2032
(Arthur Van Doren's POV)
Diagon Alley buzzed with an energy that was both familiar and unsettling. Gone were the hidden entrance, the subtle wards that once kept the Muggle world at bay. Now, a gleaming archway, adorned with intricate carvings of magical creatures and shimmering runes, stood proudly at the end of a bustling London street. Tourists, their faces a mixture of awe and apprehension, mingled with witches and wizards, their robes a vibrant splash of color against the backdrop of casual Muggle attire.
It was… strange.
Arthur, his hand instinctively brushing against the wand tucked inside his jacket, navigated the crowds with a mix of fascination and unease. He'd grown up in the magical world, of course, but Castelobruxo, nestled deep within the Amazon rainforest, was a world away from the bustling energy of Diagon Alley.
He was here on business, a meeting with a goblin representative regarding some investments his father had entrusted him with. Being Vincent Van Doren's son was a double-edged sword. Doors opened, deals were struck, whispers of respect – and a healthy dose of fear – followed him wherever he went. But it also meant living in the shadow of a man who'd not only killed Voldemort but had shattered the very foundations of their world.
He'd always wondered what Hogwarts was like. Blaise and Theo would tell stories of their time there – of pranks, of rivalries, of late-night study sessions and forbidden explorations. But Arthur had been sent to Castelobruxo, a decision his parents had made long before the integration.
"For your safety," his mother had said, her blue eyes filled with a worry he hadn't understood at the time. "Hogwarts is… complicated."
Now, looking at the witches and wizards mingling with Non-magicals, their wands casually tucked into belts or holsters, their magic no longer a concealed secret, Arthur understood. Hogwarts, with Dumbledore still as headmaster, was still a focal point for those who clung to the old ways, those who resented his father's power, who whispered of betrayal and a world spiraling into chaos.
As he walked, he spotted a familiar face amidst the crowd. Harry Potter. He looked… different. Older, a bit rougher around the edges, the youthful defiance replaced by a weariness that sat heavily on his shoulders. He wasn't wearing Auror robes. In fact, he was dressed in faded jeans and a worn leather jacket, blending into the Muggle throng.
That's right, Arthur remembered. Potter had been an Auror. But with the Ministry's transformation into the British Wizarding Parliament, with his dad as Chancellor, the Auror department had undergone a restructuring. Potter, outspoken in his criticism of Vincent's policies, had been… let go, officially deemed "unsuitable" for the new, more integrated approach to law enforcement.
Sirius Black stood beside Potter, his expression grim, his hand resting on Potter's shoulder in a gesture of comfort – or perhaps restraint. Their gazes met across the crowded street, a silent clash of unspoken resentments.
Arthur hesitated for a moment, then decided to duck into a nearby alleyway. He had no desire for a confrontation. Not today.
But as he walked, a prickling sensation on the back of his neck intensified. He was being followed. He stopped, his hand instinctively going to his wand. Too late.
The alley narrowed, the sounds of Diagon Alley fading behind him. Shadows stretched long and deep, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and brewing magic. He drew his wand, its rosewood handle warm against his palm, a reassuring weight. He wasn't his father, not in skill, not in ruthlessness. But His dad had trained him, honed his reflexes, drilled into him the importance of awareness, of anticipation.
A blur of motion from the corner of his eye. A spell, red and angry, streaked towards him, aimed for his legs. He reacted instinctively, twisting his body, the spell searing the air inches from his hip. "Stupefy!" Black's voice, laced with a cold fury, echoed in the alley.
Arthur retaliated, his own spell, "Protego!", a shimmering shield, materializing before him just in time. The spells collided, a burst of sparks showering the alleyway. He spun around, his wand now a steady beacon in the dim light.
They were there, emerging from the shadows. Black and Potter Their wands raised, their faces grim masks of determination. But it wasn't just the wands that unnerved Arthur. It was the look in their eyes—a cold, unwavering resolve, a hunger for something more than just a duel.
"We need to talk, Van Doren," Black said, his voice a low growl. "About your father."
Arthur knew he was outmatched and outnumbered. He'd heard stories, whispered legends of Black's prowess, of Potter's uncanny knack for surviving impossible odds. "I have nothing to say to you," Arthur said, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart.
Potter stepped forward, his green eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something… deeper….
"You're wrong, Van Doren," Potter said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Your father has a lot to answer for. And you're going to help us make him see that."
A second spell, a binding curse, whipped toward him. "Incarcerous!" Black's voice, sharp and commanding, left no room for negotiation. Arthur raised his wand, deflecting the curse with a flick of his wrist, "Protego!". But it was a delaying tactic, a desperate attempt to buy himself a few precious seconds. He needed to get out of this alley, to find help, to…
Another spell, this time from Potter, a disarming jinx, caught him off guard. "Expelliarmus!" His wand flew from his grasp, clattering against the cobblestones, a mocking echo of his own powerlessness.
Before Arthur could react, Black and the others were upon him., and Arthur found himself slammed against the wall, Black's wand pressed against his throat.
"Don't fight it, kid," Black growled, his voice a low menace. "It'll only make things worse."
Arthur knew he had no choice.
"Easy there, Sirius," Potter said, stepping closer. He looked at Arthur, his eyes filled with a conflicted mix of anger and pity. "We're not going to hurt you, Arthur, not if you cooperate."
"Cooperate?" Arthur spat the word with a bitter taste on his tongue. "You attack me in a fucking alleyway, and then you talk about cooperation?"
"Your father left us with few options," Black said, his voice cold, unforgiving.
"He took something from us," Potter said, his voice low, intense. "And we need you to help us stop him, you're our bargaining chip"
Arthur stared at them. Black's fury. Potter's sorrow. They'd lost people. People they'd loved. And they blamed his father.
And as they dragged him deeper into the shadows of the alleyway, away from the bustling lights and the oblivious crowds of Diagon Alley, Arthur realized with a sinking feeling that he was now a pawn in their game. A weapon to be used against his own father.
The world dissolved into a dizzying swirl of nausea, the familiar sensation of Apparition yanking him from the shadowy alleyway. He stumbled as they landed, his bound arms straining against the ropes, his stomach churning. The air was colder here, damp and smelling of pine needles and something…wild.
He looked around. A clearing in a forest.
"Where the hell are we?" Arthur demanded, his voice tight with a mix of anger and fear.
Potter, his wand still raised, his expression grim, didn't answer
"Somewhere your father won't find you," he said, his voice a low growl. "Not until we're ready."
Arthur struggled against the ropes, his anger flaring. "What is this? What do you want?"
"Answers," Potter said, his voice tight, his green eyes blazing with an intensity that sent a shiver down Arthur's spine. "And justice."
"Justice for what?" Arthur spat back. "For my father saving the fucking wizarding world? For ending Voldemort? You're insane! You can't just…"
"You think what he's doing is right? Exposing us to the Muggles? Tearing down the Statute of Secrecy?" Black's voice was a low snarl.
"It's not about that," Potter interrupted, his gaze fixed on Arthur, his expression filled with a mixture of grief and accusation. "It's about what he did. What he's capable of."
"He… He took something from us, Arthur," Potter continued, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "Something… unforgivable."
Arthur stared at him, confused, a growing unease knotting his stomach. "What are you talking about?"
Potter took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of this secret was crushing him. "He killed Dumbledore," he said, the words a bleak, hollow echo in the stillness of the forest.
Arthur's breath hitched. "What?"
"You heard me," Potter said, his gaze unwavering.
"You're lying," Arthur said, the words a desperate denial. It was… impossible. Dumbledore. The Headmaster of Hogwarts, the leader of the Order of the Phoenix, … Dead?
"We found his body in the Forbidden Forest," Black said, his voice cold, flat. "He was hit by the Killing Curse. It had to be a wizard."
"So you just… assumed it was my father?" Arthur asked, the words a bitter accusation.
Potter nodded, his expression grim. "He had a motive. The power. And Dumbledore… he was a threat. He knew too much. He was trying to stop Vincent."
"He hated my father!" Arthur protested, a surge of anger rising within him. "He didn't like his actions and he was a thorn in his side at the parliament. Why would he…"
"He was trying to protect our world, Arthur," Black said, his voice a low growl. "He saw what your father was doing, the path he was on, and he knew it would lead to disaster."
"We warned him," Potter added, his voice a mix of grief and accusation. "We told him to be careful, that Vincent wasn't to be trusted… but he wouldn't listen."
Arthur shook his head. This was madness.
"I'm so sorry, Arthur," Potter said, his voice laced with a genuine sorrow that sent a shiver down Arthur's spine. "But this… this has to end. We will send your father a message. That we have you. And we will tell him… we'll kill you ourselves if he doesn't show up."
Arthur stared at him, his mind reeling. They were going to kill him? But… why?
"Screw the others at the Order," Black spat. "Hermione's afraid of him. The others are, too. But Harry and I… we're not."
"This ends now, Arthur," Potter said, his green eyes burning with a cold, unwavering resolve. "One way or another."
The weight of their words, the chilling certainty in their voices, pressed down on Arthur, a suffocating reminder that he was caught in a battle he didn't understand, a war waged between shadows and secrets, a game with stakes higher than he'd ever imagined.
Arthur struggled against the binding and cursed himself for being weak.