Alexander reclined in his chair, his tired eyes wandering thoughtfully toward the ceiling of his office. His voice echoed through the room, heavy with an ancient exhaustion.
— Perhaps the stars have the answers. They always seem to know things.
Unlike ordinary offices, where the ceiling was merely a wooden panel or tiles, his was a window to infinity. Above, a tangle of stars, planets, and celestial bodies shimmered in a breathtaking view. Even after all these years, he couldn't help but marvel at it.
He had worked tirelessly to create that enchantment, inspired by the Great Hall of Hogwarts. But his spell was far more than a mere magical reproduction. What he saw above was not an illusion, but a real-time transmission of the Milky Way itself. He took great pride in this achievement, and even greater pride in the admiration of his grandchildren, who never tired of watching the celestial display.
The stars had always brought him peace, but tonight, even they couldn't soothe his heart.
Sixty years. Sixty years since he had ended up in this world he once loved so much. He wasn't born here; he was just an ordinary man who had woken up one day in the body of a baby in a world that felt strangely familiar. At first, he had been overjoyed. How could he not be? He had been reborn into the wizarding world! He would get to see Harry Potter, Dobby, and so many other characters who had once made him dream. But his excitement had faded when he realized he had arrived sixty years too early. He had cursed the heavens when he found out.
He hadn't stood idly by during those years. He had grown, studied at Hogwarts, made friends, traveled the world, found the love of his life, had three wonderful children… and lost them.
The pain still burned within him, a cruel, incurable curse. He had watched his children die, one by one, blindly following the words of an old fool who preached peace and spoke nonsense about "the greater good." They had left to fight a noseless monster, leaving only memories and sorrow behind.
When he first reincarnated, Voldemort hadn't frightened him. How could he? He was just an obstacle to be overcome alongside the story's protagonist. But reality was far harsher than he had imagined. Alexander was one of the most powerful wizards in Britain, yet even he couldn't defeat Voldemort. And, over time, he realized that wasn't even his priority. After becoming a father, his ambitions had changed. All he had wanted was to keep his children safe.
He had tried. Tried with all his might. But he had failed.
And now, history was repeating itself. His grandchildren were in danger.
— Harry Potter… What am I supposed to do with you?
This year would mark Harry's arrival at Hogwarts. The poor boy wasn't to blame, but his entrance into the magical world was a prelude to chaos. And, to make matters worse, his youngest granddaughter, Circe, would be starting at Hogwarts in the same year. She was a good girl, but an absolute magnet for trouble. Not even her siblings and cousins could keep her in check.
Alexander wouldn't be able to protect them inside Hogwarts. He would have to trust them… at least for now. But he couldn't just sit and do nothing. Before anything else, he needed to meet the boy from the prophecy.
With a sigh, he rose from his chair and picked up the beautifully ornamented cane resting beside him. He pointed it toward the coat rack near the door, where a beige overcoat lay still. In a graceful motion, the garment floated through the office and settled onto his arms.
— Cane, overcoat, wallet… Am I forgetting something?
Alexander furrowed his brows, scanning the room. Then, giving up, he spoke aloud:
— Ozzy, my hat, please.
As if summoned by magic—and indeed he was—a hat appeared in the air, held by a small figure that, a moment later, fully revealed itself.
It was a short house-elf, about 1.40 meters tall, slightly plump, with large, pointed ears and enormous blue eyes. He wore brown trousers, a white shirt, and a blue vest. An old elf.
Ozzy's eyes shone with excitement as he finally gathered the courage to speak:
— Are we heading out, sir? Are we going to the sweet shop again?
The little one was a real glutton. Alexander couldn't help but think that, at this rate, Ozzy would soon be round as a cauldron. The elf spent his entire salary on sweets and treats, something Alexander's grandchildren knew very well. Whenever they wanted extra candy, they sought out Ozzy, who spoiled them with joy.
— Not this time, little one.
Alexander's heavy voice made Ozzy shrink back. He had only heard that concerned tone once before… the day the old lady had passed away.
— Something bad, sir?
Alexander studied his old friend and sighed, softening his expression slightly.
— I don't know yet, little one. But soon, we'll find out. We're going to the Leaky Cauldron… to meet Harry Potter.
Ozzy's eyes widened.
— Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?
The house-elf practically jumped forward, clapping and making an excited ruckus.
— Ozzy is going to meet Harry Potter! Ozzy is going to meet Harry Potter! Ozzy is going to meet—
With a swift flick of his cane, Alexander made Ozzy's mouth disappear. Then, he lifted the elf by the armpits, raising him to eye level.
— Quiet, Ozzy. They might hear you. And if they come too, it'll be a problem.
Ozzy's eyes widened in understanding, and, embarrassed, he mimed zipping his lips shut. Satisfied, Alexander set him down and straightened his vest.
To his dismay, Ozzy immediately started another commotion, wailing about how he was not worthy of such care.
After ten minutes of trying to calm the elf, Ozzy finally clung to Alexander's overcoat. With a tap of his cane against the floor, both of them vanished into a swirling black vortex.