London.
Clouds floated slow and low across a pale moon, parting just enough to let silver light ripple over the lake. The water lay nearly motionless, disturbed only by the occasional soft breath of wind. Streetlights guarded the path at regular intervals, their amber glow slicing narrow tunnels through the darkness—never quite reaching the water, never quite touching the trees. It was late, almost midnight, the hour when London finally quieted down, or at least pretended to.
Olivia sat by herself on a worn wooden bench near the lake's edge. The bench looked straight out over the water, its paint long faded and smoothed by rain and wind and forgotten touch-ups. She leaned back with the quiet ease of someone looking for peace, one leg crossed over the other, shoulders soft, gaze resting on the moon's fragile reflection shivering across the dark surface. A cigarette dangled between her fingers; the ember glowed each time she inhaled. Smoke curled upward in thin, pale wisps, dissolving into the night before it could linger.
The wind brushed lightly past her coat and through her hair, cool and gentle, laced with the soft scent of damp earth and leaves. It was a lovely night in its quiet way—beautiful enough to pull reflection from anyone, whether they welcomed it or not. Olivia did not seem to be reflecting. Her face stayed calm, composed, and as watchful as always. Even in stillness she appeared alert, as if part of her mind stayed tuned to something distant—beyond the lake, beyond the city that pretended to sleep.
A sharp sound cracked the stillness behind her.
It was not loud enough to draw distant attention, but close enough to be unmistakable. A sudden displacement of air. A magical signature collapsing into itself.
Without turning her head, Olivia exhaled smoke and spoke evenly.
"You shouldn't Apparate in public like that," she said. "Someone might see you."
A low laugh answered her, light and unbothered.
"Oh, come on, boss," a male voice said. "You were sitting here smoking. You looked cool. I made sure no one was around. It is nearly midnight. Muggle people are asleep."
Footsteps approached from behind, calm and unhurried. Olivia remained motionless, eyes on the moonlit water, posture unchanged. The newcomer stopped beside the bench—close enough that she could feel him there without looking.
When he spoke again, it was closer now, warmer.
Ethan stood there, wearing a long dark coat that reached past his knees, the fabric heavy and well tailored. The collar was turned up slightly against the night air. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, as he followed Olivia's gaze toward the lake.
"So," he said lightly. "You smoke sometimes too, boss?"
Olivia lifted the cigarette, watched the ember glow, then took another slow inhale before answering.
"When I am stressed," she said, "I sometimes do."
Ethan smiled. It was easy, familiar. He moved to sit beside her on the bench, settling in as though this were a casual meeting between friends rather than what it truly was. He leaned back, stretched his legs slightly, and looked out over the water, eyes reflecting moonlight and streetlamp glow.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The lake filled the silence. The wind whispered. Somewhere in the distance, a car passed, its sound muted and brief.
Ethan sighed.
"So," he said at last. "What is the matter? You asked me to come suddenly. It is the weekend. I could have been enjoying my time at Hogwarts with my dear students."
Olivia turned her head then, finally looking at him. She gave him a flat stare and rolled her eyes.
"I asked you here," she said, "because you need to report about your time there. And because there are matters we need to discuss."
Ethan lifted both hands in surrender and chuckled.
"All right, all right," he said. "How should I put it? My time at the school. It was my first week. The start was brilliant, actually. I started with a blast."
He glanced sideways at her, amusement flickering across his face.
"I mean the incident on the train," he continued. "Fighting three wizards. Becoming famous overnight in the entire British magical world. That was unexpected."
Olivia exhaled slowly, smoke drifting between them before fading.
"Yes," she said. "We received the report. Secretary Cavendish was very pleased with your involvement. Very pleased."
She took another drag, eyes returning to the lake.
"You've become quite the topic at the Ministry of Magic," she continued. "Your meeting with Oswin Selvanos did more for your standing among wizards than you might think. He remains a strong candidate for Minister, and his backing would carry weight. If he wins, you'll have a direct path to influence inside the Ministry. Being visible in the political arena matters now. This incident has already raised your profile among British wizards. You could be regarded as a dependable figure in times of need—provided you keep presenting yourself as someone strong, someone with real influence."
"That was the first step," she went on, exhaling a thin curl of smoke. "The incident smoothed your path. It benefited the mission—more than you might realise right now."
Ethan waved a hand dismissively.
"I don't think it is that important," he said. "In a few days, people will forget. Something else will happen. That is how it always works."
He tilted his head, thoughtful.
"Though," he continued, pausing to let the words settle, "at first I did wonder if the Crown had a hand in it. A staged incident, maybe. A deliberate way to push me into the British magical world and earn the confidence and trust of influential people—particularly Dumbledore."
Olivia let out a short laugh, sharp and humorless. She turned fully toward him now, her eyes hard.
"That would be incredibly stupid," she said. "If we had done something like that, do you think it would not be traced back to us? We do not have the luxury to play games that obvious. It would have destroyed our relations with the British magical world."
She leaned closer, her voice firm.
"And do not ever think you earn Dumbledore's trust just because you saved a bunch of children. That man does not work like that. Understand me, Ethan. You will not be trusted easily."
Ethan met her gaze and nodded.
"I know," he said, exhaling slowly. "I'm not naive. It was just something I wondered about. The Aurors investigated, but it's been a week and nothing's come out of it. The Ministry doesn't seem bothered. There's been no mention of the investigation in the Daily Prophet lately, and even the parents of the children have gone quiet about it now."
Olivia inhaled again, then released the smoke in a slow stream.
"We investigated too," she said. "The moment we learned there were three attackers, we began our own inquiry. Our operative inside the Ministry worked under Secretary Cavendish's instruction. His handler assisted."
She flicked ash away with a precise motion.
"They found nothing. Neither did the Ministry's finest. Even the pureblood circles that once orbited the Dark Lord have been unusually silent."
Ethan frowned slightly.
"So nothing linking them to him," he said. "Or to any known group."
"No," Olivia answered. "They held a meeting at the Ministry straight after the incident. Dumbledore and the Aurors are convinced it's a new faction. The first time something like this has happened in over a decade."
She paused, thoughtful.
The ember of her cigarette glowed once more as she drew in slowly, the faint crackle of burning paper the only sound for several seconds. Smoke drifted upward in a lazy spiral before the wind caught it and pulled it apart.
When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, almost as if the words were meant more for the lake than for him.
"The Ministry doesn't move this slowly unless they're choosing not to look. A new faction after more than ten years of quiet? They would be tearing the country apart to find the source. Instead they held one meeting, wrote a report, and filed it away. That tells you something."
She tapped ash toward the water. It scattered before it touched the surface.
"Either they already know who it is and they're letting it play out for their own reasons… or they're afraid of what they'll find if they dig too deep. Neither option is comforting."
Olivia finally turned her head—just enough to meet his eyes in the dim silver light.
"What makes it strange is the intent," Olivia continued. "They had the time. They could have hurt students. They could have gone after someone specific—Potter, or anyone. But no one was injured. It felt almost like a message. Or a rehearsal."
Ethan leaned back, staring at the moon's shaky reflection on the lake.
"Or a prank," he said.
"Perhaps," Olivia replied, tapping ash from her cigarette. "Whatever the reason, it played in your favor. Parents trust you now. Students admire you. Hogwarts views you as reliable. That kind of reputation matters, which is very important to the mission."
And you did well," she said. "You managed the situation with perfect composure and cleverness. Secretary Cavendish was genuinely delighted by how you handled it."
Ethan smiled faintly.
"What can I say, Boss?" he said, spreading his hands in mock modesty. "I'm a genius after all."
Olivia sighed.
"All right, Mr Genius," she said. "Tell me about your classes."
He did.
He spoke of the dueling lessons. Of how the students reacted. Of names, faces, strengths, fears. He described how he structured the sessions, how he pushed them without breaking them, how he earned their respect not through authority but through capability. He talked about the older students and the younger ones, about surprise and talent and stubbornness.
He spoke of the staff as well. Of measured conversations with professors. Of careful words exchanged with Dumbledore. Of observation and restraint.
Time passed.
The cigarette burned low. Olivia lit another.
When Ethan finished, she nodded.
"Good," she said. "You are on track. Everything is proceeding smoothly. Except for that unknown variable."
She met his eyes.
"All operative agents in Britain are aware of you. Be careful. They know who you are. You do not know them."
Ethan frowned.
"Why not tell me who they are?" he asked.
"You will know when you need to," Olivia replied. "For now, distance is safer."
She reached into her bag and produced a thin file, handing it to him.
"I have a mission for you," she said.
Ethan opened it, scanning the contents. His expression hardened.
"A trafficking ring," he said quietly.
"A small one," Olivia confirmed. "They abduct ordinary boys and girls. They sell them to wealthy wizards for gratification. Shut it down. Rescue anyone you can."
Ethan closed the file and nodded.
"Where do I deliver the rescued?" he asked.
Olivia exhaled slowly, smoke curling upward before dissolving into the night. Then she spoke.
"I will tell you where to deliver the rescued individuals," she said, her voice low but precise. "They cannot simply be released. They need to be investigated by us, thoroughly, and examined to ensure that the magic used on them has not caused lasting damage."
Ethan inclined his head slightly. "Of course," he replied. "I will take care of it."
She studied him for a moment, as though weighing something unseen. Then she reached into her coat and lit another cigarette, the flame briefly flaring like a captured star. As she drew in a breath, her gaze sharpened, and when she spoke again, there was a different edge to her words.
"Remember this," Olivia said. "No one must know who you truly are."
The lake reflected her words back in silence.
"To the British wizarding world," she continued, "you are nothing more than a powerful professor. Skilled, respected and helpful one. A man devoted to teaching and to the well being of his students. There must be nothing mysterious about you. Nothing that invites suspicion. For now, that is all that matters."
Ethan met her eyes without wavering. If he felt any irritation, he kept it hidden. A faint smile appeared on his lips—not arrogant or mocking, but assured and confident.
"I understand," he said. "I have lived behind masks before. Hiding who I am is nothing new to me."
Olivia nodded once, as though that answer had been expected. Still, she held his gaze a moment longer, ensuring the truth of it. Then she gave a small gesture with her hand, dismissive yet deliberate.
"If there is nothing else," Ethan added lightly, "boss."
She did not smile at the word, but neither did she correct him. Instead, she reached down, picked up her bag, and rose from the bench where she had been sitting.
"Nothing else," Olivia said. "Just remember what I told you."
She took a step away, then paused, as if reconsidering. When she spoke again, her voice carried more weight than before.
"There is one more thing," she said. "You need to get close to your students. Closer than any ordinary professor would."
Ethan's expression shifted, only slightly. Interest replaced easy confidence.
"They must trust you," Olivia continued. "Not just respect you. Trust you. The way students trust Dumbledore. The way people rely on him, confide in him, follow him without question."
She turned back to face him fully now, moonlight catching the sharp line of her jaw.
"I want those students to trust you so completely that they would come to you before they go to their parents," she said. "Before they go to Dumbledore himself."
The words hung heavy in the air.
"That level of trust," Olivia went on, "is influence. And influence is what you need. It is the best way forward and the most effective step you can take for this mission."
Ethan did not answer right away. His gaze drifted toward the faint dark line of the city in the distance, half-hidden by the trees.
After a moment he looked back at Olivia.
"I understand what you're asking," he said, voice low and steady. "And I will try to do it."
That seemed to satisfy her. She gave a short nod, then turned away, already moving toward the narrow path that led to the road.
"When the mission is complete," she said over her shoulder, "send a full report. Every detail."
"I will," Ethan replied.
Olivia did not turn. She walked beneath the thin silver wash of moonlight, her shadow stretching long and dark across the pale ground. The rhythm of her footsteps softened as she neared the road, where her car was parked.
Then a sharp crack tore through the night.
She did not falter. She knew that sound as well as her own heartbeat. Apparition. Ethan had disappeared.