December 1984

Sirius dropped the needle. There were a few beats of silence, then notes from an electric guitar split the air.

Remus grinned into the pages of a new book. "Great Christmas music, Sirius. Real festive."

"Sarcasm! How dare you. When will you learn – there's a Guns and Roses song suitable for any occasion. Bar fights. Weddings. Funerals – especially dear old mum's," Sirius grinned as drums joined the score. He grabbed Remus' shoulder and propelled him out of the chair. "Dance with me!"

It was ridiculous. Sirius only knew formal ballroom routines, Remus didn't know anything at all, and they were both trying to lead to a beat much faster than their feet could handle.

The floo turned green and the grand profile of Albus Dumbledore strode out. It didn't help Sirius' coordination to have a teacher catch them in the middle of doing something stupid, but it did bring back fond memories.

"Good afternoon, Professor. We did get your owl. We must've lost track of time," Remus said calmly, coaxing Sirius into an ungraceful twirl.

"No, no. I'm early, there is no rush," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Should I summon my dancing shoes?"

"You're welcome to, of course," Remus said because despite what people might think, he was the shameless one. "We can put on something from The Hobgoblins if that is more your style."

Sirius executed a dip that left Remus hanging for a perilous second. "Don't you dare."

"If you want to convince me muggle music is better, then surely we need to listen to wizarding records for the sake of comparison?" Remus suggested innocently.

"Ha! You've been listening to the Hobgoblins for a decade, the next few months are mine. You'll learn to love it," Sirius declared. He'd already planned the campaign. He'd have to steal Remus' wand to spell the record player indestructible and put sticking charms on the table, the floor and the foundations to stop it being thrown out the window, but he would win this.

"We're going to Live Aid in July – got tickets from Sirius' guardian angel," Remus explained for the sake of the headmaster.

"Speaking of Christmas presents," Sirius said to Dumbledore on the next turn (which came two measures too soon, but who was counting? Certainly not Remus). "Did you fill out my wish-list?"

Dumbledore hesitated. "Pettigrew hasn't been caught, no. And the DMLE rejected our application; they won't classify your relationship with Harry as familial or grant visitation rights."

Sirius froze. Remus took a prudent step back just before Sirius exploded into motion. "He's my godson! Now I know they're just trying to piss me off. Safety concerns, my arse – do they really think that if I was a Death Eater, I'd let a little thing like permission stop me from getting to the boy who killed Voldemort? Do they?"

"They are only trying to protect him," Dumbledore said in a calming voice that made Sirius's blood boil.

"I'll protect him! Like James and Lily trusted me to do if anything happened to them. I missed another year with my godson, Dumbledore, I won't miss his birthday too." Fuck parole. What could they do, send him back to Azkaban? They'd have to catch him first. He wouldn't go quietly a second time. He was sick of waiting, sick of playing their twisted games, and sick of Dumbledore. "What do you want, then?"

"I need to ask about your brother, Sirius, and if you think he could be alive."

The words punched the air out of his lungs. "Fuck," Sirius coughed. "You really are determined to ruin Christmas."

…

January 1985

Albus stooped to look at a shelf. Glass sculptures clamoured for his attention, except for one shy unicorn which ducked out of sight. The art was quite pleasing; they'd go well in his office, but he wasn't here to shop.

A new influence had wormed its way into the Ministry in recent years. Albus, being a man with many fingers in different pies himself, noticed the competition. No one had ever seen or heard the culprit, they'd just receive an anonymous, untraceable letter. Those protections were, if anything, too extensive because the thoroughness itself became a distinct signature. Lockhart's exposure; the Horcrux letter; the chaos around Sirius Black – all from the same Informant. Even Sirius and Remus didn't know who their identity, and they'd been in contact for years now.

The tinkling of glass brought Albus' mind back to the shop. The unicorn sculpture was bolder with his inattention. It shied but didn't hide away when he focused on it again.

Of all the Informant's activities, the Horcrux letter was the only one signed with initials, and it did not take Albus long to figure out that Regulus Black was the only person the story could apply to. There was enough truth in their words to make it credible. Regulus did break into Riddle's cave, did retrieve a Horcrux, but almost certainly died in the attempt. Albus only lacked a body to confirm it, and if Regulus met his end at the hands of the Inferi, Albus likely always would. Without a body, there was enough room for doubt – maybe Regulus somehow survived and remained in hiding – but no longer. After following up on Sirius' information, Albus was certain R.A.B was a smokescreen.

Albus cast silently with his wand hidden in his long sleeves. No spells he could think of revealed any concealment – no pocket dimension, no blood wards, no secret doors. There was nothing suspicious at all. Even the shopkeeper was entirely unconcerned with his loitering. Albus didn't want his visit to stick out in her mind. He gestured to the unicorn, "Kemm jiswa?"

"Għoxrin deheb," she answered. Albus accepted the price and the witch summoned and packaged the sculpture with burnt hands that suggested the work was her own.

Albus finished the purchase and ducked out of the low doorway into the narrow streets of Mdina. There was little else he could glean from inside. Tracking the Informant was a task fraught with frustration. It led him by the nose along a convoluted maze around the world. Now this place, too, was starting to look like the latest in a series of dead ends.

The building, with the artesian store on street level and apartments on top, was indistinguishable from the two either side. Except this place held a connection; it was the home of one of his students – his only Maltese student.

Malta had never had a strong history with Hogwarts, even back when it was a British colony. It wasa far easier to apply to Beauxbatons, if the local schools didn't suit. Why did her parents choose to put her through the nightmare of the Hogwarts foreign student selection process? Was she being used as a spy or messenger? Could the Informant be someone with influence over the child, perhaps a guardian or a family friend or enemy? Albus had no idea, but it was unlikely enough of a coincidence that every option was worth investigating.

If there was a chain of messengers, it would explain the patchy quality of the information. Even basic details were wrong, such as Riddle's town – it was Little Hangleton, not Haggleton. That was an odd place for a spelling mistake.

Whoever the Informant was, clearly, they had something to hide, and that was a serious cause for concern, depending on who they were hiding from. If they feared Voldemort, well that seemed sensible, but they didn't seem keen to meet Albus or the DMLE either. It couldn't be because they were a traitorous Death Eater and their dishonesty called into question everything they wrote. Creeping in the shadows was generally not the way of the Light and righteous. And yet, their actions seemed determined to help other people. Albus didn't know what to think.

…

January 1985

Groggy students filtered into the Great Hall. Pomona had seen bubotubers with more energy but that was always the case on the first day after the students returned from their Christmas break. Although, if there was ever an exception to a rule, Miss Tonks was a likely candidate. Tonks and Sandra Milligan conducted an exciting conversation that, to Pomona, sounded louder than the one right next to her between Minerva and Albus.

"She gave me a ticket too! I think she did for all of us. We can go as a group!" Tonks said, knocking a roll off her plate in her enthusiasm. "I guess you don't know much about muggle music. Don't worry, it's great. I haven't heard of this band though, I guess they're from Africa. Maybe they're touring. Hold on – Bonnici, over here!"

The shout drew an irate scowl from Severus. The little Ravenclaw crossed around the front of the Slytherin table, heedless of the steely-eyed glared. "Hey, guys. How were your holidays?"

"Great," said Milligan. "My family took me skiing."

"Cool," Bonnici replied, prompting a great deal of eye-rolling.

"Hey, thanks for the tickets. We're so excited," Tonks said, making room for Bonnici to sit down. "Tell us more about this concert. What kind of music do they play?"

Bonnici shook her head. "Live Aid isn't a band – it's a charity gig. They're raising money for the famine in Ethiopia."

"Oh," Milligan said, excitement dimmed by confusion. "Is there still music?"

"Lots of it. Some of the biggest stars in the world will be there," said Bonnici.

Tonks lit up. "Oh, so it's like the Quidditch Flight for Change match?"

"Bigger," Bonnici grinned.

The girls' conversation was drowned out in the growing crowd. Minerva's voice was the only one close enough to surface about the white noise. " – and we should see about organising a deal with Cleansweep to get a few new brooms for the Quidditch teams; the school brooms all but useless on the pitch. Wealth shouldn't be a limiting factor for aspiring players, Albus," Minerva said. "Don't you think? Albus?"

Pomona's head turned at the sudden concern in Minerva's voice. The headmaster was leaning forward, almost out of his seat, eyes fixated on the first years.

Pomona cleared her throat. "Albus?"

He didn't hear them.

Albus's focus was so intense it was even unnerving Severus – Severus, who glared at students to pass the time.

"Albus!" Minerva said sharply.

He sat back and buttered a piece of toast as if nothing happened. Minerva demanded answers with a dangerous eyebrow.

"Have you heard of Live Aid, Belinda?" Albus smiled disarmingly.

The defence professor, suddenly put on the spot, hurried to swallow her pumpkin juice. "No?"

Albus hummed. "Well it is a muggle event, I wouldn't expect many to know about it, but I hear it's going to be one not to miss. A few friends of mine will be lucky enough to attend, but I regret that my schedule will not allow it."

Pomona, Minerva and Severus exchanged baffled looks. Pomona didn't know what was going on, but she resolved to keep an eye on it.

…

February 1985

Albus sat at his desk, turning his rings. It was a restless, unproductive habit. He had paperwork to be getting on with, but his mind was too consumed to give the pages much attention.

The Informant. It was not Regulus Black, not Belinda Pace, it wasn't even Agnus Bonnici's parents – it was her.

The idea was absurd and everything Albus discovered only made that more apparent. She was only nine years old when Sirius faced trial, she'd never been to Britain, she had no connection to Pettigrew or Riddle that could explain why she knew their deepest secrets. But at the same time, many idiosyncrasies suddenly made sense – only communicating through letters, lying and impersonating adults, refusing to get her hands dirty with Pettigrew. It wasn't just for secrecy; it was to overcome the limitations of her young body and lack of magical skill and recruit help from otherwise sceptical adults.

Albus wondered if she made a deliberate choice to avoid dispelling the disbelief to protect herself. It must be. Instead of trying to change people's minds, she wrapped herself in their assumptions like an Invisibility Cloak, and hidden in plain sight, the persona of Angus Bonnici was completely free. It was the perfect way to protect an open door – to bury it in lookalikes, to hide within the fault lines of human preconceptions. She disguised her home as just another trick, no more or less absurd than the countless distractions she'd thrown his way. It was undeniably effective. Albus still struggled with doubt; even now a part of his brain insisted she must be a decoy. A child couldn't pull off what she'd done, but she'd done it, therefore she mustn't be a child.

But neither was she an imposter. To all accounts, Agnus Bonnici had always behaved this way. There'd been no sudden personality shifts to implicate possession.

Discovering the identity of the Informant left him with more questions than he started with. There was one way to learn the truth.

Fawkes called out a warning.

"Welcome, Miss Bonnici," Albus said. He opened the door with a flick of his fingers before she could knock. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, Headmaster," she parroted and perched on the edge of a chair, eyes darting to the door.

Most students were at least a little nervous the first time they were summoned to a meeting; a few gentle enquiries could get that out of the way. But when a student was this panicked, Albus didn't start with small talk. Prolonging the encounter would only allow more time for anxiety to build into panic. Why was she so afraid of him? Was she guilty of something he couldn't imagine yet?

"You are not in trouble." Fawkes reinforced the message with a few soothing notes. "A few years ago, you sent me a letter describing tethers to immortality. Can you tell me more about it?"

Many students before her had sat in that chair and were asked a question that demanded an immediate commitment: truth or fiction. Albus saw the exact moment she decided not to lie. It took a few more for her to reach the same conclusion, but that was fine – Albus had a reserve of patience and lemon drops.

She glanced at the portraits. "Can we continue this discussion with a little more privacy?"

Albus raised wards and silencing charms. Another swish of his wand conjured blinds over the portraits. "Will that suffice?"

She fidgeted, delaying a few more seconds. "I guess so. What do you want to know?"

Ah, the perfect opening. Much obliged. Albus needed this conversation to proceed in the correct order.

"Who have you told about the Horcruxes?" Albus asked in a casual manner, but very deliberately; not have you? but who?

"Just you."

"Did you write it down anywhere? Or store it in a Pensieve?"

"Only in the letter I sent you." She narrowed her eyes.

"Did the letter leave your sight before you sent it?"

"I wrote it in Hogsmeade and carried it to a house elf. She said she took it straight to you."

Nelly would have done precisely that, and Albus had destroyed the letter as soon as he read it.

"How did you find out about the Horcruxes? Did someone tell you, was it written down?"

Her cheeks puffed out with the force of her exhalation. "Sort of? It's a long story and it's not relevant if this is going where I think it's going. There's no book in this world with my information stored in it. Is that enough for now?"

That was a tempting avenue of questioning to pursue, but her suspicion was correct; time was short.

"Indeed," Albus hummed. So, the knowledge was only in Miss Bonnici's mind. That could be breached in several ways. Her occlumency shields were good enough to repel small attacks and anything strong enough to break through would leave obvious scars. She showed no signs of invasion or memory modification.

"Did you gain the information before you learnt occlumency?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I've been working on the meditation for years but I only learnt the more specialised shielding techniques about eighteen months ago."

A Legilimens could've flicked through her mind leaving no one the wiser. It was unlikely to be an average Legilimens, for her discomfort with direct eye contact made perusal difficult. The rarity of strong practitioners, at least, reduced the pool of candidates to question.

They'd sat in silence for too long while Albus was gathering his thoughts. It gave her time to grow suspicious. "What's going on?"

"I merely want more information."

"Pardon me, sir, but if you needed more information, why didn't you write back years ago? Owls could find me. I checked."

"I had reasons to be concerned about security. I did not want opposition undermining my efforts," Albus said because avoiding her concerns would be far worse. He smiled, attempting to put her more at ease. "This is not the kind of information one sends through the post."

She nodded agreement, then cut off abruptly with a swipe of her hand. "You have a phoenix and house elves at your disposal. So you were worried about me reading it. I suppose that's why I'm here. Sussing me out?"

"I do not believe you would deliberately spread the secret, nor do I believe you would treat the information carelessly." At least, not anymore. Still, he hesitated. She looked like a young child, it went against every instinct, it felt downright criminal to foul her mind with the darkest of magic, regardless that she was his source. But he was running out of options. "I need any additional insight you might have. Motivations, plans, any other possible locations."

"Possible locations? You haven't found them all yet?" she blinked, confused.

"I have the Cup and the Ring."

"That's it?" she frowned. "Was I not clear enough? The Locket is in a drawing-room in Grimmauld Place, the Diary is in Malfoy Manor. There's one in Harry Potter's scar and if we wait too long, it's entirely possible that Voldemort will put another in his giant snake, Nagini."

Nagini. That was information she had not shared before. A future Horcrux. How? She was not a seer; the form of her information was unlike any diviner Albus had encountered. She had far more certainty than her letter implied. It was a degree of expectation that only came from firsthand experience, as if she'd seen and felt them there herself.

"When I saw the Diadem was gone, I thought you must've had the whole hunt sorted, I – wait. You don't have the Diadem? He left it right here, in the school. The Room of Requirement, on the seventh floor across from Barmy Barney, in the room of lost or hidden things, near a vanishing cabinet? No?" Her voice climbed higher with every word.

How incredibly specific.

Seers are vague and always correct, but often not in ways you'd expect. Bonnici's knowledge was fallible and human. It was accurate in some cases but flawed in others. And so detailed – that was the unique element.

His measurements confirmed her knowledge. Dark soul magic leaves a stain that is hard to wipe out. The traces remained, though the objects did not.

"The Diadem is not in the castle. Do you know where it might have gone? In your letter, there was speculation about Albania." The absence of the foul object was far, far worse than its presence and his stomach twisted just thinking about it. He didn't know where it was, and neither, it appeared, did she. Albus had hoped she'd have more options, but her confidence in the accuracy of her locations, conversely, meant that she had no other likely alternatives.

"That was a bit of narrative to get in character. You know, for credibility," she blushed and cleared her throat. "I only mentioned Albania because the rest of Voldemort is there, and I was hoping you'd fix that before he gets his body back, and starts killing people, and – no, no, no. This is all wrong. It was supposed to be over by now – happily ever after – the end," she buried her head in her hands. "I just want to learn magic in peace."

His heart ached and he said gently, "The thing most people don't realise about peace, is it takes a lot of hard work to maintain. If we stop striving to improve, society will slide back into the cycle of fear and fighting."

"I guess it was wishful thinking to imagine I could delegate every problem and call it job done," she said, rubbing her eyes. "I don't understand. How could they move? One might be an accident. Maybe some student just wandered off with the Diadem. But the Locket behind the Black family wards? The Diary in the Manor? That's deliberate. Someone is trying to take the lot."

"I do not know if the Diary was moved. I have not reached its hiding place."

Miss Bonnici raised her head, brow furrowed. "Really? I thought that'd be one of the easier ones."

Evidently, she'd never tried to pass through the Malfoy wards. It was used as a fortress in several wars for a reason. A team of goblins could break in, were it not both conspicuous and in violation of a dozen peace treaties. Legal avenues were closed, too. Lucius Malfoy currently held too much sway in the Ministry; accusations and search warrants refused to stick to him. The next election might open more avenues. "Malfoy Manor is not so readily accessible."

"Fine. At least the Locket and the Diadem. Two walkabout Horcruxes is still two too many to be an accident," she stared aimlessly at his desk for a long moment, then she shook herself and sat up straight, and her voice came out stronger. "What about the Black house elf? Was Kreacher there?"

"There was no sign of him."

"He wouldn't leave on his own," she said to herself. "Did Sirius dismiss him?"

"No. Nor could the elf be summoned," Albus said. That had not been a fun activity to propose when Sirius was already so cross with him.

"Dead, then. And you didn't find his remains. They might've been moved – hidden," she inferred with almost callous practicality. Albus' mind flashed from Tim Riddle and the boy's disregard of life lesser than his own, to the girl's hobby of pinning insects. Albus tried to see the warning signs but he couldn't convince his feelings they were there. His mind kept offering up excuses – that his biases were colouring his perception, she just chose her words poorly, she didn't feel like a sociopath. But hadn't wishful thinking always been his greatest weakness?

"And only the Locket was missing from the house? It wasn't ransacked?"

"Yes," Albus nodded. "They knew what they were looking for. If they were willing to kill Kreacher, I doubt their intentions were good." The Horcrux hunter was at least competition, and very likely an enemy. How had it come to this? In a few short weeks, Albus had figured out the identity of the Informant, only to uncover a new mystery person, this one worse than the last. The girl understood the seriousness of the situation. Albus lent the full weight of his concern behind his voice, "So, we come full circle. Who else knows about the Horcruxes?"

She tapped her fingers on his desk, thinking hard. "Regulus Black knew about the Locket. He died getting it to Grimmauld Place." Ah, that explained why her smokescreen was so convincing. "And Voldemort knows where he placed them all, of course. If this is Voldemort's doing and he doesn't find the Cup and the Ring where he expects, he's going to go ballistic."

She shot up, sending the chair screeching backwards. Pacing occupied her feet while her hands twisted her robes until her knuckles turned white.

"Or – or this could be the Worst-Case Scenario. The Horcruxes are sentient. They possess a person and create a fully autonomous time-capsule Voldemort. They've got all his memories up until they were created, including knowledge of previous Horcruxes. One Horcrux could collect the others and just make them harder to find or create multiple new Voldemorts to deal with," she explained brusquely. "I don't think it's possible for the Horcrux to take control of Harry, but you should make sure he's okay. The Diadem and the Locket were the latest Voldemort created; the Diary is a minor inconvenience in comparison, it was made first – it won't know where the others are. But you took the Cup and the Ring out of the picture, so at most we've got three gone walkabout. Wait, four – the actual Voldemort is still out there."

The words penetrated the ringing in his ears, but oh he wished they wouldn't. Albus was only one man. He could not be in four places at once. He could not fight four wizards of Tom Riddle's calibre. His heart hammered, his chest felt too tight but that – that was something he could control.

He slowed his breathing. He must appear strong. Such was the burden of leadership, or perhaps the privilege. He could bolster the hopes of so many people and it was those masses, together, that would have to power to fight the darkness.

"This is bad. This is really, really bad," the girl said, eyeing him askance, as if she'd forgotten how to emphasise strong emotions without swearing. If she gave in to the urge, Albus thought the situation warranted a case of selective deafness.

"It is grave news," Albus said, tempering his fear into concern. "But we know the problem exists and we can work to undermine it. There've been no signs of Voldemort rising, yet. There is still time."

There were so many problems they hadn't even touched on, and that was before Albus considered what to do about young Harry. How did Miss Bonnici know so much, and more prudently, could anyone else do the same? Albus wanted to look back through her past to find any contact with Legilimens she'd had, for a start. But there would be time enough for that later. As invigorating the topic, there was no sense in driving themselves to exhaustion. It was past curfew already.

"Thank you for answering my questions, Miss Bonnici. I'm sure we both have enough new information to keep us sufficiently sleepless, but we should endeavour to drift off regardless. Shall we meet again later this week?" Albus said, running through his schedule in his head for the earliest free afternoon.

"Of course, Professor," she said faintly, then more words fell out seemingly against her will, "You don't want to know what I am? Why I'm here?"

"I have no doubt that the reason is thoroughly diverting. Alas, sating my curiosity is not the most pressing matter at hand."

She was not threatening his students. Anything else was secondary. If a danger presented itself, he would address it by whatever means necessary.

…

A/N: Ok, be real, did I manage to convince you that Belinda was the time traveller? She's meant to be a parody of cliched self-insert but was she too much? I was trying to raise red flags and make you roll your eyes, not make you to abandon the story in disgust.