The London residence Ariana had secured for herself was not a grand townhouse, but a discreet flat in a quiet, magically-shielded corner of South Kensington. It was modern,
minimalist, and perfectly suited to her needs: a place of solitude and intense focus. The first thing she did was unpack Tom Riddle's diary, placing the ruined, venom-scarred book in a magically inert containment cube she had constructed with Nicolas Flamel's guidance. It was no longer a threat, but it was a crucial piece of evidence, a physical link to Voldemort's soul-splitting ritual that she needed to study.
Her summer project began.
With the freedom and resources at her disposal, she delved into a meticulous, exhaustive investigation of the events surrounding Lord Voldemort's first fall from power. She spent long, silent days in the Ministry of Magic's public archives, a place most wizards avoided but which she found to be a treasure trove of unfiltered data. She requisitioned court transcripts from the Death Eater trials, cross-referencing names, dates, and testimonies.
She read every article published in the Daily Prophet from October 1981 to the end of 1982. She was not just reading; she was building a web of connections, a map of deceit. She noted every Death Eater who had claimed the Imperius Curse as a defense—Lucius Malfoy's name was prominent.
She studied the details of the Fidelius Charm, its mechanics, its strengths, and its critical, fatal weakness: the Secret-Keeper. The official narrative was clear: Sirius Black, James Potter's best friend, had been the Secret-Keeper. He had betrayed the Potters, murdered Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles, and was now rotting in Azkaban.
But Ariana's analysis of the data revealed inconsistencies, logical gaps, fuelled by her knowledge of the original timeline. Black, from all accounts, was arrogant but fiercely loyal. Pettigrew was weak-willed, a follower. The switch of Secret-Keepers at the last minute, a detail mentioned in a passing comment in one of Dumbledore's trial testimonies, was the critical, overlooked variable. The absence of trial another. It was a poorly constructed narrative, and Ariana intended to deconstruct it completely before the year was out.
In late July, she fulfilled her promise and sent an owl to Daphne Greengrass. The invitation that came back was immediate and effusive. She arrived by Apparition—a skill she had perfected under the Flamels' tutelage, though she was careful not to use it publicly—at the gates of Greengrass Manor. It was an ancient, elegant estate of pale stone and sprawling, manicured gardens, a testament to old money and pure-blood influence.
She was greeted not just by Daphne and Tracey, but by Lord and Lady Greengrass. They were a formidable couple, polite and aristocratic, their initial coolness melting into a profound, serious respect when they saw their daughter's genuine friendship with the girl who had saved her.
After a formal dinner, Lord Greengrass asked to speak with Ariana alone in his study. The room was dark wood and leather, filled with the scent of old books and family history.
"Miss Dumbledore," he began, his voice grave. "My daughter has told me the full extent of what occurred with the man Lockhart. It is a debt our family cannot easily repay. The House of Greengrass acknowledges a life-debt to you."
It was a significant, politically powerful declaration. A life-debt from a family like the Greengrasses was a formidable asset in the intricate world of pure-blood politics.
Ariana, however, met his serious gaze with her own calm one. "Lord Greengrass," she said, her voice polite but firm. "I appreciate the gravity of your words and the honour you intend. However, I must respectfully dismiss the notion of a life-debt."
He looked taken aback. "Dismiss it? Such a thing is not easily dismissed."
"My actions were not undertaken with the expectation of reward or obligation," Ariana explained simply. "They were undertaken for one reason: Daphne is my friend. I protected my friend. That is not a debt to be repaid; it is a fundamental principle of our alliance. To formalize it as a debt would be to cheapen it."
Lord Greengrass stared at her, this young girl who spoke of ancient pure-blood customs with such modern, unassailable logic. He saw in her not a child, but a future leader of immense power and unnerving clarity. A slow, deeply impressed smile touched his lips.
"You are an extraordinary young woman, Miss Dumbledore," he said. "Daphne has chosen her friends well."
Her visit was also marked by another significant encounter. While touring the gardens, Daphne introduced Ariana to her younger sister, Astoria. She was a small, delicate girl with large, expressive eyes that held a shadow of deep, persistent weariness. Ariana felt it immediately—a faint, discordant hum in the girl's magical signature, a flaw in her very essence. It was the echo of a blood curse.
"Astoria has always been… delicate," Daphne explained quietly, when her sister was out of earshot. "An old family malediction. The healers say it will weaken her over time. There is no cure."
Ariana looked at the young girl, and her heart, usually so calm and analytical, felt a pang of profound empathy. She thought of Nagini, a being so twisted by her own curse that she had sought solace in the shadow of a dark lord. She saw in Astoria another potential victim of a cruel magical fate. In that moment, Ariana made a silent, internal vow. Her research would not just be about defeating Voldemort. It would be about understanding the deepest, most fundamental laws of magic—the magic of blood, of curses, of life itself. If a cure was possible, she would find it. She would not let these two souls, one lost and one just beginning, be consumed by the darkness in their blood.
A week later, she visited the Grangers. Arriving at their quiet, suburban home was like returning to a different kind of family. The welcome was warm, effusive, and utterly devoid of politics or ancient debts. Mrs. Granger hugged her fiercely, and Mr. Granger plied her with her favourite biscuits.
The house had a new addition. A large, fluffy, ginger cat with a squashed face and an attitude of supreme intelligence was lounging on the sofa. It took one look at Ariana, gave a discerning sniff, and seemed to grant her its regal approval.
"That's Crookshanks," Hermione explained, beaming as she scooped the cat into her arms. "Isn't he wonderful? He's incredibly smart. I bought him in Diagon Alley last week.
The witch said he'd been there for ages, no one wanted him."
Ariana stroked the cat's head, feeling the strong, semi-magical life force humming beneath the fur. A part-Kneazle, clever and independent. A perfect match for her friend. Crookshanks and Midnight, of course became fast friends, a match just like their owners.
Her stay with the Grangers was a balm. They talked for hours, Hermione excitedly sharing her summer reading, Ariana offering deeper insights from her own advanced studies. They went to a Muggle cinema, watched a historical documentary that Ariana quietly and systematically deconstructed for its factual inaccuracies, and simply enjoyed the peaceful normalcy of it all. It was a reminder of the world they were fighting to protect—a world of quiet homes, loving families, and the simple joy of a shared afternoon.
As her visit drew to a close, Hermione looked at her friend, her expression serious.
"Harry's birthday is next week. Ron said he's not been having a good time. His aunt's dreadful sister is visiting. I'm sending him a new Broomstick Servicing Kit by owl."
"I am aware," Ariana said. "My own plans for Harry are already in motion." She looked out the window of Hermione's bedroom at the quiet, peaceful street. "It is time he visited home."
The pieces were set. The research was done. The alliances were strong. And a promise to a friend was about to be kept. The summer was drawing to a close, and the events of their third year were about to be set in motion, not by chance or prophecy, but by a quiet, determined, and flawlessly executed plan.