Albus Dumbledore was often invited to social happenings-holiday parties, christenings, weddings. Former students, social climbers, and general acquaintances often sought his presence at gatherings. Dumbledore liked to oblige his students past and present, and friendly acquaintances. He sometimes went to the gatherings of social and political climbers too. As the newly-made headmaster of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, he had to attend these now and again.

This particular wedding, on the fourth weekend of September, was particularly ill-timed. The fall term had begun at Hogwarts with odd disasters in its wake. Two students from Slytherin had simply left the school, one the first week, one the third week. Both had argued with professors-the first, with Minerva McGonagall, the second-and this was difficult to believe-with Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic. It was difficult to get Professor to stop lecturing long enough even to speak. It would have to have been something of near-earthquake proportions to have gotten the ghostly History of Magic teacher to argue.

As Dumbledore sat down on the bride’s side of the church, he wearily scanned his fellow well-wishers. The bride, Melinda Douglas, had left Hogwarts two years previously, after earning nine NEWTs. The groom had left Hogwarts seven years before, had gotten one NEWT in Charms, and was closely enough related to the Malfoys to have brought Abraxas Malfoy, his wife, and his two sons, aged six and four, to sit primly on the groom’s side. Dumbledore sighed as he settled his deep-purple robes around him. There was no getting around it; he’d have to talk to the Malfoys. A shame, really; until he’d spotted them, he’d thought perhaps he’d have a “pureblood mania� free event. There was altogether too much talk of pure blood these days.

Also present was Cornelius Fudge, a blustery, cheerful little political hanger-on who worked as a senior clerk at the Ministry of Magic, and who was eying the assembled guests with enthusiasm. He looked oddly similar to the cheery round-faced cherubs that had been charmed into existence and who now dropped rose petals and little lawn daisies onto the assembled guests. Dumbledore chuckled to himself.

No doubt the politically ambitious young Fudge had marked the presence of the wealthy and influential Malfoys already, though from the delighted expression on his face, Fudge did not share Dumbledore’s own deep misgivings about them.

As the last of the guests sat down on the wooden pews, Dumbledore caught sight of a face he had not expected to see again, and this face held his interest even more than Abraxas Malfoy’s had. The man’s name was Anir. He must have had a last name, but Dumbledore had never heard it. Tall, thin almost to the point of gauntness, and wolf-fierce, Anir slid his eyes from person to person in a predatory fashion. When he locked eyes with Dumbledore, he did not look away. But neither did he let anything slip-why he had come to this wedding, what he had been doing with his life since Dumbledore had last seen him striding elegantly from Knockturn Alley years ago, or why nobody had noted him anywhere in the Wizarding world in recent years.

Anir only broke eye contact with Dumbledore when he sat down, and Dumbledore turned his eyes to the front of the church with a troubled mind. Despite the blankness of Anir’s public mind, he could feel something, like greasy fingerprints, or poorly-healed cuts, on Anir’s mind, or on his soul. It was as if Anir had come to this wedding while leaning his soul far out over a cliff to see what darkness lay below. Dumbledore found himself wishing Anir was not sitting two rows behind him. Having somebody who had probably been dealing in the dark arts behind him did not do anything to dispel the tenseness in his life.

Anir had not been a student at Hogwarts, Dumbledore knew. Dumbledore was old enough to have remembered him, had he attended. As the cherubs continued to toss little daisies (the rose petals were becoming scarce), the bride’s mother was seated in the front pew. Dumbledore risked another glance at Anir. The man’s face was inscrutable. He smiled slightly at Dumbledore and nodded his direction.

Melinda, the bride, looked lovely as she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. The groom was awkward enough in his responses to the minister’s prompts that Dumbledore almost laughed. The boy had not been particularly intelligent, though good-humored and pleasant. He and Melinda would make a cheerful pair, though Dumbledore couldn’t help hope that, if they had children, they would inherit Melinda’s mental faculties and not the groom’s.

The wedding ceremony went as most wedding ceremonies did, with a few glitches to prove no day could be perfect. The small boy who carried the wedding rings dropped his ornate satin pillow as the groom untied the rings. The cherubs reached a frenzy of flower throwing as the wedding couple kissed, and Dumbledore spotted buttercups and a few stray dandelions tumbling down from the cherubs’ fingers. One bridesmaid stepped on the hem of her ornate orchid-colored robes during the recessional, and Dumbledore clearly heard the sound of tearing cloth.

Dumbledore hoped to be as well entertained at the reception, but such was not the case. The cherubs, having tossed most of their flowers, took to flapping around the church’s meeting hall and laughing in tinkly little voices whenever somebody spoke to them. The reception was long. And it was boring.

In addition, Dumbledore found himself seated, not near Anir, as he had hoped, but right by Cornelius Fudge, who took the opportunity to briskly interrogate Dumbledore on his ideas about becoming the Minister of Magic. And when Fudge finally turned to the owner of Mesmer’s Calming Tonics, who was seated on Fudge’s right, Dumbledore sighed in relief and turned to smile at the young couple across from him.

But they did not smile in return. The man, who was not familiar at all, nodded gravely. The woman, who Dumbledore recognized as his former student Stella Marie Douglas, at least before she was married, only looked at Dumbledore, then gave him a blank smile with no joy in it.

This was as troubling, in its own way, as seeing Anir at the wedding. Stella Marie was-or had been-a friendly girl with a sparkling laugh all the way through school, charming the boys and befriending girls with her open ways and her friendly heart.
“Stella Marie, how good it is to see you again,� Dumbledore said as warmly as he could through the almost palpable fog of emotionless emanating from the couple. “So you have come to Melinda’s wedding. Are you married, as well?�

“Yes, Professor.� Stella Marie’s voice was emotionless. “I married Henry two years ago.�

“I am glad to meet you, Henry,� Dumbledore said politely to the blank-faced young man. He ignored a cherub as it hovered over Stella Marie’s head and gave a tinkly little laugh.

“Glad to meet you, sir.� Henry had a monotone voice with an accent that was probably American.

“You have children?� Dumbledore asked. Rarely had he been so at loss for words when faced with somebody he knew.

This commonplace question, instead of bringing forth another blank yes or no, instead seemed to stab at the young couple, for both of them flinched, and the fog of emotionlessness parted for a long moment to reveal sharp pain, in both of them.

“Yes, Professor,� Stella Marie answered, her voice choked. “A daughter.� And before Dumbledore could inquire as to the health of the child, or think of something suitable to say, if there was anything suitable to say, Stella Marie leaned over and lifted an infant-sized wicker basket from between her and her husband and set it on the table. And there, sure enough, inside the basket, lay a baby, dressed neatly in a pink dress and wearing a silly-looking white bonnet with eyelet lace around the face edge.

But the infant herself was anything but silly-looking. She opened blue eyes wide and blinked twice, and Dumbledore could not help but lean close to admire the child. She had the rounded features of a baby, but her skin was clear, her lips perfectly shaped, and her eyes-they held depths Dumbledore had never seen before in a baby, nor even in a child. She was deep. And then she gave Dumbledore a slight smile, and he could not help but smile back.

“What a beautiful child,� Dumbledore said honestly, admiringly. “What a truly lovely child. How old is she, Stella Marie?�

“Four weeks old,� Stella Marie answered dully. “She’s too young to be smiling. She shouldn’t be.�

“Oh.� Dumbledore glanced at Stella Marie. She had returned to looking blank. “Why not? Perhaps she’s simply ahead. Babies smile at different times. What is her name?�

“She doesn’t have a name,� Henry said sharply. “And she won’t have one. Give me that, Stella.� And Henry jerked the basket off the table. The infant within let out a sudden wail.

But Stella Marie made no attempt to stop her husband from roughly treating their child. Even when Fudge gasped, “Well, I never,� Stella Marie said nothing. The cherub dropped one mangled-looking dandelion into Fudge’s hair before it suddenly whizzed away from their table. Henry marched across the hall, and the baby’s cries grew slowly fainter as he stepped through the door, perhaps outside, perhaps merely down the stairs and away from the crowd.

Dumbledore was left with nothing left to say to his former student. He did not want to discuss any of this with Fudge, who now turned troubled eyes to him. Instead, Dumbledore stood. “Excuse me.� He wound his way through the tables and chairs, his heart more troubled than he had thought it could be at a wedding reception.

What startled him was that, by the time he had reached the door Henry had disappeared through, he had company. Anir, his carefully studied amusement gone, strode out the door behind Dumbledore. Dumbledore again caught the feeling that Anir leaned far, far out over an abyss of evil. But something had caught his attention-perhaps a flash of wide eyes, or a frightened cry, and even as Anir leaned over his personal abyss, he looked back. The vault of evil beneath Anir called out, and the light flickered, then gleamed again. Evil, with all its subterfuges and dishonest, twisted paths, hung in the balance with nothing more than a small gleam of light.

“Don’t bother telling me to go away,� Anir said tersely to Dumbledore when he turned around. “I saw what happened. I’m related to the girl.�

Looking back can sometimes be a good thing. How Anir was related was a mystery to Dumbledore; he couldn’t place Anir anywhere on the well-known family tree of pureblood families, nor of the more far-flung half-bloods.

Henry, when Dumbledore caught up to him, sat out beyond the churchyard, an expression of twisted fury and helplessness on his face as the baby in the basket cried. The basket was a good seven feet from Henry, as if he was afraid of it, or worried about being contaminated.

“I assume,� Dumbledore said with no preamble, “that you have a good reason for mistreating the baby. Are you thinking she is not your daughter?�

Henry turned his face toward Dumbledore. “You have no idea,� he said savagely.

“You think Stella Marie has had an...�

“No, I do not think Stella has had any kind of an affair, professor.� Henry glared at Dumbledore with something akin to hatred. “Who’s that you brought with you?�

“Anir.� Dumbledore made no further explanation. Either Henry knew about Anir, in which case no explanation was necessary, or Henry knew nothing of Anir, in which case two or three hours worth of explanation of what Dumbledore knew or suspected about Anir and his life would not have been enough.

“What, you brought somebody from the Ministry with you to spank me?� Henry ground out.

So Henry knew nothing of Anir. Interesting. Stella Marie had not told her husband about this relation. Perhaps Anir had meant he was related to Melinda, the bride, and not Stella Marie-though the two girls were cousins to some degree, and families usually exchanged stories on family oddities like eccentric and dangerous relatives.

“I am not from the Ministry, no.� Anir’s voice was so totally blank, Dumbledore glanced at him. His eyes revealed nothing-nothing at all, except a tiny glimmer of some kind of battle, a battle Dumbledore had seen before, though not in this place, in this man. The abyss no doubt beckoned, and would claim Anir soon, very soon-unless the light somehow, at this late hour, pleased Anir more.

Could anyone hope for that?

“If you know so much, professor, you tell me what happened.� Henry pointed at the basket. “That... that thing...�

“... is a baby,� Anir finished for Henry in a voice with a well-honed edge.

Was it light, or was it a deception?

“Baby!� Henry turned to Anir. His voice took on a mocking tone. “Oh, a baby, is it? I do believe Stella had a baby four weeks ago. What happened last week? This thing is not the baby my wife gave birth to. Have a look for yourself. Ever seen a four-week-old baby like that before?�

Dumbledore walked slowly to the basket and looked, in the faint yellow light from the hall window, at the baby. The infant was too young to see all the way up to his face, at his height. Her eyes were screwed up into typical infant wailing expression. But there was something eerily familiar about the face, the tiny hands clenched in little fists, the skin that seemed almost to glow in the faint light.

“That is not the baby my wife had,� Henry stated icily. “It’s a changeling. Somebody knew they’d had one of... of those things. They didn’t want it. They knew we had a baby. I even knew the night it happened. We stepped out to look at the sunset... just to look at the...� Henry’s face crumpled, and he sat hard back on the bench, burying his face in his hands.

“You are delusional,� Anir said dispassionately.

“I am not delusional!� Henry reared his head up and stared at Anir with wild eyes that gave credence to Anir’s accusation. “I know what happened!�

And the worst of it was, it might have been true. And Dumbledore knew it. And if Anir was what Dumbledore thought he was, if Anir was so given to evil that he had studied both good and evil to the enormous extent that he would have, leaning so far out over the abys... well, Anir might know. He might know as much as Dumbledore himself did. He might know more.

But it was Henry’s turn to snatch Dumbledore’s attention now. “It’s a Sarameau,� Henry cried. “Look at it!� He pointed at the basket.

Dumbledore’s stomach dropped in dull response to the young man’s words. So Henry knew, too. However he came by the rare knowledge, Henry knew something of the Sarameau.

“Sarameau do not become evident as infants,� Anir stated. “Never.�

Henry stood again and pointed at the basket. “Look,� he ordered. “Look at the creature. And you tell me what you see. You know so much about Sarameau, do you?�

Dumbledore held up one hand. “This is pointless. Bring the child up, Henry. Love her. She needs parents as much as any other child.�

“Oh, no,� Henry answered, his voice shaking. “No. I won’t have a changeling dumped on my hands and then have you telling me to raise it as my own.�

“That baby,� Anir interrupted, “needs loving parents as much as any other child, Sarameau notwithstanding.�

That baby, Dumbledore thought grimly, needs loving parents more than any other child. Whatever happened with Sarameau children happened only that much sooner when they were not loved.

Henry’s voice rose to a near-scream. “I will not take that thing...�

Anir cut across Henry. “That thing, as you call her, may very well be your own, Sarameau or not.�

“I have no such hideous creatures in my family, and Stella has none in hers!� Henry shrieked.

Anir stared harshly at Henry for several seconds. Then, without warning, Anir took three steps forward, snatched the basket with the baby in it off the ground, and turned in a whirl of dark robes. And as quickly as that, he was gone-Disapparated, gone who-knew-where.

“What... where did he...� Henry gasped.

“Gone, and taken your daughter with him,� Dumbledore said heavily. “I do hope you were in earnest when you said you would not take that...� Dumbledore could not bring himself to quote Henry completely-not to the last word. He could not refer to the baby as a “thing,� no matter what Henry called her.

Henry turned toward Dumbledore to stare at him with eyes gone dull. “He took it.�
“Yes,� Dumbledore confirmed. “He took her. And do not forget that you stated that you would not take the child. The fault is yours.�

“He... he took...� Henry gaped at the spot Anir had Disapparated from.

Yes, he had taken the child. Either the abyss or the light had won out. And as of yet, Dumbledore had no way of knowing which had succumbed, and which side had triumphed.

Disturbed by the events of the evening, disgusted with Henry-and truthfully, with Stella Marie as well-Dumbledore turned away from Henry, from the churchyard, from the cherubs and their irksome tinkly laughs, and from the day, and Disapparated. His own study back at Hogwarts awaited him. No doubt someone from the Ministry would call upon him to give account for what he had witnessed, but he would not discuss it that night-not with a Ministry official. And some parts of it he would not discuss with anybody-not until sufficient years had passed.

The Ministry of Magic gave Dumbledore nearly two weeks in which to gather his thoughts, deal with the uproar in his school, and try to make sense out of the disappearance of the students–now totaling five–who had simply walked away from Hogwarts and not come back. Despite this disturbing happening, Dumbledore was ready to speak with an Auror about the strange incident involving Anir and the unnamed baby by the time the Auror arrived on a Friday night after supper.

“Good evening, sir,� the Auror said, scanning Dumbledore’s office from the door. He was a fairly young man, thin, fit, with longish dark hair, penetrating dark eyes, and a catlike grace, evident as he crossed the room silently to shake hands with Dumbledore. Then he shook his dark hair out of his eyes and gave Dumbledore a grin–a familiar grin, a familiar, in a handsome face with noticeable cheekbones to go with those dark eyes of his.

“Alastor Moody!� Dumbledore laughed aloud. “To think I’d see the day when Alastor Moody came to question me about odd happenings!�

Moody threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, the good old days, sir–how we miss them. Anybody other than me ever figure out how to suspend Peeves upside-down from the ceiling of the Potions classroom?�

“Nobody. And Horace Slughorn would still like to nail you to the wall over that.�

“Ah, well. It was a nice little good-bye gift for him.� Moody sat down, uninvited, in the same chair he’d sat in as a student, when he’d been sent to Dumbledore, who had still been the deputy headmaster at that time.

“Which of them was the gift for? Professor Slughorn or Peeves?�

Moody laughed. “Either!� He made a swift face. “Well, Slughorn, actually. I couldn’t figure out how to keep Peeves from causing trouble while he was stuck up there. And Peeves was already in the room to start with; he would have done some form of mischief anyway.�

“Yes, but I doubt he would have had the time or inclination to meld every cauldron in the room together in one unholy mass of pewter.� Dumbledore chuckled and wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “You have no idea what it cost me to remain stern through that last lecture to you. And so you made it all the way through Auror training.�

“Yes, sir.� Moody let out a sigh. “And I suppose I ought to jump right in and ask you what happened that night about two weeks ago at Melinda Douglas’s wedding. Though how she got old enough to be married is beyond me–but is also beside the point.� Moody gave Dumbledore a small, sour smile. “So. What happened?�

It took Dumbledore over an hour to explain what he’d seen, but every question Moody asked was pertinent to the situation. Moody wrote every detail in his notebook, including the expressions on Stella Marie’s and Henry’s faces, the cherubs and their supply of flowers, and the silly white bonnet on the baby’s head. Moody nodded sharply at each point.

Finally, Moody tossed his note pad onto the corner of Dumbledore’s desk. “Good. All right, we’ve got the details. Now, of course, I need to ask you what you know about the old codger.�

“Anir?�

“That’s the one. To start with, do you know his last name?�

“No.� Dumbledore shook his head slowly. “I don’t. I’ve seen him now and again, Moody, but I know very little about him.�

“Never a student here?�

“No.�

“Would you remember if he was? I know you’ve been here a long time, but he’s not exactly young.�

“If I didn’t remember him, I’d have heard of him from Professor Kelderwin, who, during my first year at Hogwarts, gave me a thorough description of every single student she had ever taught.� Dumbledore made a swift face. He had tried to think of those long sessions of listening to the aged Ernestine Kelderwin as simply filling him in on details he might otherwise never have known. “I know little of Anir other than that I have seen him coming out of Knockturn Alley once or twice.�

“He wouldn’t, for instance, have attended here at the same time as... ah... well, they’re starting to refer to him at the Ministry as You-Know-Who.�

Ah. So it came down to Tom Riddle again. “No. I was teaching here when Tom Riddle was a student at Hogwarts. Anir was nowhere about. He never has been.�

Moody looked soberly across the top of the desk at Dumbledore. “We have discovered that anywhere this Anir has been, You-Know-Who has been close by. Somebody gets killed–Anir’s in the area. Somebody’s under the Imperious curse–Anir’s around. Any idea why Anir was at this wedding?�

“He said the girl was related to him.�

Moody raised one eyebrow. “But which girl?�

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. “As we already discussed at length...�
“I know. But it would be nice if we were sure.�

“... he didn’t specify which girl.� Dumbledore sighed. “It could have been Melinda Douglas. That would have been the most logical. Or it could have been Stella Marie Douglas, or Endby, as she’s now known. He must have been looking our direction to have seen more than just Henry marching out the door with the baby in tow.�

“Or it could have been the baby itself,� Moody mused, “if it’s actually a changeling.�

“So you see that as a possibility.� Dumbledore kept his voice even.

Moody turned dark eyes, troubled eyes, back to Dumbledore. “Oh, yes.� He nodded slowly. “Yes, I see that as a possibility. Perhaps Anir was checking to see if the little changeling he left was being cared for.�

“Yet that is mere speculation. This leads me to ask why Anir would care what happened to the child if he was the one who performed a switch. Somebody following Tom Riddle–or Lord Voldemort, as he prefers to be called–would not be likely to care about the fate of an infant he simply dropped into place so the parents wouldn’t know their child was stolen.�

Moody nodded. “Makes no sense. You’re right, of course. And if You-Know-Who needed an infant, for whatever the reason, why even leave a changeling? Who cares if the parents find out their child has been snatched?� He scratched absently at his nose. “And if the baby Anir stole at the wedding was actually Sarameau, this business of a changeling could be nothing other than somebody realizing they had a Sarameau kid and wanted a baby who would live to be an adult. Walk into a house with a baby, drop one in the cradle, take the other one out.�

“You know about the Sarameau, then.�

“Oh, yeah.� Moody rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah, I sure do. I have been learning more about the Sarameau than I even wanted to know. I have read every single case I could lay hands on, all the way back to 1674 when little Doramene Brown disappeared right after her brother pushed her into the newly-plowed kitchen garden. Everybody seems to have said just about the same thing about why Sarameau disappear. The Sarameau kid gets really angry and whoever is with them ets scared and runs away, and nobody ever sees the Sarameau kid again. Or the Sarameau kid gets upset about something and walks away, and somebody finds a bunch of blood out in the woods or somewhere. No body lying around–just blood. Either way, that would be the end of that kid.�

“Yes.� Dumbledore leaned his head on his hands. “So that would be the end.�

“Kind of odd.�

Dumbledore turned his eyes briefly to the window of his office before looking back at Moody. “Very odd. There are hints, even in very ancient runes, that the Sarameau existed, one way or another, all the way through history. Some of the oldest Egyptian writings...�

Moody chuckled. “Can’t be proved, though. It could have been about somebody’s murder plan gone awry. Remember, I took Ancient Runes.�

“And barely passed your OWL in it, as I remember.�

“Your memory is too good.� Moody grinned and picked up his notebook. “Well, I think I’ve picked over your memory so well, even my boss will be mollified, if not pleased. I’ll keep my ear to the ground about this Anir. But I have a bad feeling I’m not going to catch him. And that makes me uneasy, professor–more than I can say. Anything I do know about Anir and his abilities tells me that You-Know-Who would have wanted him on his side, and badly. What I can’t figure out is what You-Know-Who would want with a squalling baby. Does he eat them?�

Dumbledore winced. “Alastor, that is no joking matter, whether it’s true or not.�

Moody shrugged. “Sorry. I just can’t help but wonder. Maybe there’s some kind of potion that requires ground up...� Moody met Dumbledore’s eyes, then faltered to silence.

“You need to develop a softer heart, Alastor,� Dumbledore said quietly. “Abrasive coldness will isolate you.�

Moody raised both eyebrows, but he did not reply, which Dumbledore was thankful for.

“Well, at any rate, I’ll keep studying this Anir fellow. The one follower of You-Know-Who that we’ve got in Azkaban has been spouting off about the Dark Lord’s most powerful assistant, who can unravel the most ancient mysteries of magic, even more easily than You-Know-Who himself can. And this prisoner said the fellow’s name is Anir. No last name. But this miserable little scrap of wizardry assured us that this Anir would make us quake in our boots.� Moody considered for a moment, tipping his head to one side. His dark eyes flashed humorously. “Well, those weren’t his exact words, but I don’t feel comfortable using foul language before you, sir, even in my professional capacity as an Auror. But you get the general idea. I don’t want to go Anir-hunting without knowing as much about him as I can, in case he’s that powerful. Well,� Moody rocked to his feet and grinned down at Dumbledore, dark eyes sparkling, “I’ll be off. I might have to come back and ask you a few more questions, anyway.�

“Let me know if you find anything. I would rest easier knowing the child is safe.�

“If it makes you feel better, yes, I will, sir.� Moody laughed. “Myself, I don’t get too emotionally involved in my cases, child or no child.�

Dumbledore let a slight smile escape him. “You may change in time, Alastor.�
“No.� Moody shook his head emphatically. “Not me. I’m not changing. Take this kid, for instance. I’m sorry she got abducted, and I’m sorry if she gets killed, but I don’t let it keep me awake at night. Things start keeping you awake at night, you might as well quit the Auror job and take up knitting.�

“You may change in time, Alastor,� Dumbledore said again. “You may change.�

Moody gave Dumbledore a startled look this time. “Right. Well, I’d better be off, sir. Duty calls.�

“Come back and we’ll go over to the Three Broomsticks,� Dumbledore invited as he stood up. “You can tell me about your thrilling life as an Auror, and I can tell you about my equally exciting life as a headmaster.�

Moody laughed, shook Dumbledore’s hand, and strode briskly out of the office.

Dumbledore listened as Moody’s footsteps went quietly down the revolving staircase, then as the door below clicked softly shut. He waited, calculating how long it would take Moody to walk the length of the corridor his office was located on, then down the stairs... yes, he would be well down the stairs now. Still Dumbledore stood in the doorway of his office, listening. The silence spread itself over his office, steadily, completely.

Perhaps fifteen minutes, or maybe more, had passed without sound to break Dumbledore’s concentration when he heard it–a tiny sound, like the complaint of a small animal. Then a whispered word, and Dumbledore clearly heard a slight scrape as the gargoyle that guarded his office sliped aside. Even to his finely-attuned ear, the footstep on the stairs was light, and so quiet that most people would have heard no sound. But Dumbledore had expected another visitor, and since Moody had been in his office, he knew the other would not be far behind.

What Dumbledore did not yet know was whether the man who paused just outside his office door meant to kill the headmaster of Hogwarts or explain why he had inexplicably stepped into the light.

“Come in,� Dumbledore said quietly.

The door opened, and Anir stood silhouetted, lit from behind by the torch in the sconce behind him in the entryway. He was a tall man, taller than Dumbledore himself, and his face bore the marks of years, decades, of thought, of patience, and of cunning–yes, cunning.

But in one hand, Anir held a wicker basket, and from that basket came the unmistakable sound of an infant who had just awakened and realized she was hungry.

“How have you been managing these two weeks?� Dumbledore asked, beckoning Anir forward. “I don’t imagine you’ve had much experience in caring for a baby.�

“None, except what I have learned these past two weeks.� Anir smiled slightly as he shut the door. The light behind him was cut off abruptly, allowing the softer light of Dumbledore’s office to illuminate his face, showing the dark circles under his eyes as well as the lines of age. “But the world changes, and if we are wise we must change with it. Two weeks ago, I realized that I held knowledge, but no wisdom.

“And now you hold knowledge and a small human with unending needs. Do you find wisdom there?� Dumbledore asked, gesturing for Anir to take the chair Moody had recently vacated.

“I do.� Anir set the basket down near the chair, sat, then rummaged in the basket for a moment. When he straightened up, he held a baby bottle and the beautiful baby girl he had stolen from Henry. Without shame or comment, he proceeded to feed the awakening infant, pausing only to draw his wand and prod the bottle with it once. “I keep the milk cold, but she can’t drink it that way.� Anir made a sour face. “Goat’s milk. I found I must put a warming spell on it before she can drink it. I could use a steadier supply of milk, though. I don’t want to steal anything, even a goat, since I’ve turned over a fresh leaf.�

“I’ll check around and see if I can procure a milking goat for you.� Dumbledore smiled down at the baby. “She’s grown more beautiful. Or perhaps I had simply forgotten how lovely she is in these two weeks since I have seen her last.�

“No, I think she’s growing more beautiful, and I don’t know if it’s because that is what happens with babies or because she is becoming more strongly Sarameau. I have never read of any child showing Sarameau traits so young.� Anir looked down at the infant in his lap, then sighed. “But then, every Sarameau cannot have been noted in historical documents.�

“Nor has every historical document been translated,� Dumbledore pointed out.

“Nor has every historical document survived intact to our day.� Anir made another wry face, then smiled down at the baby. “But I shall proceed without historical precedent and raise this child, Albus Dumbledore. I believe I know the answer. I knew it when that young man rejected this child. I knew it when I heard you say it. She must grow up loved. And so it falls to me to love her.�

“That is the only possible way,� Dumbledore agreed, watching as the baby finished the last of the bottle, then looked around her and let out a protest.

Anir looked down at the fussy baby on his lap. “This is different than anything I have ever done before. Never have I found myself with an opportunity to do so much good.� Anir smiled slightly at the infant, a slow, tender smile. “She needs me,� he said softly. “No-one else ever has.�

“What have you named her?� Dumbledore asked.

Anir gave Dumbledore a long, slightly amused look. “Strange you should ask. I have called her several different names, and none of them seem right. What name did they give to this infant, these parents who did not want her?�

“They hadn’t given her a name. Henry told me that. They wouldn’t give her a name because they were sure she was a changeling.�

Anir looked down at the baby in his lap, and the baby looked back up at him, the tears in her vivid blue eyes amplifying the blueness. “They gave her no name?�

“None. You name her.�

Anir frowned, then shook his head. “I will try to find a name that fits, but a name is ancient magic, Albus Dumbledore.�

Something within Dumbledore jolted. “Ancient magic?�

“Yes. The Sarameau... always since there has been magic, there have been Sarameau.�

Dumbledore felt his heart thud hard. “I am aware the Sarameau are ancient.�

“To name such a child is to name the soul. If the time passes to name, some...� Anir sighed, wiped the tears gently off the baby’s face, and looked solemnly up at Dumbledore, “... some must learn to live without a name. That is all. She will live, but it is no easy thing, this, to be without a name.�

Dumbledore looked at the child who now lay peacefully in Anir’s lap. A child without a name. Henry and Stella Marie had deprived the baby of a most basic gift. “So. She’s a child without a name, and she’s Sarameau. She is magical, then.�

“I have no doubt. She will be magical.�

Dumbledore sighed. “Nameless or not, I will accept her at my school when she is of an age to attend.�

Anir’s eyes flew wide. “Albus Dumbledore, you must understand she is Sarameau.�

“I understand that.�

“This is no easy thing. No Sarameau has ever been allowed to attend a school. If they show what they are, always they are thrown from schools.�

“Yes, I know that.�

“You will be harshly criticized for taking this child in your school.�

“I’m well aware of that, too. I have been harshly criticized often. I don’t expect that to end.�
Anir regarded Dumbledore steadily, intently. Then, without breaking eye contact, Anir nodded. A faint smile eased over his features. “I see your strength. You will take her in, and you will ease my mind. You know I cannot hide from him always.�

“No,� Dumbledore agreed quietly. “I realize that. You may have many years...�

“I may, but not forever. I am old.� Anir wrinkled his nose briefly. “Not so old I cannot raise this child, but beyond that I cannot say. Some day, he will catch up to me. My reflexes grow slower.�

“They do, with age.�

Anir rose. “I must leave. To stay here is a danger, to you and me both, and to this child.� Anir tucked the baby back into her basket. He bowed slightly to Dumbledore. “Good bye.� Then as quietly as he had come, Anir left, taking basket and infant with him. Dumbledore listened while the spiral staircase rotated, delivering the extraordinary man and his infant charge down to the bottom. “Good bye, Anir. And good bye, for now, child without a name.�