The days drifted past in deceptive stillness, each one folding into the next like pages left unread.
July slipped away without ceremony, its warmth lingering in the brick walls of London homes and the narrow streets that smelled faintly of rain and smoke. When August arrived, it brought with it cooler nights and a subtle sense of change that Ethan felt even before he consciously acknowledged it.
During those weeks, Ethan devoted himself to preparation.
Every book from the Hogwarts teaching curriculum was read carefully, some of them twice. He compared lesson structures, noted theoretical gaps, and occasionally scoffed at outdated approaches that had not changed in decades. Still, he respected the institution. Hogwarts was old, powerful, and deeply rooted in British magical culture. Any attempt to step inside it required understanding its traditions as much as its flaws.
He also wrote an application letter to Hogwarts. It was written in professional, and deliberately modest in tone. He did not exaggerate his achievements at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, nor did he hide them. The letter presented him as a scholar and an educator, who — having returned to his home country with teaching experience — was eager to teach at Hogwarts.
Aside from his studies, Ethan visited Diagon Alley several more times. He became familiar with its rhythms, the busy mornings, the quieter evenings, and the subtle shift in atmosphere when Ministry officials passed through. He learned which shopkeepers talked too much and which ones remembered faces.
Most days, however, he stayed at home with Nina.
Or rather, Nina stayed with him when she felt like it.
She spent much of her time at Miss Evans's house across the street, where her daughter welcomed her with open arms. Nina always returned by evening, well fed and satisfied, as though she had two homes now instead of one.
Ethan did not mind.
On this particular morning, he sat on the couch in his sitting room, letters spread across the low table before him. Sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating parchment edges and wax seals.
Most of the letters were from his former students at Beauxbatons. Many of them were heartfelt, some dramatic, others awkwardly written with emotions spilling over the margins. A noticeable number came from girls who were far too young to understand the difference between admiration and affection.
Ethan sighed softly as he read.
They were sad about his sudden resignation. Some felt abandoned. Others promised they would become great witches just to prove something to him. He folded those letters carefully, reminding himself that teenage crushes faded with time.
There were also letters from old friends scattered across the world, former classmates who had gone on to work in research, private security, magical commerce, or politics. Those letters were fewer, but heavier in meaning to him.
As he reached for another parchment, the front door to his house opened with the scrape of a key in the lock.
Ethan was instantly on his feet the moment he heard it, wand already in hand.
He moved silently toward the hallway, senses sharpened. The door closed behind the intruder with deliberate calm.
Then he saw her.
Olivia stood in his house as if she owned the place. Her expression remained as unreadable as ever, her posture straight yet utterly relaxed, like she'd walked into her own home.
Ethan relaxed and smiled faintly.
"Oh, good morning, boss," he said, voice dripping sarcasm. "Wasn't this supposed to be my house? At least knock next time before barging in like you own the place."
"Stop talking nonsense," Olivia replied flatly. "I came to bring information and to see what you have been doing for the past couple of weeks."
She walked past him without waiting for an answer and entered the sitting room.
Ethan rolled his eyes and followed.
Once inside, he flicked his wand casually. A teacup floated in from the kitchen, followed by a kettle that poured steaming water into it with perfect precision and mastery.
Olivia froze for a split second at the sight of him using magic so openly in front of her.
"Are you allowed to cast magic like that here?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "Do you want the Ministry to trace it back to you?"
Ethan shrugged as he poured the tea.
"Don't worry, Boss. I installed a magical artifact that intercepts local tracking protocols. The Ministry cannot trace it back to me."
Olivia's gaze sharpened.
"You should still register this residence with the Improper Use of Magic Office," she said sharply. "Don't be careless. One mistake can jeopardize the entire mission."
"Yes yes," Ethan replied lazily. "I will take care of it. What did you bring for me?"
Olivia studied him for a moment, clearly displeased by his nonchalant attitude, but then reached into her bag.
"I will explain the important parts," she said. "You can read the rest yourself."
She placed several files and photographs onto the table.
"Have you been to Diagon Alley?" she asked. "And did you subscribe to the Daily Prophet?"
"Yes to both," Ethan replied. "I have a surface understanding of the British wizarding world now."
Olivia nodded once, as if confirming a decision already made long before this moment.
"Good," she said calmly. "Then I will start with Hogwarts school management and the people who truly hold power there."
She reached into the leather folder resting on her lap and withdrew a single photograph. It was old, the edges slightly worn, as if it had been handled countless times. The image showed an elderly man with a long silver beard, half moon spectacles perched low on his nose, eyes sharp despite the gentle smile etched into his face.
Ethan barely glanced at it before recognition struck him.
He inhaled quietly.
Olivia watched his reaction and allowed herself a faint smile. "As I am sure you already know who this is," she said, "but I will explain him properly nonetheless."
She held the photograph between two fingers, almost reverently.
"This is Albus Dumbledore," she continued. "Current headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Winner of the Order of Merlin First Class. Widely regarded as the most powerful wizard of the modern age."
She paused, letting the weight of the titles sink in before continuing.
"He is also the man behind a secret organization known as the Order of the Phoenix."
Ethan lifted his gaze from the photograph to her face, his expression sharpening slightly, though he said nothing.
"Publicly," Olivia went on, "Dumbledore presents himself as neutral. A man above politics. A scholar and mentor. Someone who values wisdom over ideology. In practice, however, he leans subtly but unmistakably in favor of ordinary born witches and wizards, and toward those pure blood families among the Sacred 30 who hold moderate views on the treatment of non magical people, or in wizarding terms, Muggles."
Her voice hardened slightly.
"The extreme factions among those same ancient families do not view Albus Dumbledore favorably. They would never say so openly. Not while his influence remains this strong. But behind closed doors, in political circles, in private salons and Wizengamot corridors, Dumbledore and the extremists are in a constant state of quiet war."
She tapped the photograph lightly with her finger.
"Hogwarts is his domain—the castle his stronghold, his sanctuary, his fortress. Inside those walls, his word is nearly law. At least, that's what we know… or think we know. The man's impossible to truly understand. His past is full of victories snatched from impossible odds: crises where the entire Wizarding World stood against him, yet he emerged not just alive, but triumphant. He's brilliant, cunning, and he always seems one step ahead. Tread carefully around Albus Dumbledore."
Ethan nodded slowly. "I know that much," he said. "At least in theory."
"I am sure you do," Olivia replied. "But what you may not fully appreciate is that his influence does not end at the British Isles. Dumbledore is extremely respected in international circles. Ministries listen when he speaks. Heads of schools defer to his judgment. Even those who disagree with him tread carefully."
She slid the photograph back into the folder.
"You'll find more detailed information in his files. The few psychological assessments we've managed—pieced together from his life experiences and everything else we've collected on him. His political alliances, recorded movements… everything we have."
Then she reached for another photograph.
This one depicted an older woman with sharp eyes and hair pulled tightly back into a severe bun. There was nothing soft about her expression, yet there was unmistakable strength there, coiled and disciplined.
"This," Olivia said, "is Minerva McGonagall."
Ethan nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to the photo of her in Olivia's hand.
"Deputy headmistress of Hogwarts," Olivia continued. "Professor of Transfiguration. Head of Gryffindor House."
She studied the image thoughtfully before speaking again.
"She is a serious witch. Disciplined. Traditional. Exceptionally powerful in her own right. Her loyalty to Dumbledore is absolute. She does not question his decisions, only executes them."
Olivia placed the photograph beside the first.
"She is respected throughout Britain. Not because of politics. She holds no political office. She has no seat in the Wizengamot beyond what her former positions once was in Ministry of magic. Her authority comes from something far older and more enduring."
She looked at Ethan directly.
"Generations of students."
Ethan remained silent, listening intently.
"She has taught for decades," Olivia said. "Thousands of witches and wizards have passed through her classroom. Many of them now hold positions of power. Aurors. Ministry officials. Heads of departments. Even foreign dignitaries. They remember her. They respect her. And they would not cross her lightly."
She closed the folder briefly, then reopened it.
"And beyond that," she added, "she is a follower of Dumbledore. Nothing more. Nothing less."
With that, Olivia continued explaining. She spoke of Hogwarts governance, internal factions among staff, unspoken hierarchies between departments, and the subtle ways influence flowed through the ancient school. She spoke of professors whose authority exceeded their job titles, and others whose importance was largely ceremonial.
Ethan listened quietly, absorbing it all.
He felt oddly like a child on a classroom rug, being introduced to a world far vaster than he'd ever imagined. Not due to any lack of intelligence or experience, but because Britain's magical society ran on rules subtly different from those of the French world he'd grown up in.
Then Olivia turned another page.
A new photograph slid into view.
Ethan's breath caught.
The woman staring back at him had familiar green eyes and auburn hair. The image was older than when he had last seen her, taken perhaps years earlier, but there was no mistaking her.
His head lifted sharply.
"Wait," he interrupted for the first time. "Isn't that Lily Evans?" He leaned closer, eyes narrowing on the photo—the vivid green eyes and dark red hair unmistakable now. The same woman he'd met briefly weeks ago, right outside his door. "She's a witch? Seriously? I thought she was just… ordinary. A Muggle."
Olivia looked up at him, unsurprised.
"I have seen her," Ethan continued. "She lives nearby. She is my neighbor."
Olivia nodded, as if confirming something she already knew.
"Yes," she said calmly. "I was hoping that you might have seen her. Or even spoken to her."
Ethan frowned. "Why?"
She leaned back slightly, folding her hands together.
"She is the reason," Olivia said, "why I acquired this house for you in the first place. In this neighborhood."
Ethan turned fully toward her now, suspicion flickering across his features.
"Why," he asked slowly, "do I feel like you are about to tell me that I am using her in some way for the mission?"
Olivia did not answer immediately. Instead, she picked up Lily Evans's photograph and studied it.
"It has been years," she said at last, "that our organization has been tracking her."
Ethan's brow furrowed. "Tracking her? Why? It says right here in her file that she's a Potions professor… and from what I can see, just a single mother with one kid. Or is there more to her than what it looks like? You've obviously been keeping tabs on her for a while. Plenty of wizards blend in with Muggles—live among ordinary people—so what makes her special, besides being a professor?"
Olivia tilted her head slightly.
"She is far more important than she appears," she said. "She is related to one of the most influential families in modern wizarding history. Or at least, she was."
Ethan looked back at the photograph.
"How?" he pressed, voice rising slightly. "How can she blend in with ordinary people like that if she's tied to one of the biggest wizarding families in Britain? These past weeks, she's seemed like the most unremarkable person around here. Not that I've been watching her or anything—honest. But sometimes I look out the window and… there she is. In her house, strolling with her daughter in the mornings, picking up groceries, weeding the garden. Completely ordinary."
Olivia's lips curved faintly, a spark of amusement in her eyes as she studied Ethan. He'd only just learned Lily Evans was a witch, yet he was already intimately familiar with her routines. Keen indeed
"Aside from the fact that she is a newly appointed potions professor at Hogwarts," she said, "she is also the mother of the most famous child in magical Britain."
She paused deliberately.
"Harry Potter."
Ethan leaned back, disbelief flickering across his face.
"I have heard the name," he admitted. "When I was studying at Beauxbatons, rumors spread like wildfire. A one year old infant defeating the so called Dark Lord of Britain."
He shook his head slightly.
"No one believed it. Even our professors mocked it. Some said the British wizarding community had collectively lost its mind. There were jokes. Comparisons. Entire lectures that dismissed the story as propaganda."
Olivia's expression hardened.
"It seems," she said sharply, "that you never paid proper attention to the information I sent you about the British wizarding world."
Ethan stiffened slightly.
"That was careless," she continued. "Dangerously so. Information is the greatest weapon people like us possess. If we lack it, we seek it. If it seems worthless, we still catalog it. One day, the most trivial detail can become priceless."
She leaned forward.
"Never ignore information again. Do you understand me, Ethan?"
He exhaled slowly. "Yes," he said. "I understand."
Olivia relaxed back into her seat.
"That boy," she continued, "is not important because of what he actually did. He is a symbol. The Ministry uses him. Political factions rally around him. He represents the end of an era defined by fear, blood purity, and hatred toward non magical people."
She gestured toward the photograph.
"And the woman who gave birth to that symbol lives next door to you."
Ethan's gaze drifted toward the window.
"You have an opportunity," Olivia said quietly. "A rare one. Befriend her. Understand and observe her. She spent nearly nine years away from the wizarding world. Only last year did she return. And now she teaches at Hogwarts."
Ethan frowned. "Then why is her name not Potter," he asked. "Shouldn't she be Lily Potter?"
Olivia shook her head.
"After the fall of the Dark Lord," she said, "the Potter marriage collapsed. James Potter kept the child. Lily left the wizarding world entirely. She lived in Ireland at first. Only recently did she move to London."
Ethan turned back to her, curiosity flaring.
"And why did they separate," he asked. "There is nothing about her in the books. No explanation. She is barely mentioned. Just a name. Mrs.Potter."
Olivia sighed softly.
"We do not know," she admitted. "Even our information is limited. Whatever happened, it occurred at the height of their fame. Something significant enough to fracture them completely."
She met Ethan's eyes.
"And perhaps," she said, "you will be the one who discovers what it was."
Ethan looked back toward the Evans house, deeply in thoughts.
"Maybe," he said quietly.