Morgan's former hiding place lay silent and cold.
With the books and crystal coffin safely sealed inside his pendant, Dana returned once more—this time, to retrieve the body of the woman left behind nine years ago.
It turned out that Morgan had never cared to reclaim a mere vessel. The corpse remained untouched in the basement, long since reduced to pale white bones. Dana drew his wand, casting a gentle Cleaning Charm. When the dust vanished, he dressed the skeleton carefully in Anna's clothes, the fabric whispering faintly over brittle bones.
Tomorrow he would finally be released from Azkaban. Snape would bring his eleven-year-old self back to Number 5, Livingston Town. Everything had to be perfectly arranged before that happened.
Having completed his task, Dana returned to 27 Livingston.
Over the past four years, he had wandered nearly all of Europe—traversing mountains, ruins, and forgotten temples—in search of the time stone. Yet every journey had ended in failure.
Fragments of the time stone still existed in the Wizarding World, but they were all bound within Time-Turners, delicate mechanisms that would crumble into useless dust the instant the stones were removed. Whenever an expedition failed, Dana would vent his frustration on Donna, Sally, John, and others—breaking them, erasing the evidence afterward with a simple Memory Charm.
(Refer to Chapter 20, fifth line from the bottom.)
During those years, Gringotts had approached him many times, hoping to recruit the brilliant "Mr. Strange" as a Curse-Breaker Consultant. Years of archaeological work had earned him an unmatched reputation in the wizarding academic world.
No trap could escape his eyes.
No magic circle could withstand his insight.
To every problem, he saw solutions others could not imagine.
How could such a man not become famous?
And yet, the eccentric Mr. Strange declined every offer from Gringotts. He preferred freedom to gold.
Invisible under a Disillusionment Charm, Dana now stood silently on the second floor of the Leaky Cauldron, just outside Room 215.
Inside that room slept his eleven-year-old self—confused, grief-stricken, and hollow from his mother's death. He still carried the surname Avery then, for he had not yet changed it.
Dana lingered there because, in a brief glimpse of the future the night before, he had discovered that Ollivander Avery was preparing "small moves" in secret.
Midnight came.
The Leaky Cauldron grew still.
Old Tom had long since retired to bed.
The dim corridor flickered with candlelight. From the shadows came the soft, deliberate footsteps of those who hunted the living. Three wizards crept forward, their eyes fixed on Room 215.
Avery's doing.
He meant to silence them—erase all traces that Gai Avery had ever been replaced.
With Avery's power and his alliance with Cornelius Fudge, such matters could easily be buried under bribes and influence. But still, exposing the truth would cost money, attention, and favors. Killing Dana Avery, the boy, was simply cheaper.
A decision made from cold arithmetic.
But such paths should have been marked "No Entry" from the beginning.
Three streaks of green light erupted silently in the corridor, faster than thought. The assassins never even turned their heads before their souls were ripped from their bodies.
Dana, still unseen, opened a rift—the Spandim Gate—dragged the corpses inside, tossed in a casual Crucio, and sealed it shut. His face betrayed no emotion.
At that same hour, in the Avery Manor, Ollivander Avery slept soundly.
The three assassins he'd sent were among the finest in the family. He never trusted outsiders with matters this delicate; blood was the only guarantee of loyalty.
He was certain of their success.
After all, what could a weak, defenseless child do against them?
Then came the thuds—three heavy impacts landing on his chest and legs. He jolted awake, gasping, pain flaring through his frail back. Before he could even turn to see what had fallen upon him, a Crucio struck.
"AAHHHH—!"
The scream tore through the manor. Servants and house-elves would surely rush to him soon, ensuring that the old man survived. But perhaps, in some cruel mercy, dying quickly might have been the kinder fate that night.
It was no wonder, years later, that Avery never dared target Dana again. That single night had shaken him more deeply than he ever admitted.
Days passed.
The time came for Professor McGonagall to escort young Dana to Diagon Alley for his school shopping.
By then, the boy had already absorbed the eternal heart. The manifestation of Merlin's bloodline had reached its first stage, and he now carried Merlin's treasure within him. Dana, the elder, did not need to appear; the course of events was already set.
"Dana, you're too thin," Professor McGonagall said gently as she and the boy stepped out of the tailor's shop.
"You must remember to eat properly, understand?"
The boy lowered his head. "I always ate every crumb of the black bread in Azkaban," he whispered.
McGonagall's heart tightened. She placed a soft hand on his head, her eyes full of restrained sorrow. Then, a flicker of movement caught her attention—several Dark Wizards lurking near the entrance to Knockturn Alley. They quickly retreated when her gaze swept over them.
Remaining calm, McGonagall patted the boy's shoulder. "Come, we still need your books, tools, and wand."
The boy said nothing, his head still bowed, simply following her as he always had. Everything unfolded just as Dana remembered it—no deviation, no new thread.
Until that night.
The corridor of the Leaky Cauldron lay quiet.
A tabby cat rested lazily before Room 215, eyes half-open, its tail flicking slowly. The floorboards were cold and damp, but the cat seemed patient.
Soon, five figures crept up the stairs—Dark Wizards from Knockturn Alley. The Leaky Cauldron's defenses were laughably poor; any fool could slip inside.
Only days earlier, a mysterious killer had slaughtered several of their kind in Knockturn Alley, leaving them terrified to even breathe too loudly. If not for the heavy purse offered for this job—a boy wizard's life—they would still be hiding in their holes.
Even now, their steps were hesitant, glancing around as though the killer might be hiding behind every door.
Had they known their target was that very killer, they might have fled screaming instead.
They never got the chance.
The tabby cat moved.
The flickering candles along the corridor twisted and stretched into glowing chains that lashed out like serpents, binding the intruders before they could utter a single curse.
As the last one fell, the cat leapt gracefully into the air, transforming mid-motion into a tall, stern witch.
Professor McGonagall.
Her expression was cold and sharp as she surveyed the bound wizards. She had already suspected danger earlier that day, when she noticed them trailing her and Dana through Diagon Alley. The boy's identity, she realized, must have touched nerves in dark places—some people clearly did not wish him to reach Hogwarts alive.
With efficient precision, she marched the five prisoners to the Ministry of Magic.
By coincidence—or perhaps fate—Cornelius Fudge stepped out of the elevator just as she arrived.
"Ah, Professor McGonagall! What a surprise to see you working so late."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. Fudge was not known for late-night diligence. Still, she nodded curtly. "Minister."
"And what brings you to the Ministry at such an hour?" he asked, his tone smooth, curious.
"I caught these men attempting to harm my student," she replied, motioning to the five Dark Wizards tied tightly together by enchanted ropes. "I am bringing them here to ensure they receive the punishment they deserve."
Fudge forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Ah, I see. Very commendable. Please, leave them with me—I'll take them to the Auror Office myself."
"You'll take them personally, Minister?"
"It's so late," Fudge said lightly. "No need to trouble the on-duty Aurors. Besides, I happen to have the time."
McGonagall studied him for a moment longer, then nodded and turned to leave.
As soon as she vanished down the corridor, the mask fell from Fudge's face. He stared at the prisoners—whimpering, terrified, bound hand and foot—with thinly veiled disgust.
"Useless," he muttered. "Can't even manage a simple task."
He drew his wand. A cold green light filled the hallway.
"Avada Kedavra."
One by one, the Dark Wizards fell silent, their bodies collapsing like discarded puppets.
Fudge sighed, adjusting his hat. "How dreadful," he murmured under his breath, already rehearsing the lines he would use for the morning papers. "The fiends of Knockturn Alley strike again—five dead this time. If not for some kind soul delivering their bodies, there might have been panic in the streets…"
He shook his head, pretending to lament the chaos even as he stepped over the corpses, heading toward the Auror Office.
"I'd better have the Aurors clean this up quickly," he said, his voice soft and cold, fading into the empty corridor.
End of Chapter 158: Dana Avery is Protected
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