London. Home.
Ethan had not gone back to Hogwarts after speaking with Olivia. The task she had entrusted to him was not one that tolerated distractions or sentimental side trips, and London was the most practical place to ready himself. So he came home.
The house greeted him with its usual deep quiet—the kind only very old places seem to hold. In the living room a single lamp burned low, bathing shelves of books and neatly placed furniture in soft amber. At the far end of the room stood a tall mirror framed in dark wood, its glass polished to such clarity it felt almost alive.
Ethan stood before it, studying the man who stared back at him.
The reflection was not his own.
The man staring back had blond hair where Ethan's natural black belonged. His face carried the quiet heaviness of mid-thirties life, worn by years of responsibility and unspoken disappointment. Fine lines framed the corners of his eyes and mouth; his jaw was broader, less angular than the youthful sharpness Ethan usually wore. He resembled someone who had learned to survive by remaining unseen.
Ethan tilted his head, examining the illusion from different angles. The magic held well. The transfiguration blended seamlessly with his posture and expression, altering not only his appearance but the way others would instinctively read him.
"Hm," he murmured. "There needs to be more."
He lifted his wand, feeling the familiar weight settle into his palm as though it were simply an extension of his intent. His eyes never wavered from the mirror while he concentrated, channeling his talent with quiet, deliberate precision.
"Let us go with a beard."
The magic responded instantly. A mildly blond beard spread across his face, neatly shaped, thick enough to add character but not enough to draw attention. It softened his features further, grounding the disguise in something believable and forgettable.
Ethan leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting the details. He turned his head to the side, then the other, watching how the light caught the texture of hair and skin.
"All right," he said quietly. "This will do."
He reached for the glasses resting on the nearby table and slid them onto his nose. The final piece settled into place, and the man in the mirror smiled back at him with quiet confidence.
"Well," Ethan said, the smile lingering. "Now I am completely unrecognizable."
Satisfied with the reflection, he turned away from the mirror and walked to the table beside the window. A careful stack of documents sat there, bound and arranged in Olivia's familiar, orderly hand. He took them up and began to review the pages, eyes moving steadily over the words.
Information. Names. Location of his mission.
"All right," he muttered under his breath. "Let us see where my little chickens who need slaughtering are hiding."
He flipped through the documents, his expression tightening as the pieces information aligned. Movement logs pointed toward the same unsavory corners of the magical world.
"Oh," he said softly. "So you are hiding there."
This was the underbelly of the British magical world, the notorious slum where brothels thrived, illegal gambling houses ran day and night, black-market shops sold forbidden goods, and the wizarding world's most dangerous felons hid from justice. It was, in every way that mattered, a sanctuary for crime and dark wizards.
"That is fine," Ethan added quietly. "I wanted to go there regardless. I have a feeling I will probably be going there quite a lot."
He glanced at the clock mounted above the fireplace. Four in the morning. Outside, the world remained wrapped in darkness, the city suspended in that fragile hour before dawn.
Ethan placed the documents into his coat, secured his wand, and made his way downstairs. The house creaked faintly beneath his steps, a familiar sound that carried a strange comfort. He paused near the front door, taking a moment to steady himself, then stepped outside.
The street greeted him with silence.
Streetlights stood at regular intervals, their pale glow reflecting off damp pavement. No voices, or any human movement. Just the soft hum of a sleeping city. Ethan scanned his surroundings instinctively, years of training guiding his awareness.
He stepped fully onto the pavement, preparing to Apparate.
Then his gaze snagged on something that simply did not belong there.
A lone figure stood motionless on the opposite side of the street, directly in front of Lily Evans' house, watching the building intently.
Ethan's posture shifted at once. His hand slipped behind his back, wand concealed but ready. From a distance, the figure could have been mistaken for a homeless man or a late night wanderer. Yet something about the stillness felt deliberate, watchful.
Ethan approached at an unhurried pace, footsteps echoing softly. When he was a few meters away, he raised his voice.
"Hey, mate," he called. "No one lives there. Do not stand in front of people's houses like a creep. Best move along before I shout and wake the whole neighborhood."
The figure did not flinch.
Slowly, and calmly, the man turned around.
Ethan saw the face clearly now. Long, greasy hair framed sharp, almost cruel features. A hooked nose laid a thin shadow across a mouth fixed in a neutral line. The eyes were the most unsettling thing about him: black, devoid of emotion, and far too aware.
"I know," the man said.
His tone was calm, cold, and utterly unbothered.
Without another word, he turned and walked away.
Ethan remained still, watching him disappear down the street. His pulse had quickened despite himself.
"Did I just get hit by Legilimency?" he murmured under his breath, eyes narrowing slightly.
The thought lingered uncomfortably. The man had not reacted with surprise or fear. He had known.
A soft crack echoed through the street.
'Apparition.'
Ethan's suspicion solidified instantly. That had been no Muggle.
"What is a wizard doing here at this hour," he whispered, "standing in front of Lily's house."
He looked back toward the house, studying the windows, the door, the surrounding yard. Every instinct urged him to go inside, to check for wards, curses, anything that might have been left behind. His fingers tightened around his wand.
But time pressed against him.
Reluctantly, he lowered his hand.
"I will speak with Lily about this," Ethan said quietly. "It's not appropriate to enter a lady's house without her permission. She might see it as creepy."
With a sharp crack, he Apparated away, leaving the silent street behind.
He reappeared at the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. The city felt subtly different in this spot, old buildings standing closer together and heavy with unseen thresholds and the quiet memory of centuries. London slept comfortably around him, only the occasional cab passing like a ghost through the mist on the street.
Ethan walked toward the pub and pushed the door open.
Inside, the Leaky Cauldron was unrecognizable in its stillness. No laughter, no clinking glasses, no crowd pressing in from every direction. Candlelight flickered across empty tables, shadows stretching along the walls.
He moved through the familiar space with calm, measured steps, offering a brief nod to the moving painting that questioned his identity. The old brick wall at the back waited for him, as it always did.
Moments later, Diagon Alley opened before his eyes.
The alley was already stirring. A few witches and wizards moved along the cobblestones, early risers preparing for the day. Shop windows glimmered faintly, wards humming softly beneath the surface.
Ethan walked deeper into the alley, his presence blending easily among the others. He kept to the left side of the main path until he reached a narrow opening between buildings.
The atmosphere turned heavy the instant he moved closer. The light dimmed unnaturally, as if the darkness had drawn the lamps of Diagon Alley into its depths. This was where desperation pooled, where illegal bargains were struck in silence without witnesses, and where people disappeared without anyone daring to ask why. Yes, this was the slums of the British magical world.
And this was where the kidnappers were hiding.
Ethan exhaled slowly.
"Well," he said under his breath. "Here we go."
He glanced into the darkness, a faint smile touching his lips.
"This alley is far more unsettling than the underground markets in France."
With that, he stepped forward.
The darkness closed around him, swallowing his figure as Knockturn Alley claimed another soul for its shadows.
~~~~
Knockturn Alley felt less like a street and more like a wound sliced into the city. Darkness crowded in from all sides, thick and intentional, devouring every scrap of light that ventured too close. The buildings tilted toward each other like conspirators, their windows dead and sealed, their walls blackened by decades of corruption and sins that no rain of goodness could ever cleanse. No lamps glowed here, no trace of the warm life that filled Diagon Alley. Only shadow, decay, and the quiet, persistent smell of despair and death.
Ethan moved forward slowly, wand already in hand and ready. His fingers stayed steady, senses sharp. Every step echoed too loudly in his ears. This was his first visit to Knockturn Alley, and the atmosphere unsettled him. He slowed his breathing, letting his Auror instincts take over rather than the rising unease. He had stepped into dark corners of the world before, facing countless threats, but Knockturn Alley had a way of crawling under the skin, particularly for those who were new to it.
From somewhere deeper within the alley came a sudden metallic crash, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Ethan froze for a heartbeat, listening. No footsteps followed, no voices raised in alarm. Whatever it was, it was ordinary for this place.
"All right," he muttered. "First I have to reach the fountain. Bloody hell, does a place like this even have a fountain?"
He resumed walking, eyes scanning every doorway, every narrow side passage. Olivia's information was precise, as it always was. The half destroyed fountain of a mermaid was the key marker. From there, everything else would fall into place.
As he passed beneath a jutting balcony, a woman's voice shattered the silence above him.
"Yes, yes, harder, you fucking loser," she shouted breathlessly. "That is why I have to go to Sebastian to satisfy me. You are useless."
Ethan halted and looked up. On the second floor, a window stood open, curtains pulled back without shame. The voice echoed down the alley, raw and unapologetic.
A moment later, a man's voice answered, strained and irritated.
"I'm trying," he snapped, breathing hard. "You're too heavy, and I can't get in without the fat squeezing on 'it'. And don't talk about that bastard while we're in the middle of this."
Ethan closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose.
"Merlin help me," he muttered as he moved on. "Who does the deed at this hour?"
The sounds faded behind him as he continued deeper into the alley. The atmosphere grew thicker, carrying the stench of old potions, damp stone, and something faintly metallic that made the back of his throat tighten.
The path widened ahead, opening into a small square where several narrow alleys branched off in different directions. Ethan slowed, turning slowly as he examined the space.
"This should be it," he said quietly. "So where are you hiding."
Then he saw it.
At the center of the square stood what remained of a fountain. The stone was cracked and discolored, the basin filled not with water but with refuse, broken glass, scraps of parchment, and things Ethan preferred not to identify. Rising from the center was a mermaid statue, her tail shattered, her face worn nearly smooth by time and neglect. One arm was missing entirely, and the other pointed forward, frozen in a gesture that once might have been graceful.
Ethan nodded to himself.
"There you are."
According to the information, the building of interest lay directly in front of where the mermaid pointed. Ethan followed the line of her broken arm and focused on the structure ahead.
It was taller than the others around it, narrow and crooked, its windows dark and tightly shut. The door was plain, almost deliberately unremarkable, as though encouraging everyone to overlook it.
"Well," Ethan murmured. "This is where you should be hiding."
He circled the building slowly, keeping to the shadows. His eyes searched for signs of magical wards, listening spells, anything that might betray a trap. He felt nothing immediate, which in itself was suspicious.
After several minutes of careful inspection, he returned to the front and took a slow breath.
"All right," he whispered. "Time for something quieter."
He lifted his wand and pressed the tip lightly to his forehead.
The transformation came swiftly.
Ethan felt his body compress, bones lightening, muscles reshaping as if the very idea of weight had been rewritten. His skin prickled and vanished beneath a cloak of feathers. The world tilted, then snapped into startling clarity.
When the dizziness faded, he perched lightly nearby, now no taller than a clenched fist.
He was a house sparrow.
That was his Animagus form.
His crown was soft gray, fading into warm brown along his back. A bold black bib marked his throat, sharp against pale cheeks that reflected what little light existed. His wings were patterned with rust and black, feathers layered neatly, built for speed and agility. His beak was short and sturdy, eyes bright and alert, still carrying the unmistakable awareness that defined Ethan himself.
He chirped once, softly, testing his voice, then launched into the air.
From above, the alley revealed its true nature. Cracks in walls, hidden ledges, traces of old magic clinging like dust. Ethan circled the building, searching for an opening. Every window was sealed. No gaps, no broken panes, or any careless mistake.
He rose higher and landed on the roof.
There, tucked against the slope of blackened tiles, stood a chimney.
Without hesitation, Ethan slipped inside.
The interior was coated in soot, but the narrow space was more than enough for his current form. He fluttered downward until the darkness opened into a room below. With a quick burst of wings, he exited the fireplace and landed silently on the floor.
The room was empty of any human activity.
Ethan observed everything in one careful sweep. There was no movement, no flicker of immediate alarm enchantments. Satisfied that nothing had been triggered, he shifted back to his human form.
The transformation reversed in a rush of sensation. Feathers vanished, bones lengthened, weight returned. Ethan stood upright once more, wand already in hand.
The moment his boots touched the floor, his eyes flicked toward a mirror mounted on the far wall.
His disguise was gone.
Blond hair replaced by black. The aged features stripped away.
"Of course," he muttered under his breath. "An Animagus form would break any Transfiguration curse."
He wasted no time. A flick of his wand restored the transformation, blond hair returning, beard filling in, lines settling back into place. He adjusted his glasses and checked his reflection once more.
"Better."
He opened the door cautiously and stepped into a narrow corridor. The building was quiet, but not abandoned. He could feel it. Lives moved here, careless and cruel.
Room by room, he searched the first floor. Empty storage spaces. A workroom stained with potion residue. A locked door that smelled faintly of blood and waste from the other side, though no one was there now.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor, moving slowly, listening to the creak of each step. From one room came faint snoring. From another, muffled voices arguing in low tones.
Ethan continued upward.
The third floor was quieter.
Near the stairwell, he found a door slightly ajar. He nudged it open and peered inside.
A man lay sprawled across the bed, heavyset, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He was in his fifties, skin sallow, hair thinning and slick with sweat. The room smelled of stale ale and spoiled food.
Ethan stepped closer, wand raised.
Two spells left the tip in rapid succession, both dull brown in color. They struck the man squarely.
The body jerked violently. Eyes flew open.
For a brief moment, the man saw Ethan.
Then everything stopped.
Color drained from his face, leaving it pale and empty, as though life itself had been pulled out through invisible hands. The snoring ceased and the room fell into a divine silent.
Ethan lowered his wand and studied the corpse without emotion.
"One down," he murmured. "Four more to go."
He turned away and stepped back into the corridor, closing the door softly behind him. The stairs creaked under his boots as he descended toward the second floor, already preparing himself for what waited next in this dark floor below.