The Veiled Vestiges

Disclaimer – This is a work of purely speculative fiction. It is not intended to infringe on any rights by and of the companies and/or individuals involved in the production of any series mentioned here. The characters involved are the intellectual property of their respective authors except for the ones that are listed as an OC, which are mine.

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Mrs Arabella Figg of number twelve, Wisteria Walk, Little Whinging was a peculiar woman. She had lived in her home in Surrey for nearing six years now and after that time, she could say, with some certainty, that she liked the monotonous and utterly dull environment of her current residence. It gave her plenty of time to devote to her gorgeous cats and kneazles. It was, in fact, a welcoming change from her previous life where the constant skirmishes and pitched battles between Aurors and those black hooded evil mongers were the flavours of the day.

She didn't miss the people nor did she miss the looks they gave her. She didn't miss her place in their world. But what she did miss though, was her old home.

Sometimes when it was raining out, she could still imagine the hubbub of the Alley. Several merchants shouting out for the customers to do business, the cacophony of little children tromping around asking for their parents to buy them sweets and other knick-knacks. Other than those little things there was nothing much left for her at her old home in Diagon. And while she did have a spot for her old house in her heart, it was also marred by the painful memories of her brother.

Her dead brother.

They say the first thing you forget about someone is their voice. She didn't agree. She could still easily imagine his voice reciting to her his recent misadventures as a Junior Auror, could easily picture his happy smile as he saw her every day when he came back home. The passion in his eyes as he told her of his tales fighting the evil men that had the audacity to disturb the peace that he and his fellow Aurors had been fighting to preserve was inspiring. So was his dedication towards the cause that was the survival of their magical community. Even then, knowing that she couldn't engage in the things that his brother could engage in, on account of being a squib, she had never held any ill feelings for him. How could she? He was her little brother. He was her little Eddie. It didn't matter that he had grown. It didn't matter that he had a family of his own. He would always be her little Eddie.

It physically hurt her that whenever she was imagining his happy face, it suddenly morphed into an image of his bleeding and dying body staring at her with a pair of unfocused, lifeless eyes. His torn body in front of her. It may have had happened quite a few years before, but the masked visage of the bastards who had butchered her little Eddie was something that was always present in her psyche.

When she woke suddenly to a sound and saw the form of a tall man with a hint of silvery mask hiding beneath the hooded cloak standing near her bed, she knew. It was her one chance at getting what she had always wanted. The thing that had made her agree to what the headmaster had asked of her.

Revenge.

She had known that if she stayed close to the beacon of light for the world, the babe who had rid the world of their master, they would sniff him out sooner or later. And then she would have her chance. A chance she was getting now.

Belaying her advance years, she lunged at the man intending to throw him to the ground.

She never got the chance.

A flick of his wand and she was bound and gagged.

"Filthy little squib." He spat near her.

"Mmmff…"

"So, Old Dumbles thought you of all people could keep him safe, did he? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. He was always a bit daft. First, thinking he had a chance against our Lord, and then this…Leaving a poor old squibbie here in charge of watching over his precious boy-who-lived. A house-elf wasn't available?" He mocked.

"Mphfff…"

"What? One of your cats got your tongue, did it? Don't worry squibbie, they won't be bothering anybody anymore. They are sleeping nice and quiet like. I made sure of that."

"Whmfff…"

"Yes, I know what you're thinking. Why aren't you dead yet. Well, it's simple really. I need you to deliver a message to ol' Albus."

She eyed him warily as he closed the distance between them. Though the silvery mask had never left his face, his maddening black eyes were visible inside the slits that held her gaze. When he got close enough that she could feel his disgusting breath, he whispered into her ear, "Tonight marks the day when I avenged my Lord. Tonight, his little half-blooded miracle just ran out of luck. Did you get all that little squibbie? Yes?…Good. Stupify."

If there had been anyone standing outside the bedroom window since the moment Arabella Figg saw herself being attacked, they would have suspected, quite strongly, that she was having the worst sort of nightmare. Watching her talking and mumbling under her breath as she laid in the bed with her eyes half-closed, would have been moderately alarming, to say the least. As it was, there was no one. Just like there was no attack on her person. Simply a small measure in a series of a complicated plan concocted by a six-year-old.

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The sharp whistling noises coming from the small devices aligned on the top of the bookshelf in his office were not the first indicators that had him up and moving from his chair. Albus Dumbledore had felt the wards on the place shatter before he had even heard the noises. With the agility that betrayed his ageing years, he scampered towards the centre of the room and called out to his familiar.

"FAWKES!"

A bright flash of firey explosion ensued as the phoenix deposited the headmaster on the street directly across from the place in question. His eyes darted towards the sky as they mechanically captured the colossal skull, composed of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As he looked at the Dark Mark in the night sky a sinking realisation dawned on him. A great paroxysm of fire shook the house as the beams holding the place collapsed. He moved with haste towards the fiery tornado, dodging various sweltering projectiles coming his way. A wave of his wand cleared his path as he reached the last clear spot in front of the inferno.

"No…Not Harry…NOT HIM!" He shouted unknowingly mimicking the words of a dying mother as he ran ahead, heedless of the fire.

A mighty wave of his wand snuffed the flames from the path towards the front porch. Charred wood met his feet as he moved towards the still alit door. Another small explosion from within blasted the door apart with a ferocity that sent debris hurtling towards the oncoming headmaster. Shifting to his right, Albus shielded himself even as his wand moved in a complex pattern to transfigure the collapsing wood into something more sturdy. Another explosion from the lit garage adjacent to the headmaster threw him away like a rag doll.

Dumbledore rolled to his side as he tried getting up. His scraped knee and elbows were forgotten as he took in the sight of the fiery structure that had once been the home of their world's greatest hope and his chance at redemption. Right in front of his eyes, the house came crashing down as it tumbled into a heap.

Horror drove in his heart as he realised what the fire had caused. Everything was lost. He had failed, utterly. Failed in his duty to protect one who would have sacrificed himself for the sake of the world. He had lost his brightest hope in this fight against evil. And how? Why? What had happened?

It all seemed so sudden…too sudden. As if…as if…

A thought struct then. His eyes flew wide. It was too sudden. It shouldn't have happened. Couldn't have happened. He had made sure that Harry was protected. He had been sure. It had to be false. It had to be…

Countless scenarios and plays flashed through his brain as he came to a possible conclusion. All mightn't be lost. He had to make sure. He had to know.

'Crack!'

Appearing within his office, he made a beeline for the one thing that could give him some respite. A device of his own making. A blood monitoring device that could possibly tell the condition of the person whose blood it had stored.

With a shaking hand, he gently opened the lid.

Disappointment and not a little fear rose in his chest as he gazed upon the silent and now dull faced metallic apparatus.

Nothing was certain though. There could be plenty of reasons for a possible failure of the device. Not one to take any chances, he disapparated.

'Crack!'

Appearing on the pavement of Wisteria Walk, he ran into the house at the corner. She would know. How could she not? She lived just around the corner. He went through the room without pause. Entering the bedroom had him looking at the woman of his pursuit. She had a thick sheen of sweat on her brow. Judging by the almost non-existent rate of breathing, he knew, she had been stunned.

"Ennervate."

She awoke as though she had come alive then. Shaking her hands every which way and pointing them towards the door of the room. As she saw the one who was holding her, she attempted to warn the headmaster.

"ALBUS… ALBUS… He's here. He's here in the house. He said…He told me…"

"CALM Arabella…calm. Who is here? What has happened?"

"I was attacked. He…He said… OH MY... ALBUS! The boy… The boy Albus… He was here to kill the boy. You have to save him. You have to get to him before he does."

"Before who does Arabella?"

Even though he had posed her this question, he was already combing through her mind so as to understand what had happened to the hysterical woman. He saw it then. The Death Eater, because it surely had been a Death Eater who had come into her home and assaulted her. The silvery mask shimmering in the pale moonlight coming from the windows. It was a frightening thing. To see someone he didn't recognize, fool his security measures so thoroughly as to not even let him get any alert from their rupture.

Time was of the essence now though. The evidence was still insufficient for him to believe what he had seen. It couldn't be. The fates themselves had designed it so. The boy had to be the one. They would not kill him without their master's say so. He was the prophecised…

'The Prophecy!'

A small hope still lingered.

"I will find him, Arabella. I will save him. You needn't worry. Somnus."

As soon as her head hit the pillow, he was gone.

'Crack!'

He arrived at the Ministry Atrium. Running, despite the chaffing from his robes aggravating the wounds on his body. 'They couldn't know about it. Severus was sure Tom hadn't mentioned the prophecy to anyone.' Moving towards the lift, and commandeered it for his self imposed mission. A few seconds later and he was walking briskly towards the hall of prophecies.

'Ninety-four…Ninety-six…Here! Ninety-Seven.'

'It is here. Good. Now, to make sure…'

He moved towards the shelf with his wand in hand, hoping to levitate it and see the distinctive glow that emanated from within giving a pale glow which marked a prophecy to still be in motion.

A dull orb was what he found.

Disappointment.

Fear.

Doubt.

Anger.

All whirled within him, seeing the proof for himself. All was lost. His hopes. All the plans he had made. Everything. Nothing would ever be the same.

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Miles away, in a small cottage home, near the Lake District of North West England, Harold Kent slept through, recovering from the agonising blood adoption ritual he had completed the night before. The boy, known until recently as Harry Potter was buried though. He had taken many precautions and played many hands to make sure of that.

Sitting on the table at the foot of the bed, in the clutches of a claw-shaped wooden holder was a glass orb, gleaming in the moonlight with a pale white luminescence.

Many didn't know it yet, but the game was afoot.

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