The journey from King's Cross to Gringotts was a short, jarring walk through two colliding worlds. One moment, Ariana was surrounded by the mundane grime and diesel fumes of London; the next, she had passed through the Leaky Cauldron's unassuming entrance and was once again immersed in the chaotic, vibrant magic of Diagon Alley. The change no longer felt surreal; it felt like coming home.
She walked with a serene purpose, her trunk gliding smoothly behind her, a small, wandless charm keeping it tethered to her will. The usual boisterous crowd of the Alley parted before her almost unconsciously, sensing the aura of quiet, unshakable confidence she projected.
Gringotts stood as imposing as ever, its white marble columns gleaming in the summer sun. Inside, the cool, calculating atmosphere was unchanged. Goblins weighed jewels and scribbled in ledgers, their dark, intelligent eyes missing nothing. Ariana did not approach a teller. Dumbledore's instructions had been specific. She walked directly to the main podium, where an old, particularly stern-looking goblin oversaw the floor.
"I have a letter from Albus Dumbledore for the Head Goblin," she stated, her voice calm and clear, betraying none of the awe or fear most wizards felt in this place.
The goblin looked up, his expression one of weary impatience. His eyes fell on the Dumbledore family crest on the envelope she held, and his demeanor shifted infinitesimally. He gave a curt, sharp nod. "Follow me."
She was led away from the main hall, down a corridor of polished obsidian, to a set of imposing iron doors. The goblin ushered her inside a grand, circular office. Seated behind a massive, darkwood desk was a goblin whose age was impossible to guess. He had a face like a weathered stone carving, long, clever fingers, and eyes that held the accumulated sharpness of centuries of dealing with wizards' follies. His nameplate identified him as Ragnok, Director of Gringotts, London.
"You have a letter for me, Miss Dumbledore?" Ragnok said, his voice like the chink of gold coins in a deep vault.
Ariana presented the letter. Ragnok broke the seal with a long, sharp fingernail and read the contents, his dark eyes flickering across the page. When he finished, he looked up at her, a new, profound interest in his gaze.
"A most… unusual request from the Headmaster," he mused. "He places a great deal of trust in you. He has authorized a full disclosure of your familial accounts and status." He tapped a sharp finger on a ledger beside him. "You are, of course, aware of your lineage?"
"I am aware that my father was from a Squib line of the Dumbledore family," she replied.
"A simplification," Ragnok said with a toothy, unsmiling grin. "Your paternal great-grandfather was Credence Barebone, adopted into a side branch of the Dumbledore family before his magic manifested… explosively. He was, for a time, an immensely powerful Obscurial. His partner," Ragnok's eyes gleamed with the pleasure of revealing a hidden secret, "was a Maledictus. A woman named Nagini."
The name landed in the quiet office with a soft thud. Nagini. The future Horcrux of Lord
Voldemort. Ariana's composure remained absolute, but her mind raced, connecting disparate pieces of lore. A Maledictus was a carrier of a blood curse that would eventually turn them permanently into a beast. It explained so much—the deep, primal nature of her own magic, its intuitive, elemental feel. She had the blood of an Obscurial and a Maledictus in her veins, tempered and refined through generations into something stable, powerful, and unique.
"This lineage has left you with a rather… singular inheritance," Ragnok continued. He slid a heavy, leather-bound book across the desk. It was a Gringotts family registry. He opened it to a page detailing her line. There it was: Credence Barebone, married to Nagini. Their children, their grandchildren, and finally, her own parents.
"Credence Barebone, before his… disappearance… had a vault established in his name, whether by himself... or someone else, no one knows. The Barebone Vault. It has lain dormant for decades. As his last living magical descendant, it falls to you. It contains not gold, but his personal effects, research, and several artifacts of considerable power and obscurity. It is now yours."
Ariana simply nodded. It was not a prize to be celebrated, but a resource to be managed. "I see."
Ragnok looked at her, clearly impressed by her lack of a childish reaction. "Indeed. Now, to the matter of the Portkey." He snapped his fingers, and another goblin entered, carrying a small, velvet pouch. Ragnok took it and tipped its contents onto his desk. It was a simple, smooth, grey river stone. "This Portkey will activate once, upon your touch, in precisely five minutes. It will take you to your summer residence. The return has not been arranged. We await further instruction at the end of the summer."
"Thank you, Director Ragnok," Ariana said, accepting the stone.
"It is our business, Miss Dumbledore," he replied with another sharp grin. "We trust you will be a… valuable client."
She was escorted back to a private waiting chamber. As the final seconds ticked away, she placed her hand on the smooth, cool stone. The world dissolved in a nauseating, violent wrench behind her navel, a whirlwind of colour and sound that was over as quickly as it began.
Her feet hit soft grass with a gentle thump. She was standing in a sun-drenched garden, the air thick with the scent of lavender, thyme, and a dozen other herbs she couldn't immediately identify.
The house before her was not a grand manor, but a rambling, ancient cottage made of warm, honey-coloured stone, covered in climbing roses and ivy. It looked as though it had grown out of the earth itself, and it hummed with a magic so old and gentle it felt like the slow breathing of the land.
The door opened, and a man and a woman stepped out. They looked impossibly old and impossibly young all at once. Their faces were lined with the faint, spidery wrinkles of extreme age, but their eyes were bright and clear, and their movements were spry and energetic. The man had kind, intelligent eyes and a warm smile. The woman radiated a serene, powerful grace.
"Welcome, Ariana," the man said, his voice warm and kind. "I am Nicolas. And this is my wife, Perenelle."
"We are so very pleased to finally meet you," Perenelle added, her smile as gentle as a summer breeze. "Albus has told us a great deal. Please, come in. Your summer of study is about to begin."
That summer was a lifetime.
It was an existence completely removed from the world. There were no owls, no Daily Prophet, no contact with her friends. It was a hermetically sealed sanctuary of pure knowledge. The Flamels were not teachers in the Hogwarts sense; they were mentors, guides. They saw her innate ability to weave magic not as a curious talent, a party trick, but as the foundation of all high magic.
Nicolas taught her the true meaning of alchemy. It was not about creating gold; it was about understanding the fundamental essence, the prima materia, of all things. Under his tutelage, she learned to deconstruct objects not just by transfiguration, but by understanding their very soul, their metaphysical blueprint. Her ability to 'weave' became infinitely more refined. She learned to mend broken objects not by repairing them, but by persuading them to remember their state of wholeness.
Perenelle, a Mistress of Potions and Charms whose skill dwarfed even Snape's, taught her about the subtle art of will-based magic. She helped Ariana move beyond the crutch of incantations and wand movements, teaching her to channel her Intentio directly into the Anima Mundi. Ariana's magic became truly silent, truly effortless, an extension of her own thoughts.
Midnight, her shadow panther, thrived. The Flamels recognized her immediately. "Ah, a creature of the void," Nicolas had mused. "Drawn to a soul with a similar depth." In the magical safety of the cottage, Midnight spent her days in her full panther form, a silent, violet-eyed guardian who seemed to listen intently to the lessons alongside Ariana.
Their quiet life was occasionally punctuated by visitors. Bathilda Bagshot, ancient and wizened, came for tea, her mind still a razor-sharp repository of history. She spoke to Ariana of the Dumbledores she had known—of Kendra and Percival, and of the tragic, fragile first Ariana. She spoke of Albus's brilliant, tortured youth and his fateful friendship with Gellert Grindelwald. It was not gossip; it was a history lesson delivered by a primary source.
One sun-drenched afternoon, Newt Scamander visited, his case full of wondrous beasts. He was old now, his movements slow, but his eyes lit up with a boyish wonder when he saw Midnight. He and Ariana needed no words; they shared a silent, profound understanding of the magical world's creatures. He spoke of his friendship with Credence, of Nagini's tragic curse, filling in the gaps of Ariana's own history with a gentle, sorrowful empathy.
The summer passed like a dream. Ariana's power did not just grow; it deepened, matured, settled into a core of absolute, quiet confidence. She was no longer just a gifted child. She was becoming a true adept.
When the end of August arrived, Perenelle handed her a small, silver locket. "A Portkey, my dear. It will take you to the Leaky Cauldron, one day before the term begins. Albus felt you would appreciate time for your shopping."
Ariana arrived in Diagon Alley feeling like a different person. The world seemed louder, more chaotic, more… breakable. She walked with the same serene grace, but now there was a palpable weight to her presence, a stillness that was not just calm, but powerful.
She made her way to Flourish and Blotts, knowing it would be the most likely place to find her friend. The bookshop was in a state of utter pandemonium. A crowd was gathered around a dashing, peacock-blue wizard with dazzlingly white teeth: Gilderoy Lockhart. Ariana ignored the spectacle completely, her eyes scanning the stacks for a familiar bushy-haired figure.
She found her in the theory section. "Hermione."
Hermione whirled around, her face breaking into a smile of pure, unadulterated joy and relief. "Ariana! You're here! I was so worried! I sent owls all summer, but they all came back! I thought something had happened!" She threw her arms around Ariana in a fierce hug.
"I was… in a place where owls could not find me," Ariana said, returning the hug gently. "I am fine. More than fine. It is good to see you."
When they broke apart, Hermione's face grew serious. "It's a good thing you're here. It's been a complete nightmare. We only just arrived. We were supposed to meet Harry with the Weasleys here, but he never showed up at the floopoint. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are in a complete panic. They're searching everywhere. Harry's lost."