R.O.B. 37

May 6, 1991

Myrddin Manor

Percival's Office

4:45 PM

Josh blinked.

And the world spun around him. It wasn't pain, not exactly. Just a sharp spike of pressure behind the eyes, like static wrapping around his skull and squeezing. He inhaled once through clenched teeth.

[Load Complete]

Save Slot HP AU 1: 4:45 PM, Myrddin Manor Activated

Welcome back, dumbass. Try using the shiny tools you begged R.O.B. for this time.

Emergency Quest Reinitializing...

**[Emergency Quest Triggered]

Issuer: World

Title: A Child Forsaken

Target: Harry James Potter

Status: In Imminent Danger

Location: 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

Success Conditions:

• Investigate and confirm the condition of Harry James Potter

• Prevent immediate harm

• Ensure his extraction from the site within 30 minutes of arrival

Failure Conditions:

• Severe psychological trauma to the target

• Death of Harry Potter

• Death of Joshua Myrddin

• Death of Percival Myrddin

• Exposure of Magic to the mundane world

Failure Consequences:

• War between the magical and non-magical world

• Imprisonment in Azkaban. Loss of right to use magic

• Collapse of Magical Government

Rewards: ???**

Josh's eyes unfocused. To Percival, he wasn't present anymore.

His mouth opened on its own, a voice not quite his own slipping free.

"The child lies in painted silence

Beneath hedges trimmed by unseen hands

Fifteen minutes till blood meets sun

Four Privet Drive. The storm will come."

Percival froze mid-sip.

The cup hit the saucer with a faint clink as he rose to his feet. He'd seen this once before, a long time ago. Not from Josh. From another Myrddin.

He crossed the room with sharp steps and gripped his grandson's shoulder without hesitation.

"Understood."

And they were gone.

~

Little Whinging, Surrey

4:46 PM

We landed with a hard twist of magic two streets out. Just like last time. Except this time, I wasn't letting us get pinned down. Grandpa had cut our arrival time tighter. We were off to a better start this time.

The air still carried that warm, baked smell of suburbia, fresh grass, hot pavement, and a quiet that tried a little too hard to seem peaceful. Two lawnmowers sat idle across the road, one of them ticking as it cooled, just like before.

Nothing moved. No dogs. No kids. Just carefully trimmed flowerbeds and hedges all doing their part to scream, "Nothing to see here."

Privet Drive.

"Front door?" I asked keeping up appearances.

"Front door," Gramps agreed.

Same as last time.

His boots hit the sidewalk in perfect sync with mine. Leather vest creaked. Cowboy hat low. Silver glint at his wrists.

We passed Number 8. Then 6.

Then there it was.

Number 4, looking exactly as fake-perfect as before. Someone had clipped the lawn to an exacting Edge. I could picture Petunia out there with a ruler and some micro scissors. The tulips were still aligned like soldiers, and the azaleas hadn't dared go off bloom schedule. Petunia Dursley's garden was a display of manufactured and curated order.

"Smells like fertilizer," I muttered. "Ruins the ambiance."

Gramps didn't answer. Just tapped the pendant at his chest.

I slowed. "Something?"

He paused a beat too long. "No. Nothing. Could be the house. Could be the street. Feels off."

Yeah. Same.

We stepped up to the door. Nothing stirred. No twitch of curtains. No nosy neighbors. It was like the whole block had taken a vow of silence.

He knocked. Then we waited.

Footsteps. The latch. That same moment of hesitation.

Then the door opened a crack.

Petunia Dursley stared out at us from the shadows like we were here to repossess her garden shears. She looked a little redder this time, sunburn, maybe but the squint and frown were identical. I'd put money on her just having been in the garden before we arrived.

I watched her try to place us.

"Hi, Mrs. Dursley," I said. "You don't know me yet. I'm Joshua Myrddin. This is my grandfather, Percival."

Recognition flared in her eyes. "Percival Myrddin... Lily and my Great Uncle?" Her voice went flat. "What do you freaks want with me?"

Same script. Same delivery.

"Not the greeting one expects from a distant relative," Percival replied evenly.

"We're here because something's about to happen," I added. "We need to talk. Can we come in?"

She hesitated. Then stepped back.

The second we crossed the threshold, it hit.

Cold. Sudden. Damn blood wards identifying us as magicals.

Gramps tapped his pendant again, expression tightening.

"Wards," he muttered.

No system ping. Just like last time.

But I knew these were no threats to us.

I met Petunia's eyes. "We'll explain everything in a second. Just need to make sure it's safe first."

Behind us, the front door of one of the neighbor's homes shut sharply.

Good, we're ahead last time it was their car pulling away.

The clock's ticking. At least now I have an idea of what we might be walking into if we don't make this quick.

~

Josh scanned the hallway. The air smelled like-

["That's enough narrating. We already know what it looks like. Focus on making sure to get the boy out, before the shit hits the fan again. Idjit."- Delivered in the voice of Bobby Singer ]

Percival moved forward with calm purpose. His boots didn't echo against the tile, his posture relaxed but unmistakably solid, like a man used to being listened to. Petunia stiffened but didn't block the way. She watched him the same way you'd watch a stranger walking too close to your new car.

He gestured lightly toward the kitchen. "May we?"

Petunia hesitated. Then gave a tight nod, stepping aside with her arms folded.

Josh followed, letting Percival take the lead.

Entering the kitchen, nothing was out of place, looking much the same as it did in the films.

"I guess life imitates art just as much here as back in the prime" I couldn't help but think as I observed this space again. The first time, I didn't even start to consider that. The rest of the house, from the entry to this point, was a logical mix of both the layout from the books, as well as the visuals from the movies. At least this version of Petunia matched the version from the books, even if Her husband and son-

["Just can't help yourself, can you. What happened to the version of you from that little trip to Night City. He didn't narrate every single new thing." - Still in the voice of Bobby Singer]

"What's with you today, you don't normally get onto me setting the scene in my head. You have full access to my memories and should know I rather enjoyed a well set scene." I couldn't help but to think back at the system, showing more snark after I reloaded the world, than on it's first go around.

["Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that you aren't in a gritty noir novel. You aren't a detective with too much experience who's seen too much of what can go wrong. Right now, you are a 13 year old Wizard, with the now 36 year old mind of a security officer in his head."]

"Touché." How else should I respond to that. The system is right as usual.

["Of course I am. Now focus on getting your new cousin OUT OF HERE."]

Stopping my internal argument with my snarky internal companion, I walked to the counter nearest the window so I could keep an eye on things.

Grandfather followed Petunia to the table and pulled out a seat for her before taking one for himself. Even when we're in a hurry, the man is a gentleman. Respect.

"I'm very sorry to just drop in on you out of the blue like this," Percival began, acknowledging that events were outside the norm. "I will freely admit, there is no real closeness between us. At most, we are distant relatives through my late wife, your great aunt."

I watched the neighbor loading bags into their car now, as Grandfather laid out the personal history of his family as far as it relates to Mrs. Dursley. I honestly don't think she knew she has so many cousins still around, like Dad, his sister, and his remaining brothers.

From what I remember of Grandfather's introducing them that first day in the manor, they, dad and his 2 remaining brothers, were like her and unable to attend Hogwarts or any other traditional magic school.

Percival clasped his hands on the table.

"I regret the suddenness of this visit, truly. But it couldn't be helped."

Petunia gave him a hard look. "Then help me understand what could possibly justify it. I highly doubt anyone from your side would be here to speak with me. "

He inclined his head slightly. "This morning, a sealed will was opened. It named legal guardians for your nephew. Your home was not among them."

Her brow twitched. "My nephew?"

"Harry James Potter," Percival said plainly. "We're here on behalf of his parents will."

Petunia's expression shifted, something between a flinch and a glare.

"Of course. Of course it's about him."

She stood up, arms crossing tight across her chest.

"Almost ten years, with nothing more than a note. No phone call. No solicitor. No follow-up. Just a bundle on the porch like a bloody stray and a letter saying it was our problem now."

Percival didn't interrupt.

Her voice rose. "God forbid we tried to contact your lot for help. Every time we did, the letters vanished. Or worse, one of you showed up and made the walls shake just to prove we shouldn't ask again."

I kept still, eyes glued to the street. The car still hadn't moved. A different curtain across the street fluttered, then stilled.

Petunia's shoulders fell, slightly. "And now you just show up. Like it's nothing. Like we're just supposed to let him walk out the door with strangers."

Percival waited a beat before speaking. "This isn't a debate, Mrs. Dursley. It is however going to happen, and in the next few minutes. This it is urgent, and there are circumstances I can't ignore."

She snorted. "There are always circumstances with your kind."

"I understand your distrust," he said evenly. "But the situation has changed. There's reason to believe Harry may be in danger if he stays here."

Petunia stared at him, lips thin. "Are you accusing us of harming him?"

"No," Percival said. "I have strong evidence to believe that others will come, with less intention to ask."

Her silence this time was longer. My gaze returned back to the street .

Her silence this time was longer. My gaze flicked between them, then back to the street.

The car still hadn't moved. One of the neighbors crossed their front lawn with a watering can. Nothing out of place.

Behind me, her voice came sharper. "So that's it? You just expect me to roll over and let him go?"

Percival didn't flinch. "I expect you to care that he might not be safe here."

Petunia's jaw tightened. "Safe. Don't talk to me about safe. You people dropped him off like a newspaper, never looked back. No check-ins. No follow-up. Just a note and silence."

She folded her arms tighter. "I had to figure it out. I had to protect my son. My family. No instruction, no warning, just this freakishness left on our doorstep."

Percival's tone didn't change. "I'm sure you did what you thought best."

"I did what I had to," she snapped.

"I believe you."

She blinked at that. The edge in her posture didn't soften, but she didn't move to push back.

"Still," he added quietly, "that doesn't change what's coming."

There was a pause. A breath.

Then, she raised her voice directing it back through where we had entered from, "Boy, get in here."

Click

The cupboard under the stairs opened with an audible click, as Harry exited the only room he had called his own in the Dursley household.

He came into the room slow, dragging one foot a little behind the other like he wasn't sure if he was allowed. The shirt hung halfway down his thighs, sleeves rolled up twice and still too long. His jeans bunched awkward at the ankles and cinched tight around the waist with a belt that probably came from Dudley.

Same messy black hair. Same narrow frame. Same lightning-bolt scar peeking through his fringe.

And those eyes. Visible behind his glasses held together by packing tape.

My grandfather's posture shifted just slightly. No words. Just silence.

I didn't say anything either. I didn't have to.

"Boy, say hello to your mother's great granduncle, Percival Myrddin, and your cousin Joshua Myrddin," Petunia said, each word clipped and pointed. The emphasis on your made it clear. She wanted no part of the connection. Like saying it out loud might infect her with whatever made us different.

"They've come to take you to your new home."

Harry blinked, slow and uncertain, like the words didn't make sense in the order she'd said them.

His eyes flicked toward her, maybe looking for permission, maybe expecting a hint of what he was supposed to feel.

She didn't look at him. Didn't even flinch. Just stared hard at the far wall like she'd already moved on. Coward.

The car finally started across the road. That was my cue to get things moving.

"Wotcher, Potter," I said, stepping back into the conversation. "My name is Joshua Myrddin. After your aunt and her son, I'm one of your closest blood relatives on your mom's side. I prefer to go by Josh, though."

God, I'm starting to pick up Tonks' vocal tics.

Harry blinked at me, then glanced toward his aunt again. She still wasn't looking at him.

"…Hi," he said after a pause. It came out flat, almost unsure, like he wasn't sure if that was the right answer or if he'd be punished for saying it wrong.

He shifted his weight, one hand tugging at the edge of his too-long sleeve. "Are you really my cousin?"

"What, don't tell me you've already got something against Americans," I said with a smirk. "Because if so, we're gonna have to work on that. And for the record, Grandfather Percival's as Irish as a four-leaf clover."

Harry looked at me like I'd just told him the sky was purple. "You talk funny."

"Alabama," I offered with a shrug. "It'll grow on you."

He didn't smile, but he didn't shrink back either. Just sort of stood there, studying me like I was a riddle no one had given him the rules to solve.

"You look… different," he said.

I nodded toward the hallway. "Compared to your aunt and cousin?"

He gave the barest shrug, unsure if it was okay to agree.

"Fair enough," I said. "Truth is, you don't look like them either."

That made him blink. He didn't seem offended. Just confused.

"You've got your mum's eyes," I added. "Bright green, same shape. I've only seen them in old photos, but they're hard to forget."

His hand lifted slightly, like he wanted to check, then dropped before it reached his face.

"And that hair?" I gave a nod. "Definitely a Potter. Whole mess of it doing its own thing."

He hesitated. "I've never… I don't know what they looked like."

That hit harder than expected.

"I know," I said, voice quieter. "I figured."

He looked up at me again. "Are you really my cousin?"

"Yeah. I am. Second cousin, technically. But I prefer just 'cousin.' Makes it simpler."

He didn't say anything, just stared at me with those wide green eyes. Like he wanted to believe it but didn't dare yet.

"You don't have to decide what to think right now," I added. "Just come with us. We'll figure out the rest later."

He gave a small nod. Nothing more.

Behind me, Grandfather shifted. "Mrs. Dursley."

Petunia hadn't moved.

He continued, calm but firm. "You'll want to join your husband. Take your son. A short holiday. Anywhere but here."

She bristled. "Without packing? Without warning?"

"You've had ten years of warning," I muttered.

Grandfather held up a hand slightly. "Nothing will be harmed in your absence. But the boy cannot stay here tonight."

Her eyes flicked to Harry, then to me. She didn't ask questions. Just pursed her lips, grabbed her bag, and stalked past us without another word.

The front door slammed shut.

Josh turned back to Harry.

"You got a toothbrush?"

Harry shook his head.

"Figures," I said, stepping toward the hall. "We'll sort that too. C'mon."

He followed me out without hesitation, staying close but not hovering. Gramps held the door open, silent.

The air outside was cooler than before. Two cars were gone now, Petunia's and the neighbor's. The street looked like it always did, perfectly trimmed and pretending nothing had happened.

We didn't stop. We didn't look back. We just kept walking.

~

Ten minutes after Jish, Harry, And Percival leave.

~

A white panel van rolled onto the street, circling once before coming to a stop around the corner, opposite the side where Josh and Percival had arrived. Inside were four relatively unremarkable men and one average-looking woman.

Apart from the paramilitary gear and the faint hum of enchantments layered over their armor, nothing about them stood out, until they spoke.

Their accents were varied, none native to Surrey. At the center, their leader adjusted his comms bead and checked his chronometer. His voice was clipped, professional. South African, if the accent was real.

"I know we don't normally go in blind like this," he said, voice low but firm, "but the client's timeline got compromised. This job's going off now whether we like it or not."

From the front passenger seat, a red-haired man with a scar down his jaw grunted.

Grant: "What's Fudge want with the bloody 'Boy-Who-Lived' anyway?"

Across from him, a dark-skinned woman loading darts using a rune covered wand rolled her eyes.

Jasmine: "Who cares why he wants him. This job pays double for a clean snatch."

Patrick cut them both off with a look.

Patrick: "Stow that for later. This should be routine. Alexi and Clint: ward stones. Anti-Apparition, anti-Portkey, intent, and alarm. You've got fourteen minutes. I want them locked in before we move."

The man named Alexi, pale with an old military tattoo peeking from under his collar, nodded once. "Timed and tuned already. Triggering on your mark."

Clint, chewing a matchstick at the back, flicked his wand and pocketed a modified compass. "Range is tight, but it'll do. Five house radius."

Patrick: "Good. We'll sweep in as soon as the perimeter's sealed. Locate the boy, grab him, and exfil clean. Standard body shield protocol."

Jasmine leaned forward. Hold up boss. Didn'tthe intel indicate the presence of at least one vehicle on the property?"

Patrick hesitated. Then shook his head. "As a matter of fact it did. Something feels off. Grant, do a sweep. Lets be sure our target is home"

Clint: "Like that job in Cairo?"

Grant groaned. "Merlin's balls, I hope not. That job didn't pay enough to cover expenses. Still better than that Shit show in Mexico."

Patrick's jaw tensed. "Cut the chatter. We've got one shot at this."

He slid open the side door with a soft click, sunlight pouring into the van as Grant's boots hit pavement.

"Move out."

Grant rolled his shoulders once, already halfway up the pavement. His boots barely made a sound. He didn't look back.

No car in the drive. Curtains pulled. No movement behind the windows.

He circled casually to the front walk, taking his time. One hand rested near his wand, worn low across his back in a horizontal sheath. Nothing rushed. Nothing spooked.

He stopped just shy of the front door, eyes sweeping across the porch and garden.

Then, wand already in hand, he whispered, "Homium Revelio."

A slow breath. No pull. No reaction. The spell returned nothing.

He tapped his comms bead.

"House is empty. No life signs at all."

A pause, static catching.

"You're sure?" Patrick's voice came through.

"Nothing breathing inside," Grant confirmed. "Not even a bloody cat. Intel's bad."

Silence for half a beat.

"Fall back," Patrick ordered. "We'll raise it with the client. Don't leave a mark."

Grant turned without hesitation, retracing his steps just as slow and unremarkable as he came.

Entering the vehicle, Patrick started moving before hed even finished sitting down.

A few minutes later

The second vehicle arrived. Nothing flashy, a dull green Land Rover Defender, engine humming low, rolling steadily around the corner. It passed the spot where the first team had parked opposite Number 4 and didn't slow. To any casual observer, it was just another contractor truck or maybe utility inspection vehicle. In truth, it carried something far less ordinary.

Inside sat four operatives, each wearing muted tactical gear concealed beneath plain clothing: waxed field jackets, canvas trousers, military boots scuffed from frequent use. They carried Browning Hi-Powers and sheathed wands, holstered securely against their ribs. No insignias. No identifying marks. Nothing to link them to the Royal Wand Corps.

In the back seat, Sergeant Oliver Reid scanned through the front windscreen, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"Looks like we're first on scene, but something feels off."

The driver, a broad-shouldered woman with cropped black hair and a wand sheath strapped securely across her thigh, nodded once without taking her eyes off the road.

"Then we'll follow procedure. Scan the property for the target."

"Copy that," Monroe replied from the passenger seat, adjusting his earpiece as he tuned into a secure channel. "Command, this is Bravo Two. No visual on target yet. Initiating point contact scan now."

A brief pause filled with static, then a reply crackled through clearly, "Maintain stealth, Bravo team. Don't let any locals notice your presence."

Reid sighed quietly and leaned back. "Always the same with them."

The driver kept her gaze forward, expression calm. "Be glad for it. Means we always know what to do."

Monroe glanced across the street, eyes moving methodically across each neatly identical house.

"No visible movement anywhere. Cul-de-sacs are just plain creepy. Let's get this over with."

Reid drummed his fingers lightly on the grip of his wand, nodding once.

"Guess that means I'm up. Back in two shakes."

"Homium Revellio..."