The Unknown Legacy

1998: Return to London

Lydia Hope Spinelli rode up the escalator from a London subway station. She was an American with odd ties to the city. Twenty years ago to the day in this very city, her mother had died, and she had been born. According to her grandmother, Lydia was taken out of her mother's dead body right at the scene, a thought that chilled her blood every time it crossed her mind. It wasn't so much of a vacation, as it was a reckoning with her macabre entry into the world.

Ever since she was little, Lydia had secretly blamed herself for her mother's death. She heard that women sometimes died in labor, and was convinced that the labor killed her mother, because no one was there to help her deliver Lydia. Her opinion of the matter had changed drastically over the years, but she still felt she was partially guilty for her mother's untimely death.

Her grandmother often told her, sometimes with teary eyes, that Lydia looked almost exactly like her mother. She was exceptionally pretty, with wavy black hair and a slight olive complexion, reminiscent of her grandmother's Italian heritage. Her eyes were large, deep set, and so dark, it almost appeared she had no irises. Her grandmother said she was a 'Classic Beauty' and it had much rivaled her bubble headed 'adorable baby girl' peers in high school. The other girls had often been jealous of Lydia because next to her, their baby tees and pink glitter lip-gloss made them look childish. Lydia turned heads without makeup, and made jaws drop when she wore subtle colors. Elegant, was a simple way of putting it. Today she was wearing a long navy blue sundress with spaghetti straps and buttons all the way down the front, and her thick hair in a simple ponytail. She was pulling her rolling luggage behind her.

As the escalator opened her up to a bustling London street, she suddenly realized how long ago breakfast had been on the plane from JFK Airport. She had a pocket full of pounds and was ready to buy the first speck of food she saw. She began to walk down a street following her nose, and not much paying attention to where she was going. She had maps after all. There was a Burger King, but she passed it. She didn't fly over the ocean to eat something she could get at any time back home. Her nose led her to a fish and chips stand.

How stereotypically quaint, and perfect, she thought and paid for her meal.

As Lydia turned around to find a curb or bench to sit on and eat, she saw an extremely out of place building across the street. It looked like a two story medieval house with dark wood trim She tapped a man at the stand on the shoulder.

"What's that building there, the one between the record store and the book shop?" she asked. He looked up and back at her like she was crazy.

"How can there be a building between the two? They're side by side, d'you think you're being funny?" he said and walked away from her faster then normal. His reaction surprised her, She knew lots of people didn't like tourists, but to completely deny that the building was there, when it was right in front of them? How could he not see it, looking so out of place between the modern concrete and glass buildings next to it?

It's probably his favorite restaurant or something and he doesn't want it crowded with tourists. What a grouch, Lydia thought as she walked across the street. She noticed that people passing it, didn't look at it either. Lydia looked up at the sign, whose paint was peeling. It was called The Leaky Cauldron. She lit up. It's a pub! And what a cute name for a pub! Lydia looked at the door, then back up to the sign. She peered into the window, but it was too dark to see inside. She tried the door handle, and it was open. She went ahead and pushed the door open and walked inside the pub.

She was expecting it to be a little outdated, but she felt as though she had really stepped back in time. There was no television, and the reason it had been so dark when she looked in, was that the place was lit only by candles. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she was able to better make out the place. She didn't notice that no one was talking, though they had been before she walked in. Lydia absently picked up a fish piece and took a bite as she marveled at the place. Then, breaking her stupor, she looked around and noticed that all the people were staring at her. They were oddly dressed too. Some of the women were wearing pointy hats, much like the classic Halloween witch hats with flowing robs of different colors. The men were dressed similarly. After a minute or two, a toothless man behind the bar spoke up.

"Can I help you?" he sounded a little surprised when he spoke. She looked at him and smiled brightly.

"I just saw this place from the street, I just arrived in London today, it stands out quite a bit from the other buildings doesn't it?" she asked. The man didn't answer, so she just continued. "Though the oddest thing happened, a man out there was looking right at this place and swore he couldn't see it. I guess maybe he doesn't like tourists, but I decided to come in and have a drink anyway," she continued. The man behind the counter blinked and exchanged a glance with a man in brown robes that he had been talking with before spotting Lydia. He looked back to her and spoke again.

"Are you a Muggle?" he asked Lydia scrunched her face in confusion.

"A what?"

No sooner then she spoke, a man from the table right next to her jumped to his feet with a stick in his hand and cried, 'Obliviate!'

Lydia felt her mind lapse for a second She tasted fish and wondered what she had been eating, when she jolted back, remembering where she was. She had been eating fish pieces. She looked to the man standing next to her now and the stick he had pointed to her forehead.

"Excuse me?" she asked, with her eyes narrowed at the man. He looked absolutely shocked. She heard people gasping and muttering . The man cried out the same word again, annunciating the syllables a little clearer then before.

"O-bliv-ee-ate!"

Again, Lydia felt euphoric, and forgot where she was. She wondered if it was time to cook the Thanksgiving turkey.

But it's not Thanksgiving, it's summer time!

She shook her head and turned to the man, who looked even more shocked then before. She also saw a tiny glint of fear in his eyes.

"What exactly are you trying to do to me?" she sneered and snatched his stick, which was highly polished and perfectly straight. "Poke out my eye? What is this thing anyway?" she asked and tried to have a closer look at the object, but the man snatched it back from her fingers with a panicked look on his face. It was just as well, she'd gotten the most peculiar sensation when she touched it, of sucking something out of the stick. He shuffled away from her a bit.

Everyone had the same look on their faces. Sheer and utter disbelief.

"Well, I'll take this as a hint that I'm not welcome here," she said as she turned around and began to walk towards the door. Before she could reach it however, someone put their hand on her shoulder. She started a bit and turned around. An ancient man she hadn't seen before was smiling kindly at her.

"No, please stay, your presence here has merely confused them. As you can tell we are plainly different then you, and have different ways. Come, I'll explain."

He turned and nodded to the bartender. At this, the air in the tiny pub lightened a bit, but people still stared. The man walked her to a table in a far-left corner. She sat down, still feeling people watching her. She guessed that for whatever reason, she was the topic of their hurried whispers to one and other. The man sat down across from her. He was very old, but his movements were far from feeble. He had twinkling blue eyes that peered at her from behind half moon glasses, and a long white beard with hair even longer to match. She noticed that he had a long and crooked nose. Her first question rolled off her tongue before she could stop and politely introduce herself.

"What did the bartender call me?" To her relief, the man's slight and kind smile never wavered

"He called you a Muggle, it's nothing offensive. It merely means you aren't one of us."

"That much I can see," she said and glanced around the pub again. "What kind of pub is this anyway?"

"Without proper proof and explanation, I doubt you'd believe me if I came out and told you. But first, introductions. I am Albus Dumbledore," he said. She spoke quickly and rummaged in her purse for some Chap Stick.

"Lydia Hope Spinelli."

Her name seemed to puzzle him.

"Spinelli," he repeated and scratched his chin. "Was there someone in your family named Maria Spinelli?" It was Lydia's turn to look shocked.

"I had a great great aunt named Maria Spinelli, she was my grandfather's aunt. But how did you know that name?"

"Ahh," he sounded as if this information cleared up things for him. Lydia, on the other hand, was lost.

"Did your aunt ever tell you about strange things or show you some strange things?" Mr. Dumbledore asked.

Lydia put her chapstick back in her purse and changed position slightly. She could tell she would be here for a while.

"She was a bit estranged from the family because she lived in Italy and didn't have a phone. My grandmother wasn't completely fond of her either. She said she had dangerous interests, but we did visit her once and a while, I mean after all, most of my family is there and, she WAS family. But now that you mention it, she was a bit odd. She used to brew what she called potions in her kitchen fireplace. I remember she had no electricity and used...candles..." Lydia trailed off and looked around her. She looked to the ceiling and saw no electric lights, no electrical outlets in the walls. She looked back to Mr. Dumbledore and stared.

"You see the similarities. Your Aunt was one of us. Now I know who you are. No doubt you're here to face your past, especially this year. I remember when your mother died..."

"You knew my mother?" Lydia sat upright. She'd come to London to face past, but she didn't expect anyone to know who she was like this. Dumbledore shook his head.

"Sadly, no I never got to meet your mother, but I knew about her death through your Aunt. Your mother's death is deeply tied to my world. I regret that I must continue to question you about your aunt to properly help you understand who we are and why your mother died." Dumbledore motioned to the rest of the people in the pub, then folded his hands together on the tabletop. He had a way of speaking to Lydia that made her feel comfortable with sharing her family's past. "Tell me Lydia, do you remember your aunt having special gifts?"

Lydia wracked her brain, shuffling through memories of times with her aunt much like a file clerk would rummage through papers in file drawer. After a few seconds, her mind came to a memory she had long forgotten. When she was 4, she had skinned her knee playing outside her aunts house on one of the family visits to Italy. She'd gone inside crying, and Aunt Maria was the first person she found. She told Lydia with great flourish, that she was going to heal her hurt with magic! She took out her magic wand and poked her scrape. Lydia felt no more pain and was given a chocolate shaped frog with a moving picture card. She was also asked to keep it a secret. She recounted this memory to Dumbledore. He nodded.

"Yes, you remember," he said and leaned back in his chair. "And now I think you are ready to hear the circumstances surrounding your mother's death. You're aunt was a witch, just as I am a wizard, and just like everyone else here."

Lydia raised an eyebrow. Why did she almost nod as if what he said was completely normal and natural. It was truth; that's why it seemed so natural. She knew it, but she still wasn't ready to believe it. Had her memory of Aunt Maria mending her scrape been power of suggestion? Though she had forgotten the memory for so long, now it seemed so vivid. She could smell the herbs in the house. She could see her aunt's wand. It was light colored wood, possibly oak or maple. She looked at Dumbledore and shook her head.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said and shook her head with a smirk. Dumbledore didn't move.

"It's hardly anything to joke about. We are what we are," Dumbledore said. "However, just like in your world, there are some that go bad. I hardly have to say that people from all walks of life can take wrong paths. Some of our own twist themselves, or are twisted to the dark side of magic. One such man was named Voldemort. I taught him myself at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He used his powers to lure people into his following. He's famous for hating Muggles and wizards born of Muggle parentage. He and his followers killed many people. I am sad to say that your mother was one of them."

"She was murdered?" Lydia gasped. Dumbledore nodded solemnly. Lydia buried her head in her hands. She couldn't believe it. Part of her, deep down was relieved that she wasn't the cause, but her other half screamed for revenge. She forced herself to look up at Dumbledore.

"There's a magic school?" she asked quietly, changing the subject. She would deal with her emotions later. Dumbledore nodded.

"Not just one, there are several around the world. I happen to be the headmaster at Hogwarts, Britains magic school."

Lydia muttered something to the effect of 'oh' and looked to the bartender. He looked at her.

"Can I get a glass of whiskey please?" she asked in an eerie, calm voice. The bartender picked up a bottle with bright yellow lettering against red called Ogden's Old Firewhiskey and poured it into a glass. Before she could get up to go and get it, the drink appeared on the table in front of her in a glass that could hardly be larger then a double shot glass, followed by the bartenders voice.

"Four sickles please." he asked automatically, then looked up at her. What was he thinking? The only money she was likely to have was Muggle money. He was however, slightly amused at the expression on her face, which was stuck between humiliation of not being able to pay and fascination. Dumbledore waved his arm.

"I'll pay for it Tom," he said. Lydia would normally have insisted that she be allowed to pay her own way or at least pay someone back for buying her something, but she was completely enthralled by the glass. She even tapped it to see if it was really there. She took a sip and almost coughed. It was the most potent whiskey she'd ever had. Once the urge to hack passed, she looked back to Dumbledore.

"Can you tell me more about the circumstances?" she asked and set the glass down. "About my mother."

Dumbledore talked for a long while. He explained Voldemort's followers were called Death Eaters. She listened to him describe what the world was like when Voldemort was in power.

"And the worst thing of all, is that he's again in power. He's not as powerful as he was at his downfall, but he's getting there. One of his followers killed one of my students four years ago, and several more have gone missing. I am sad to say that I have little hope of anyone finding them alive," he said in a frustrated voice.

"They disappear from the school?" she asked taking another sip. Dumbledore shook his head.

"He wouldn't dare set foot near the school while I'm there," he said with a firm tone. It was a tone she doubted that people defied often. "No, they and their families have been disappearing from their homes. I'm certain that it's connected with Voldemort's activities," he said. Lydia was now staring down at her empty glass. Dumbledore continued to speak.

"But what fascinates me, is your presence here today. This building has powerful enchantments on it that keeps Muggles from seeing it. They don't even see the space between the buildings, so how is it that you were able to see the building, and completely throw off Mr. Diggle's memory charm?"

"Memory charm?!" she squawked. "Was he trying to erase my memory?" She looked taken aback.

"Just your memory of entering the pub. We are very secretive. In olden times, we were often feared and misunderstood by Muggles. So eventually, we began keeping ourselves secret. Magic eventually went from fact to legend for Muggles. It's even enforced by our laws. So he was merely doing what he had to do by law."

"Oh," she said. "Why are you interested by the fact that I was able to throw off his charm?"

"Because no Muggle has that ability. Some trained Wizards can learn to fight charms and curses, but it's still not an easy thing to do. I watched it slide right over you, almost like it didn't have anything to grab onto in your mind. I'm a very old man and I've seen a lot in my lifetime, but I've never seen that before. No one has, you gave them all quite a fright."

"Are you going to try to erase my memory of here when I leave?" she asked. Dumbledore shook his head.

"No. You are connected to the magical world, no matter how unfair and tragically. It would be an abomination to your mother's memory to make you forget the truth," he said.

Lydia wasn't quite sure what to say to something like that. Again Dumbledore broke the silence.

"Where are you staying?" he asked. Finally, something she knew the answer to!

"At a little country bed and breakfast, though I haven't been there yet. I only arrived in London an hour ago," she said. He nodded

"How would you like to stay somewhere else, free of charge?" he asked. "You could stay at the school. It's a large castle, plus I'd like to do a little research on you. Some testing too."

"That sounds interesting., but testing?" she asked. Dumbledore chuckled.

"I promise it won't hurt."

She couldn't believe she was about to accept the hospitality of a complete stranger who had just told her that magic really existed. She fingered a lock of her dark hair and looked back up at Dumbledore and smiled. She was a pretty good judge of character. Besides, she wanted to see more magic.

"Ok," she said with certainty.

It was turning out to be a strange trip indeed.