The morning was soft and golden, dew glistening on the meadow grass. The air carried the quiet hum of summer and the faint chirp of birds.
Albus Dumbledore sat cross-legged on a woolen blanket, his half-moon spectacles catching the sunlight. Before him, a young boy struggled to steady his breathing.
"Come on, Neville," Dumbledore urged gently, the corners of his mouth lifting. "Concentrate a little more. Try once again."
Neville Longbottom nodded, his cheeks flushed. He was round-faced and nervous, a boy whose hands trembled when holding his wand — a wand that glowed faintly at the touch, as though unsure of its owner.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he said, his voice trembling.
The feather in front of him trembled too, then — with a sudden jerk — lifted off the ground and hovered in the air. Neville gasped in wonder, his eyes wide.
From the sidelines, Frank and Alice Longbottom clapped with delight, pride shining on their faces.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore said, clapping as well. "You see, Neville? All you needed was belief."
Neville grinned shyly. The feather floated a few more seconds before drifting down, and he let out a breathless laugh.
Dumbledore's eyes softened behind his spectacles. "You are doing wonderfully, my boy. I am getting older now, and one day the world will need someone strong and brave. Someone who can protect it after I am gone."
Neville frowned. "Why are you saying that, Professor? Didn't I already defeat You-Know-Who?"
Dumbledore hesitated. For a moment, a shadow crossed his face, but he did not correct him.
"You did," he said quietly. "But evil never stays buried for long. Others will rise to replace him, wearing different faces."
Neville blinked. "Like who?"
Dumbledore looked toward the horizon, his voice low. "There is talk of a man called Lord Blackfyre. He moves unseen, and his power… it is unlike anything I have witnessed since Grindelwald's time."
Neville's brow furrowed. "Then I'll defeat him too," he said earnestly. "Just like I defeated You-Know-Who."
Frank chuckled proudly from behind. "That's my boy."
Alice smiled through her tears, whispering, "Our brave little hero."
Dumbledore smiled too — but his eyes, a clear shade of troubled blue, lingered on the rising sun.
The living room of Longbottom Manor was warm and bright, with the scent of fresh flowers drifting in from the garden. Yet, after Neville vanished into the green flames of the Floo, the warmth seemed to fade. Frank and Alice exchanged uneasy glances — something in Dumbledore's tone earlier still lingered in their minds.
Frank leaned forward. "Albus… who is this Lord Blackfyre? You sounded worried."
Dumbledore's expression turned grave. The old wizard folded his hands on his lap before answering. "Do you remember the tragedy at Hartland Harbour? The one the Prophet called the 'dragon incident'?"
Alice nodded. "Yes — we read about it. They said a dragon broke loose during a creature-trafficking operation. Hundreds dead."
Dumbledore sighed. "That's the official version. But it wasn't a dragon rampage — it was a man. He infiltrated the ring, slew every trafficker — Celtigar and his entire syndicate — and freed hundreds of magical creatures. Whether he rescued them or merely moved them elsewhere, no one knows. He left nothing but ash and fear behind."
Frank frowned. "One man… destroyed all of Celtigar's operation?"
"Above two hundred men," Dumbledore said quietly. "And few survived. Witnesses speak of green smoke and darkness — of a figure who vanished atop a dragon's back. He calls himself Lord Blackfyre. He owns a hotel in Knockturn Alley, of all places."
Alice's face paled. "So he's… another Dark Lord?"
"That," Dumbledore admitted, "is what I cannot tell. Perhaps he's a crusader who despises slavers. Or perhaps he simply eliminated rivals. But power on that scale rarely stays benign. Imagine it, my friends — a Dark Lord who commands a dragon."
For a long moment, only the crackle of the hearth filled the room.
Frank exhaled slowly. "Neville's still a child, Albus. He talks about fighting Dark Lords as if it's a game."
Alice's eyes softened, watching the empty fireplace through which her son had just vanished. "He believes he's the Chosen One. It's all he's ever heard since the night Voldemort fell."
Dumbledore's gaze turned distant, the sunlight from the window glinting off his half-moon spectacles. "Fame can be a blessing — and a curse. Let us hope it doesn't blind him to the dangers ahead… especially now that Lord Blackfyre walks the world."
The air shimmered with sudden warmth, and a brilliant ball of fire erupted in the middle of the Longbottoms' living room. The flames pulsed once before folding in on themselves — revealing a majestic crimson phoenix.
"Fawkes," Dumbledore murmured, instantly recognizing his companion. The bird let out a soft, melodic trill before lowering its golden beak and dropping a small scroll onto Dumbledore's lap.
Breaking the seal, Dumbledore read quickly. His face brightened, though his eyes flickered with concern.
"It's from Minerva," he said, looking up. "Remus Lupin has arrived at Hogwarts."
Frank raised an eyebrow. "Remus Lupin?"
"Yes," Dumbledore replied. "He's finally returned." Then he sighed, folding the letter neatly. "And I must return as well. There's much to discuss with him."
Alice frowned softly. "That's not the only reason, is it?"
The old wizard smiled faintly — the kind of smile that meant he had far more on his mind than he'd ever say aloud.
"You're right, Alice. After meeting Lupin, I'll be paying a visit to the Zeus Hotel this evening."
"Zeus Hotel?" Frank asked, leaning forward. "Isn't that the place you mentioned — where this Lord Blackfyre operates?"
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. But we're not going there to investigate him. We're going there to rescue someone."
"Rescue?" Alice asked, her tone sharp with worry. "Who?"
Dumbledore looked between the two Longbottoms. "A young man who has found himself living in Knockturn Alley without any of us realizing it."
Frank's brow furrowed. "And who might that be?"
"Harry Potter," Dumbledore said quietly.
Alice's face drained of color. "Harry? But I thought… I thought he was still with his Muggle relatives!"
"So did I," Dumbledore admitted gravely. "But my sources say otherwise. Somehow, he's been living among wizards — in the most dangerous district of all — for a while."
Frank stood abruptly, his chair scraping the floor. "Then we're coming with you. I won't sit idly while James and Lily's boy is trapped in a den of criminals."
Alice nodded firmly. "If someone took him there, I want to know who — and why."
Dumbledore gave a small nod, Fawkes letting out a soft cry from the mantel.
"Very well," he said. "Prepare yourselves. Tonight, we go to Knockturn Alley."
And as the phoenix's fire dimmed, the sunlight caught in Dumbledore's glasses — a glint of both hope and fear.
For the boy who lived in shadow… the world was about to come knocking.
The green flames of the Floo Network died down as Albus Dumbledore stepped into his circular office. The familiar scent of parchment and lemon drops filled the air — but something else was here too: anger.
Standing near the window, his arms crossed and jaw tight, was Remus Lupin. His shabby coat looked worn from travel, and the cold air clung to him like a ghost.
"Remus!" Dumbledore greeted warmly, brushing soot from his robes. "How glad I am to see you back."
But Remus didn't smile. His voice trembled with restrained fury.
"They allowed the Dursleys custody of Harry. You promised me, Albus. You promised Harry would be safe."
Dumbledore's expression dimmed.
"Remus—"
"Don't Remus me," Lupin snapped. "Now I'm hearing he's been living in Knockturn Alley — of all places! Do you have any idea what kind of filth lurks there? What were you thinking, Dumbledore?"
For a moment, the only sound was the ticking of a silver device puffing smoke beside Dumbledore's desk. The headmaster sighed and gestured toward a chair.
"Please, sit. You have every right to be angry. I had no idea where Harry was until recently. I… failed to keep my promise to you."
Remus didn't sit. His eyes burned gold for a moment — a trace of the wolf within him flashing through.
"You didn't just fail me, Albus. You failed James and Lily."
Dumbledore's shoulders slumped beneath his midnight robes. "Perhaps I did."
He looked up again, more serious now.
"But that is why I called you here. We will go to Knockturn Alley this evening — together — to see if he truly is there."
Remus frowned, pacing the floor. "Evening? Why not now?"
"Because the Longbottoms wish to join us," Dumbledore replied. "And because going there unprepared would be reckless. Knockturn Alley is not the same as it once was. It's crawling with new powers — and they may not welcome uninvited guests."
Remus clenched his fists but finally nodded. "Fine. But if Harry is there, I'm taking him out tonight."
"You'll have my full support," Dumbledore said quietly. "But tread carefully, Remus. The alley has changed… and I fear Harry may have changed with it."
The phoenix, perched on its golden stand, let out a soft, sorrowful note — as if mourning what was about to unfold.
The moment Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, and the Longbottoms stepped out from Diagon Alley's side arch into Knockturn Alley, they stopped in their tracks.
This was not the Knockturn Alley they remembered.
Where once there had been flickering lamps, suspicious figures, and whispered trades of dark objects, now there was life. The cobblestones were swept clean. Lanterns glowed with soft yellow fire. And the streets — normally haunted and silent — were crowded.
Children ran laughing between the stalls, their laughter echoing down the alley where, just a few years ago, such carelessness would've meant certain doom. Wizards haggled at open-air stands selling trinkets and rare potions. An old witch sold pies from a floating tray; a group of teens cast spark-illusion shows by a fountain that hadn't existed before.
The place was still dark, yes — the shadows clung to its corners — but the darkness felt different now, disciplined. Controlled.
Frank Longbottom looked around in disbelief. "Merlin's beard… this can't be the same street. I remember coming here once for a raid — there were bodies in the gutters!"
Alice nodded slowly. "It's… organized. Someone's brought order to Alley."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed behind his half-moon spectacles. "Indeed. Someone has done much more than that, Alice. Someone has civilized it."
Remus suddenly stopped. His eyes caught a familiar face behind the counter of a tidy, well-stocked shop labeled 'Keller's Curios'.
"That's Sam Keller," he muttered, his brow furrowing. "I know him."
Frank turned. "A friend?"
Remus hesitated. "A werewolf. Fenrir Greyback once tried to recruit his pack during the war. But Sam refused to fight for either side — he said both treated our kind like beasts. I never saw him again after that."
Through the shop window, Sam Keller was smiling and talking with a young witch, both laughing over some enchanted trinket. The sight was almost surreal.
Dumbledore's tone softened. "Perhaps he found something worth building for."
They moved on, passing more unexpected sights — a toy shop glittering with charmed puppets, an enchantment store lined with silver runes, and even a cozy café named The Midnight Cup, filled with wizards reading quietly under the lamplight.
When they reached the far end of the alley, a massive black-and-gold sign loomed above them — ZEUS HOTEL, the letters shimmering with restrained power. The entranceway was carved of polished marble, guarded by twin obsidian serpents that coiled along the pillars.
As they stepped inside, even Dumbledore paused. The lobby was magnificent — chandeliers of crystal starlight, floors inlaid with glowing sigils, and portraits of dignified wizards and witches bowing in greeting. The air smelled faintly of jasmine and parchment.
Alice whispered, "This place… feels like it belongs in another world."
Frank muttered under his breath, "No wonder the Ministry can't find half the people hiding here. Whoever owns this place has more money and magic than sense."
Dumbledore's eyes, however, gleamed with quiet intrigue.
"No," he said softly. "He has purpose. The question is — whose purpose does he serve?"
The moment Dumbledore approached the reception desk, the two Veelas sitting there straightened up politely. Their silver hair shimmered under the crystal lights of the lobby.
"Good evening," Dumbledore began kindly. "I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts. I'm looking for a boy named Harry Potter."
One of the Veela — a young woman with soft lilac eyes — blinked in surprise. "Harry Potter? Oh, you mean Harry, he is with old Garrick."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Garrick?"
"The smithy, sir," she said, smiling faintly. "He goes there few days a week. He'll return after finishing today's work."
Dumbledore nodded gratefully. "Could you give us directions to this Garrick's smithy?"
The Veela hesitated — just a second too long — then nodded and scribbled an address on a parchment. "It's just beyond the Moonshadow Store, two turns to your left. You'll hear the hammer before you see it."
The Headmaster thanked her with a gentle smile and turned to the others.
Across the grand hall, goblins and wizards sat together around card tables, laughing and trading coins. A vampire in an elegant coat was sipping from a crystal glass while reading The Daily Prophet. A werewolf in tattered sleeves was calmly playing chess with a house-elf, who cheerfully passed him a mug of butterbeer.
And no one — no one — looked uncomfortable.
Alice whispered, awe in her voice, "This is… impossible."
Frank added softly, "No prejudice. No tension. Look at them — they're living like equals."
Remus's eyes softened. "It's like someone finally built the world we all pretended to fight for."
Dumbledore said nothing. His sharp blue eyes scanned every corner of the lobby — the magic hum in the walls, the glowing wards of protection and neutrality, the peaceful harmony between creatures long divided. His heart swelled, conflicted between admiration and unease.
"Come," he said at last, "We must find Harry."
They exited the hotel, following the directions given by the Veela.
Knockturn Alley was quieter now as they turned down the narrower lanes. The scent of soot and iron filled the air before they reached a modest stone building — Garrick's Smithy. The rhythmic clang of hammer meeting steel echoed through the street.
Inside, an old man with soot-streaked beard sat on a stool, reading a yellowed book. In the back, a small figure stood before the forge, hammering a glowing piece of metal with steady precision. Sparks danced in the dim light.
Remus froze.
The boy turned, sweat glistening on his brow, emerald eyes bright even through the haze of smoke.
For a moment, Remus forgot to breathe. His chest constricted, and a whisper escaped him — soft, trembling:
"James…"
Because before him stood a boy who looked exactly like James Potter — except for those brilliant green eyes that belonged only to Lily.
And in that instant, the world went silent, save for the gentle hiss of the forge.
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