-Like Magic-

To New Beginnings

Chrysanthemums, sometimes called mums or chrysanths, are flowering plants of the genus Chrysanthemum in the family Asteraceae. They are native to East Asia and northeastern Europe.

Symbolizes Grief.

The cloak of night settled over Diagon Alley, the brick roads sparse of any wizard or witch aside from a passerby or two. The only signs of life were behind doors, candles illuminating windows as faint laughter and music could be heard. The Leaky Cauldron was no exception, still bustling with excitable patrons. But who could blame them? It's not every day that the Dark Lord, He-Who-Shall-Be-Named, is defeated.

The band played a lively tune accompanied by small pops of sparks going off in the air. It seemed as though those dancing were bewitched, as they had been dancing for quite a while. Rounds upon rounds of fire whiskey were given out, on the house courtesy of Tom the barman who was also the Leaky Cauldron's innkeeper. Tom eyed the corner of the pub, a small table occupied by a lone candle and hunched over man. The older man's eyes softened before chuckling, leaving his place at the bar to aid the inebriated customer. The least he could do was give the poor sap a warm bed to sleep in. Tom leaned down before gently shaking the man's shoulder.

"Oi, there are better places to sleep than on this cold table. How 'bout we get you into a room for the night, hm?" The only reply given was a groan, "I think you've had too much to drink my friend- my fault, really" Tom sheepishly said. The man was silent, slowly raising his head from the table and blinking away the sleep from his gray eyes.

"O-oh! Mr. Wrighton! Why, I didn't even recognize you with your head shoved down!" Tom gave him a light smack on the shoulder before hoisting him up by the arm. "Now, as I said, a bed would do you some good at the moment, now-" a raised hand interrupted Tom, the younger man slipping from his hold.

"Appreciate it Tom, but 'm fine."

"Wait, Mr. Wrighton-"

A sound akin to a belt snapping and the man was suddenly at the front door, fumbling for the door.

"Hm-? Ah, Wrighton! C'mon and celebrate with us!" a patron exclaimed, raising his glass towards the drunk, "After all the war might have ended later if it wasn't for you and your fellow Aurors keeping the Boy Who Lived alive!!"

Wrighton's eyes seemed to narrow at the mention of Aurors, not paying the wizard any mind as he pushed the door open. The man was met with a cool November breeze as he stepped onto the empty street of London. The wind ruffled his unkempt head of black hair, gray hairs already growing despite being in his mid-20s. The muggle world is a great contrast to the wizarding world, oblivious to the fact a great threat had been defeated. It had been a week since the Boy Who Lived had vanquished Voldemort on the night of Halloween. A week since Wrighton had stepped down from his position as an Auror. And it had been two months since his partner, Emeren, had been killed in a death eater attack. Wrighton couldn't find a reason to celebrate, his efforts in the war feeling empty with the absence of his lover. Eyeing the dead street, Wrighton attempted to apparate back home.

~

As his scenery shifted, feeling his pounding head being pulled this way and that, Wrighton found himself falling into a shallow river. The icy cold water felt like a smack in the face making him jump up. The dark twisted his sense of direction, but luckily he knew he was only a five-minute walk from his little cottage nestled in the trees. He decided against apparating again, not wanting to risk ending up on the other side of the world. Instead, he made his trek back home on foot.

As he neared the little cottage he called home, he noticed a tall dark figure sitting on the wooden bench at the front of his home. Discreetly drawing his wand, he straightened his shoulders. "Who the h-"

"Dain."

"...Dumbledore." Dain lowered his wand at the sound of Albus Dumbledore. Yet his sense of calm morphed into that of confusion and anger, rushing towards the old wizard. "What the hell are you-?!"

Dumbledore shushed the temperamental man, his half-moon spectacles slipping down his nose as he turned his head downwards towards the bundle he held in his arms. Dain skeptically eyed the swaddled thing, half expecting a house elf to peek its head out. Dumbledore ushered Dain forward with a long finger, bringing the bundle closer. Wrapped up in the thick warm cloth was a sleeping baby, no older than a year. Dain stepped back from the eccentric wizard.

"What are you playing at, Dumbledore?" Said man ushered for Dain to sit down.

"This little one's name is [Y/n], why don't you hold them?" Without waiting for a reply Dumbledore laid the babe in Dain's fumbling arms. The man awkwardly held them, his fidgeting and constant adjusting waking the child who began to whine. Upon hearing the noise Dain began to hush the thing, silently begging it to not start crying.

"If I didn't know any better it seems as though you've never held a baby..." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"N-no that was more of Emeren's thing..."

"Ah, yes, Emeren... I am sorry again for your loss my dear boy. Emeren was a bright and talented wizard, I wish they were here to see that their efforts were for naught."

"Yeah..." A tense silence washed over the two wizards, the rustling of leaves and quiet coos of the tired baby.

"Do you remember Gwendolyn Leavenworth? A charming witch, a member of the Order...?"

Dain held a tan finger in front of the child's face which promptly stopped their whining. Somehow shimmying their arms out of the cloth they grabbed onto the waving finger. "Yes, Gwendolyn... graduated the same year as I. What about her?"

"This child, how you say... came into the care of Ms. Leavenworth a few months back. However, and I say this with a heavy heart, she went missing this past week." Dain's eyes darted to the older man's face, before looking back to the little one's.

"(Y/N)'s parents came to me in late August, hoping to find a safe and caring home for them. I've been trying to find a home for the child, their parents having met the same fate as many of our other comrades. Death eaters...My options are running low, many either dead or unwilling. You, Dain, are the last option before I give them up to a home..."

Dain was baffled, to say the least, a child? Him? Being a parent? He could barely take care of himself at the moment. Yet when he gazed into their eyes he couldn't help the feeling of his heart clenching. What would Emeren do? Well- that was an easy question, they would've taken the babe in without hesitation. But Dain isn't Emeren, he could never be like them but...

"You... you do realize you are asking a lot from me?"

"Ah, I do of course. But there is no one else I wouldn't trust with a task like this."

Dain shook his head, muttering "liar..."

"Hm? Did you say something, my dear boy?"

"I... I could try."

At that Dumbledore stood up, his hand brushing the small head of hair before reaching into his robe.

"For the trouble, and if it does not work out, do not hesitate to send me an owl." Pulling out two thick envelopes Dumbledore set them next to Dain on the bench, before disappearing into the night with the sound of a snap.

~

Uploading Date: 01/07/2022

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