information? I feel as though you can see the future yourself.
Victor waved it off dismissively:
— That doesn't matter. So what did Grindelwald predict?
Curiosity was truly eating away at him. However, Dumbledore merely shook his head:
— If I tell you, the future that suits me will change.
Victor frowned, but quickly caught the Headmaster's logic: if Victor wasn't satisfied with the predicted outcome, he was more than capable of rewriting everything in his own way. Nodding understandingly, the boy stopped pestering him with questions.
Truth be told, what happens in the distant future isn't that important anyway. There's no point in constantly trying to peer ahead: even if you alter a single detail, a whole new, completely unknown future emerges. All the problems that arise down the road can be left to future-Victor with a light heart.
Yet right now, he realized what colossal capabilities Dumbledore possessed. The Headmaster only needed to subtly nudge the setup on the board—and the entire game would follow the scenario he desired. Move a small, insignificant pawn and watch the result... and keep moving those pawns until the outcome fully satisfied him.
Suddenly, Victor turned serious. An anxious thought flashed through his mind: did Dumbledore still have to die for Harry to win, or had Victor's appearance in this world changed everything?
— Do you want me to help you deal with Voldemort? — he asked unexpectedly. — Believe me, I have every capability to do so.
Dumbledore was surprised—not so much by Victor claiming so effortlessly that he could destroy the Dark Lord, but by the serious expression on his face.
— And how do you plan to do that? — the Headmaster asked softly.
— I can destroy all his Horcruxes, — Victor replied calmly.
— That is impossible, — Dumbledore shook his head.
Victor frowned at first, but then quickly guessed why the Headmaster rejected his idea:
— Well yeah, let me rephrase that: I can destroy all the Horcruxes except the one inside Harry. And as for Potter, we'll figure something out.
Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh. Here it was again: Victor had once more voiced something he shouldn't have even suspected.
— Victor, I do not fully understand your motives... But I strongly ask you not to interfere. When one Horcrux is destroyed, the remaining ones only grow stronger. Voldemort is my personal curse, one that I cultivated myself long ago. Therefore, this is entirely my responsibility.
Victor looked at him silently for a long moment, then nodded. But thanks to this conversation, he had learned something new: destroying each Horcrux empowered the remaining fragments of Voldemort's soul. Now it made sense why Dumbledore had allowed him to be resurrected!
He couldn't allow the Horcruxes to gain strength while one of them was still inside Harry Potter. And after the Phoenix Cup, instead of the Horcruxes, Voldemort himself grew stronger with every soul fragment. Victor also understood why Dumbledore, in the original timeline, had struggled while protecting Harry from Voldemort and ultimately let himself be killed: it wasn't about the ring's curse or the Elder Wand, but calculated strategy. By doing so, Dumbledore gave Voldemort the courage to step out of the shadows and act openly, rather than continuing to hide and build up his power.
— Very well, — Victor said, rising from his chair. — But don't do anything foolish. If you're no longer around... I can't promise I'll be able to hold myself back from turning into a disaster far worse than Grindelwald ever was.