Albus, Ariana, and I apparated in the middle of a lush forest, the well-known one belonging to [Fief]. In front of us, silhouetted against the horizon, rose the usual settlement: a not-so-distant town, rustic in appearance, small but cozy. I had decided to keep the aesthetics of this section completely intact as a keepsake; however, the actual dimensions of the fief no longer bore any relation to its original design. No, it had expanded to reach proportions capable of unsettling any cartographer, now fragmented into highly specialized subworlds that operated under their own physical laws.
Dumbledore contemplated the surroundings plunged into a reverent stupor. It was a setting so genuinely... magical, that his eyes could barely take it all in while I casually broke down the technical specifications of my domains.
"This will be the sector where I will keep Ariana safe," I explained, finalizing the logistical loose ends of the monumental offer the Headmaster had just validated by accepting my terms. "She will be fully secure, provided with any resource she requires, and will have a constant flow of residents and NPCs to interact with her."
As I added details, the nature of this place demonstrated a sophistication that put the magical world itself to shame. The perception the old man had forged of me finalized its consolidation: in front of him no longer stood a simple wizard, but an entity that had transcended the very existence of the wizarding community. That certainty became absolute when I mentioned, with indifference, the inner workings behind the arena's dome, the true hidden chronicle of Merlin, the situation in the Amazon, and the existence of divinities in our world.
"Then... regarding..." Dumbledore began, dragging out a residual doubt about the responsibility that fell upon him regarding a certain threat lurking in the shadows.
"You can eliminate from your agenda any worry linked to anything that doesn't figure in what I commissioned you," I interrupted him, projecting absolute confidence. "Believe me, he is nothing more than an insignificant variable. Even within the boundaries of this place, there are several who can face him, and there will be more in the future. He doesn't deserve us dedicating so much effort to him... Leave him to me. I know precisely the course of events to come, or at least a sufficient margin to guarantee that his existence won't be more than a slight nuisance in our plans."
The Headmaster merely nodded. For someone like him, who had been conditioned by the weight of prophecies and Seers, the lucidity of someone who had seen both the past and the future proved to be an infinitely more infallible resource.
"This matter... would it be feasible for Ariana to remain under my direct custody for a brief period?" he inquired with a trace of nervousness that was unusual and uncharacteristic for a wizard of his stature.
"Are you sure? Remember that the girl next to you is not technically your Ariana yet," I warned, observing him with an arched eyebrow. "While I finish a couple of pending matters, it will take me approximately a week to make the preparations for the ritual. That, of course, assuming that the soul flow of your deceased sister remains available in the intermediate plane; otherwise, I will require a few additional days."
"I am aware of that..." the old man confessed, and the weight of a century-old guilt seemed to gravitate upon his shoulders, revealing the vulnerability of a man experiencing a miracle he never dared conceive even in his most feverish dreams. "But... I do not consider it fair to be the only one blessed with the opportunity to behold her once more. I wish to bring her before Aberforth."
"Oh... In that case, proceed as you see fit. Simply bring her back to this sector when her presence interferes with your obligations. I have already given you free access to the fief," I replied, downplaying the family dilemma. "Wait for me a few moments... Perhaps I can provide you with a more sophisticated method of transport. Coincidentally, I think I just secured the services of a certain employee..." I concluded, sketching a smile.
I left Dumbledore stranded in the middle of the town and dematerialized from the spot. The schedule demanded my immediate attention on multiple fronts, and my network of clones was already operating at full capacity, dividing up the tasks.
In fact, at that very moment, one of my blood doubles was holed up in the heart of The Burrow, forced to play the role of the wretched hero before the compassionate gaze of the Weasleys—a second-year boy consumed by an immense, fictitious, and destructive guilt for having had to take a life at the bottom of the Ministry.
...
Dumbledore, gently holding Ariana's hand, wandered through the town streets for a while, absorbing that anomaly. His walk was interrupted when a vintage Rolls-Royce approached, of a burnished and aristocratic black that reflected the light like a mirror. The luxurious vehicle glided along without emitting the slightest mechanical noise until it stopped with precision right in front of them. The driver's window rolled down smoothly, just enough for the operator to scrutinize the silhouettes of the old man and the girl.
"Mr.... Dumbledore?" the man inquired, dragging out the syllables as if he weren't completely sure of the surname's phonetics, or if that was the exact pair of passengers he was supposed to pick up. Even so, they were the only old man and child he had managed to spot in the entire village.
Albus merely nodded. Instantly, the rear door opened automatically. Although curiosity tempted him, the Headmaster assumed that this was the transport designed for his assignment; he took a seat in the back and settled Ariana by his side.
The interior of the Rolls-Royce exuded a sober and comfortable opulence. The living space felt subtly wider than the exterior bodywork dictated, but without reaching the aberrant excesses of expansion charms; it possessed the exact margin to guarantee comfort without eradicating the genuine experience of traveling confined in an automobile—a subtle technical difference compared to Arthur Weasley's modified Ford Anglia.
"Our destination is..." The driver paused, consulting a magical map embedded in the dashboard—a device that operated like a modern GPS, but coated in an antique aesthetic. "Hogsmeade, right?" he asked, seeking the old man's confirmation through the rearview mirror.
"That is correct, gentleman..." Albus corroborated, immediately detecting the vivid bewilderment and sharp curiosity exuded by the operator's keen eyes.
"Good. The journey will be brief... Or at least that's what the manual dictates," the chauffeur stated, engaging the gear to set the vehicle in motion.
The Rolls-Royce, operating under the functions of an interdimensional taxi, headed toward the outskirts of the settlement, leaving the cobblestones behind to merge onto a narrow roadway of newly laid asphalt. The path quickly transitioned into a packed-dirt track that ventured into the vast outer meadow, aiming directly toward what appeared to be the physical boundary of the horizon.
During that brief journey, both the wizard and the driver exchanged looks of polite scrutiny through the reflection of the glass, until the nature of the trip prompted an inevitable dialogue.
"Forgive my boldness, sir, but... are you one of those wizards?" the chauffeur commented in a professional but inquisitive tone. "I deduce it mainly because of the robes."
"Indeed, I am..." Dumbledore replied. He imbued his words with an affable warmth, just enough and necessary to relax the driver's shoulders and convey that his questions did not violate the codes of etiquette.
"And whom do I have the honor of driving?" Albus inquired.
"Henry Alfred Watson, at your service... The new driver and transport operator of this extravagant but fascinating place. A common and ordinary human, so to speak; at least under those terms the boss defined my nature," he explained with an increase in confidence, slightly tipping his hat in a greeting.
Dumbledore nodded to himself, processing the fact that the man at the wheel was a Muggle. The revelation no longer possessed the power to scandalize him after breaking down my planning for the future.
"I beg you to forgive my indiscretion, it's just that my mind is still struggling to get used to the dynamics of this... new ecosystem," Henry admitted with a low laugh. "To be frank, I held the naive theory that wizards enjoyed a sort of immunity against aging. You are the first gentleman of... your respectable veteran status I've crossed paths with. Although, considering how little time I've been here and that this place branches into multiple subworlds, my experience remains quite limited. In fact, if it weren't for this compendium of instructions they gave me, I wouldn't have the slightest idea how to execute an exit from this world," he added, lightly tapping his index finger on a small booklet the size of a passport resting next to the speedometer.
"So you are the new person in charge of the transport division?" Albus inquired, manifesting the same sociological curiosity as the Muggle, trying to define what exact function that piece fulfilled in this grand scheme.
"That's right, newly hired... Heh, heh... I never envisioned such a turn for my retirement, to be honest. Who would have suggested that an entire civilization existed operating in hiding? Though I suppose for you, all this is absolute normalcy..."
Henry, appealing to the eloquence and ease he usually displayed to liven up the trips of his former clients in ordinary London, chained together a chronicle of casual anecdotes that caused the already short journey to dissolve at a breakneck speed. The wizard of the century and the Muggle chauffeur exchanged institutional views in perfect symmetry, maintaining the conversational flow until the Rolls-Royce reached the definitive boundaries of the meadow.
At that point, Henry interrupted his story. His features adopted a professional fixity as he concentrated his attention on the controls to execute his first transition between worlds.
The vehicle continued its unperturbed advance toward the void of the horizon. However, just a second before colliding against the apparent boundary of geographical space, the Rolls-Royce simply dematerialized in a clean, silent blink, as if its structure of iron and leather had passed through a ghostly veil imperceptible to the human eye.
The Rolls-Royce materialized out of nowhere, exiting the void without losing a single ounce of its speed, right at the entrance of Hogsmeade. The car stopped smoothly and Henry, whose muscles had tightened from the abrupt change of scenery, let out a sigh of relief upon confirming that the transition had been an flawless success. His self-confidence, spurred by this baptism of fire in his new "magical" job, returned to his countenance. He adjusted himself in the seat and sought Dumbledore's gaze through the mirror.
"Where to now?" Henry inquired.
"The Hog's Head Inn," Dumbledore ruled.
The Headmaster continued to abstractly analyze the nature of transdimensional travel; it was a mechanism radically opposed to ordinary Apparition, the Floo Network, or Fawkes's ability that he knew. However, there was no trace of alarm in his scrutiny. Since the revelations in the office had destroyed his old paradigms, an unusual and absolute laxity had governed his senses. It was as if, suddenly, the weight of the future no longer rested upon his tired shoulders, granting him the luxury of not having to obsessively worry about the fate of things.
Henry nodded, engaged the gear, and resumed driving. The Rolls-Royce constituted an extremely conspicuous sight—a high-end Muggle relic cruising the streets of the only purely magical settlement in Great Britain—but fortune dictated that the night had completely closed in, guaranteeing that the neighborhood was deserted and reducing the number of direct witnesses. Although, inevitably, the sighting would transform into the rumor of the week in the local spots. To Albus, that mattered little.