Chapter 14: Watch Out, Dumbledore is Watching You
Hogwarts.
The headmaster's office on the eighth floor.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat comfortably in his specially enchanted chair.
Opposite him sat Frank Mitchell, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—a seventy-year-old retired Auror.
"Frank," Dumbledore began, plucking a fizzing Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean from his candy box and popping it into his mouth, "I just received a rather amusing piece of news: four Night Rider carriages were attacked by fire dragons."
Frank shook his head, warning, "Professor Dumbledore, ever since you taught me Transfiguration, you've been indulging in sweets. It isn't good for you."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Sweet treats are nourishment, my dear Frank! At one hundred and five, I'm still going strong. Few can match me for longevity."
Frank shrugged. Well, the old man's body did seem firmer than it looked.
"Back to the matter at hand," Dumbledore said, tossing a sheet of parchment toward Frank. It hovered before him. "What do you make of this?"
Frank scanned the contents quickly. "Professor, if I were still active, you'd be summoned to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for accessing Ministry secrets so freely."
Dumbledore laughed. "Oh, don't fuss. One of my students found the story amusing and shared it with me immediately."
Frank sighed. "A fire dragon attacking a Night Rider carriage? Historically, that's happened only once."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said, gazing out the window, "back in 1890, when the goblin Ranlock attempted a rebellion. I was just nine then, and the student who resolved the crisis graduated before I arrived. A shame I never met her."
Frank ignored the nostalgic aside and continued, "The probability of a fire dragon attacking a carriage is minuscule. The sole recorded instance was deliberate."
Dumbledore nodded. "So you're suggesting these four carriages, simultaneously attacked from four separate locations, were no accident."
"Yes. Someone orchestrated this. It's a crime," Frank said firmly. "But I can't fathom why anyone would go to such lengths. Controlling fire dragons to target specific carriages is exceptionally difficult. What's valuable enough to warrant this? Once the carriages fly into the clouds, they're practically invisible."
"Could it be a person rather than dragons?" Dumbledore asked.
"A person?" Frank laughed. "Professor, aside from you, who in the wizarding world could strike Night Rider carriages above the clouds and leave destruction akin to a dragon's breath?"
"Thank you for the compliment, Frank," Dumbledore said, adjusting his glasses. "But haven't you noticed a common thread among the four carriages?"
"All were rented by the Gray family?"
"Exactly. The Gray family serves the Lestrange household, and recently, they've been at odds with their young mistress. Could it be… Hydrus Lestrange?"
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!" Frank exclaimed, doubting the sanity of his elderly teacher. "That girl is wanted by the Ministry for killing two Gray family members. As a mute, that alone is miraculous. But bringing down Night Rider carriages? No…"
He paused, meeting Dumbledore's half-smile, sensing a hint of mischief—or certainty—he couldn't quite read.
"Do you truly think she could have done it?" he asked, voice low.
Dumbledore set his glasses on the desk and leaned back, serene. "Who can say for certain? All I know is, she has the clearest motive of anyone in the world."
Dumbledore had his sources. A house-elf named Momo provided him with curious insights, and, more importantly, a young prodigy had subtly dispersed magical traces around her body since birth—an informant, guided just enough to reveal everything about her cousin.
It was all under the watchful eyes of the White Dark Lord.
After Frank's visit, Dumbledore felt a tinge of disappointment—he had hoped the old Auror might offer profound insight. But alas, Frank left shaking his head, thinking the headmaster had truly lost some of his sharpness.
Little did Frank know that next June, he would fall down a staircase and break his neck…
Hydrus Lestrange appeared in a narrow alley near the Leaky Cauldron, dressed in a new Muggle outfit—a cute little dress.
Her thick, unruly brown hair framed a face she had borrowed from Hermione, save for her own distinctive front teeth.
It was midday, past lunch, and the inn was nearly empty. Old Tom slumped behind the bar, nodding off.
Hydrus caught sight of a wanted poster above the fireplace. Ah yes, that was her own. The exaggerated expression and dramatic pose made her look insane.
I am supposed to be a gentle, composed young lady! she thought, rolling her eyes.
"Boss!" Hydrus rapped on the counter, waking Tom.
"Oh, a little wizard?" he asked groggily.
"Classes have started, haven't they?" Hydrus said smoothly. As the daughter of the 28 Sacred Families, lying convincingly came naturally. "While brewing potions, I accidentally ruined my wand and cauldron…"
She batted her eyes in the most innocent manner, and Tom's expression softened. "Oh, poor child. So careless! Come on, I'll open a passage to Diagon Alley for you."
In the inn's small courtyard, Tom added, "I assume this isn't your first visit, so I won't explain the door. Happy shopping!"
"Thank you, Mr. Tom," Hydrus said with a slight bow. "Could you prepare a small oak barrel of Butterbeer? My schoolmates would enjoy a little gift."
She placed a Galleon in Tom's hand.
"Of course! When you're done shopping, come get it from me."
Hydrus nodded and stepped toward Diagon Alley. Behind her, the echo of heavy boots announced a hurried arrival. A stern-looking woman with ash from the fireplace still on her robes rushed past, carrying an empty wooden box.
Clever. Hydrus's lips curved into a mischievous smile. Today was shaping up to be quite the lucky day.