Chapter 2 - Espionage
A few days later, Walter was called back to Sir Integra's office, only to find her sitting at her desk, her hand holding the last letter of the pile. She took some time to read them all, and they told quite a bit of history, from her ancestors and the Potters. The letters spanned three generations of Hellsings, her great-grandfather Abraham, her grandfather Nicholas and her father, all three of them held the two Potters, Richard and his son James in high regard. From what she could understand, the Potters, by being magical, had longer lifespans than their near magic-less friends, even taking into account that Abraham lived to the impressive age of 102. Everything was shared among them, how each of them was going with their everyday life, how they each met their loved ones, their grief, their success, everything, a deep bond of friendship forming among the families. There was very little mention of her uncle in the letters, apparently Richard Hellsing never had the inclination to meet the man he was named after, and after Richard Potter died, James never asked about Arthur's younger brother. However, she knew that James had asked for special dispensation from Hogwarts to be at her birth, and that he had been chosen to be her godfather, even being a bit young for the position.
But not everything was fun and games, and that was one of the reasons why Walter had been summoned.
"Tell me about Grindewald, Walter," she asked without preamble.
"That's…a name I haven't heard in a long time. I believe he's mentioned in those letters?"
"More than once. He and another so-called `Dark' wizard, a fellow by the name of Voldemort," Integra said.
"I know about Grindewald, but very little about Voldemort…'Flight from Death'…what a terrible choice in naming."
"Is that so, Angel of Death?" Integra replied with a smirk.
Walter chose to ignore the slight jab. "When your father, Alucard and I were dealing with the Last Battalion, we heard that the Nazis were striking a deal with a powerful man named Gellert Grindewald. As soon as your father heard the name, he became frantic and left us for a while. I learned later that he sent a message to Richard Potter telling of the Germans' plans. A few days later we were contacted in the field by a man named Albus Dumbledore, and that's when I learned about the wizarding world. Apparently Dumbledore was the only man capable enough of facing Grindewald, so he accompanied us for a few days, since our contact was the only one who knew where the meeting between him and the Millennium Group would take place. Alucard did not like Dumbledore much, and the reverse was pretty much true, however I must say that the wizard held firm against Alucard's taunting. Once we learned the whereabouts of the meeting, we departed using a portkey, it's the wizard equivalent of instantaneous travel, and we arrived in the middle of a battlefield already. It seemed like their conversation had not gone the way the parties intended, so the Millennium Group was fighting Grindewald and his followers. As soon as Grindewald saw Dumbledore, they started fighting each other, and let me say it was one of the most impressive sights of my life. Soon we were swamped in enemies and we had little time to watch the wizards' duel."
Walter cleaned his throat and went to grab a glass of water from a bureau to the side of Integra's desk. Once he had drunk it, he continued to speak. "Once the Letztes Bataillon was finished for good, we searched the battlefield for signs of Dumbledore or Grindewald. Finding neither, we came back to England, where your father finally learned what happened. Dumbledore had won and was being celebrated as the greatest wizard since Merlin."
"What about Voldemort?"
"Of him, I have little to no information. The first time I heard the name, was when your father started developing the symptoms of his disease. James Potter had asked for some council regarding his actions after leaving Hogwarts…this was about eleven years ago. The only thing he was sure about was the marriage to his school sweetheart, a woman named Lily Evans. What little else I know is written in those letters you read, Sir. With the disease, I had to be more at hand for Sir Arthur's needs, and Alucard was sealed up, so we had little help to give. James was aware of it, but they kept changing letters, until the day where James mentioned they were going to ground to hide from Voldemort and protect their baby, a boy named Harry."
Integra nodded. "No more letters since then?"
"No, Sir," Walter replied.
"Did you try to contact them again?"
"I have no way to. Their contact was made by owl post…"
"What is it?" the Head of Hellsing asked.
"Their letters were delivered by owl, it's how they communicate long distance."
"How primitive," she huffed.
"Agreed. The owl would come with a letter and wait for a reply, and then would take it back to the Potters. I don't even know where they lived."
Integra nodded and grabbed a cigarillo, and lighted it up. "I have a mission for you, Walter. I want you to find out what happened to my godfather and his family. Be discreet about it, and if they're still alive, tell them I'd wish very much to continue the tradition of friendship among the families."
"It shall be done, Sir."
"Alucard," she called, and in a few moments the No Life King was rising from the floor of her office.
"Yes, Master?"
"You have an in into the wizarding world?" she asked.
"Not here in Britain, Master, but I could ask my contacts abroad to search for information about the Potters as well."
"Do so, I'd like news as soon as possible about them."
"Yes, Master."
*****
A couple days later, Alucard was in the tombs under the manor, a glass of heated blood resting at his side, his mood pensive. What he had learned from his contacts did not paint a nice picture, at all, but first he needed to pass the information back to Integra.
He did the unusual task of walking until he was standing right in front of Integra's door and from what he could sense, Walter was there as well. He melted through the door, only to appear in the other side, already close to his Master's desk.
"I bring news about the Potters, Master," he said without preamble.
"Your contacts are better than mine, Alucard," Walter commented. "I still haven't managed to find anything about them. So far it seems like the Potters never existed."
"It's because your contacts are not sheep, Angel of Death. To them, the Potters are like the Second Coming of the Shepherd, especially the boy."
Integra's surprise was clear in her face. "Are they alive?"
"Unfortunately not, Master."
She slumped back in her chair, surprise trading place with disappointment. Alucard then proceeded to tell her, in his rather sarcastic and acidic manner, the entire story he had heard from his contact, about Voldemort, the war, the betrayal of the Potters and the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Young Harry is alive, then?" she ended up asking, once he finished.
"According to my contacts, he survived the so-called killing curse. However, no one knows where the boy lives, or even if he's still living, and word-to-mouth tell the most absurd tales."
Integra steeped her fingers, and looked to the two people who effectively raised and trained her. "I want the boy found, by whatever means necessary. Alucard, see if your contacts can shed some light on where he might be. Walter, try searching for any non-magical relatives Harry might have, perhaps he's enrolled at some school. I need to know what happened to him, and what can we do to help him."
Both man and vampire shared a quick look, and they both turned back to her. "Yes, Master."
"If you find him, do not approach, I wish to do this myself," she concluded.
"Yes, Master."
"Dismissed."
*****
To someone observant enough, the sight flying high in the skies was odd, to say the least. A single, lonely owl was being followed at a distance by a large flock of bats, and this had started almost a day ago. Alucard had an idea to dispatch an owl with a message to Harry Potter, and to follow it to its final destination. So far the owl had followed a pretty straight line, and they were approaching London's outskirts. Suddenly, the bird started flying in circles, as if lost, and then it took a completely different direction a couple moments later.
Instead of promptly changing directions, the bats continued on the same trajectory they were before, until something changed their own status quo as well. The flock descended until street level, and they reformed behind a tree into a very surprised No Life King. He too had been affected and almost turned away by whatever it was that had changed the owl's course, and that required some extra verification.
He was somewhere in Surrey, in a fairly ordinary and rather quaint neighborhood, a place where, if these were the old days, he'd slaughter everyone from house to house just to save them from a life of boredom and sameness.
He started to move forward down the street where he was, in the direction where he felt the disturbance. He felt his skin start to tingle lightly, as if he was being affected by static electricity. The sensation wasn't awful, but it was distracting. As he walked onwards, it started to become more pronounced, and it started affecting his supernatural senses. He stopped and started sniffing the air, the `smell' of the magic, this specific brand of magic, and that brought a smile to his face.
"Smart, Potter. Really smart."
Having learned what he wanted, Alucard doubled back, and as soon as he was out of the range of the ward, he vanished into the shadows.
*****
"I think I found him, Master," he said as he reappeared back into the manor.
"Did you see him? How is he?" she asked, her usual cold demeanor almost completely gone in the face of the discovery.
"No, I didn't see him, and I think I couldn't if I tried. The young Potter is protected, Master, safe from my reach and whoever else that wishes him harm," Alucard said.
"How do you know that?"
"The boy is hidden behind wards, Master. Blood wards quite similar to some I've seen Richard Potter use."
Integra scowled. "Why? What do those wards do?"
"I believe the sheep did a lousy job of ending Voldemort's threat, at least when it comes to his followers. There are still a lot of them around who think that his imbecilic ideas about blood purity have a lot of merit. As for the wards, they protect him from discovery by any magical beings that have harm in mind, and it makes scrying impossible. They obscure his presence so much I could stand right in front of him and not see him," Alucard said, slightly frustrated.
"But you do not wish him harm, why do these wards block you?"
"They do not know me, they just recognize what I am, and consider me a threat," he replied, pensive. "I believe the Angel of Death should have better luck. Tell him to start looking in Surrey, it's where the boundaries of the wards are."
"Could you break them, if needed?" the young woman asked.
"I could, Master. While they're blood wards, I am Blood, they are no match for me. However, in doing so I'd negate the boy the security tied to them and would probably hurt or downright kill him in the process."
"Thank you, Alucard. I'll pass the information to Walter. Now, I'd want you to check a nest that has been reported…"
*****
Vernon Dursley looked over his shoulder once again, looking for something he couldn't identify. If not for the fact that the…freak was locked in the cupboard, he'd sworn it had to do with him and his…unnaturalness. It seemed as if he was being watched, but he couldn't see anyone suspicious, except for that old Figg woman and her damned cats.
"Vernon, come inside," Petunia called, and the large man turned around and walked back in.
"What is it, my flowerpot?" he asked sweetly.
"Vernon, the front lawn needs to be mowed again, the neighbors are starting to notice," she said. It was a bit of a lie, of course, and Vernon thought she was doing that to release the freak from his room, but he wasn't in the mood to argue with her or to mow the lawn himself.
"Don't worry, my snugglybuns, I'll handle it," he said, smiling at her. As soon as he turned around, his face turned into the typical scowl he wore when dealing with the boy. Opening the catch locking the cupboard's door, he yanked it open and spoke without lowering himself. "The front lawn needs to be mowed."
A scrawny boy walked out of the cramped room, eyes flinching against the sudden infusion of light. He was rail thin, and he seemed like a mockery of what a normal kid of his age would be, wearing clothes a few sizes too big for his frame, clothes that had seen better days a few summers ago. If someone bothered to look at him, they'd see eyes of a surprising shade of green, that seemed to glow with some sort of inner light, messy black hair that seemed to stick to all sides and a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt adorning his forehead. If someone bothered to talk to him, they'd find that his name was Harry Potter, and he was nine years old.
The small boy walked to the garage without saying a word to his uncle, where he grabbed the heavy lawnmower to work on the front lawn. As soon as he stepped outside, his head snapped up and he started looking around, confused. He felt as if someone was watching him, but he couldn't see anyone nearby. After a few more moments, he shrugged to himself and dragged his feet onwards.
*****
Phillip Reston had hit, as the Yanks liked to say, pay dirt. He snapped a few more shots, only to be sure, the powerful camera lens allowing him a great deal of anonymity, plus some extra perfect pictures of the small boy. However, what he was seeing did not paint a nice picture for a private detective like himself.
Finding him hadn't been easy, he had to check all schools in the area and after finding the one the boy frequented, he had a bit of a challenge in convincing the school's secretary to give him an address. He found the house easily enough, and a good spot almost a block away where he could park his car and have an unimpeded view of the house. Assembling the huge telephoto lens inside the car wasn't easy, but it wasn't the first time he had done it either. The first day of stakeout, he'd discovered that the Dursleys had a son, a big boy named Dudley, and Phillip wasted some film and some time tailing the wrong kid, until he overheard one of the kids the boy played with calling him by his name.
Backtracking to his car, he waited an entire day for Harry to appear, and when he didn't, not on the first, second and third day, Reston started to get worried. Using a bit more of his personal charm, he inquired a few neighbors discreetly about young Harry, and he found out that the boy did indeed live with the Dursleys. The opinions about Harry and the Dursleys varied astronomically, some said he was a shy, quiet boy who spoke to no one and the Dursleys were pretty normal, albeit a bit snobbish, while other said the Dursleys walked on water, and Harry was a good-for-nothing troublemaking brat.
The fifth day of stakeout was today, and Reston watched the small kid, who, according to his file, was nine, but looked like seven, fight with a troublesome lawnmower, without any help whatsoever from his relatives. His instincts, both of a detective and a parent, told him he needed to investigate this further than simply tell the client where the young boy was.
He took a few more pictures, but he needed evidence that the boy was indeed Harry Potter. He climbed out of the car and locked it, and started to walk as if he was looking for something. The young boy noticed him and he walked on in, coming closer, but paying no direct attention to him. As soon as he was close enough, he turned to the boy.
"Hello, young man. My name's Preston. What's yours?" he asked, sounding the least menacing as possible.
"Harry," the boy mumbled, while trying to turn the lawnmower back on.
"Nice to meet you, Harry. Look, I'm kind of lost, can you tell me where Whisteria Walk is?"
Harry stood up and pointed. "That street there."
"Well, thank you," he said with a smile, and started walking in the direction of the street.
As soon as he was out of sight, he doubled back to his car, his mood pensive and his guts churning. Something was terribly wrong with this job, and he needed to find out what.
*****
A week later, Reston had another meeting with his client, a man by the name of Walter Dornez, this time to present his findings. Once the distinguished gentleman was seated, Phillip started talking.
"Before we begin, Mr. Dornez, I must ask what do you intend to do with this information?"
That surprised the retainer a bit, and got him curious. "I'm afraid I must ask why you're asking me this."
"Well, Mr. Dornez, I found the young man you asked me to. However, the situation I found him in gives me reason to call the Police and the Child Protection Services."
The monocle fell down, and the utter surprise on the man's usually extremely composed face was sufficient to clear whatever suspicions Reston might have about his client's involvement in the disgusting situation. Surprise was replaced almost instantly by a cold look that almost made Reston scream for help. "Explain at once," the man said, readjusting the monocle.
And Reston did.
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