I don't own Harry Potter or Hellsing

  November 1, 1988 — Late Morning

  A soft wind rustled the leaves around the massive castle perched in the Scottish Highnds. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stood silent and majestic under a gauzy veil of thinning clouds. The Great Lake shimmered in the weak sunlight, and the Forbidden Forest pressed close, as if listening. Students inside followed their routines—attending csses, whispering in hallways, and gossiping over breakfast in the Great Hall—blissfully unaware of the shift in their Headmaster's mood.

  High in the Headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore stood rigid, his knuckles whitening on the desk's edge. His instruments—silver gizmos and delicate orreries—had ceased their reassuring whir and tinkling. Instead, they ticked erratically or y still entirely, no longer broadcasting the subtle magical signatures he had come to rely upon. The wards he had pced around the Dursley residence at Number Four, Privet Drive were gone. Not weakened, not unstable—gone. Just as if Harry Potter, the boy he had so carefully pced there to ripen under neglect and obedience, had vanished. The protective spells keyed to Harry's blood retion had colpsed like a house of cards.

  "How?" Dumbledore whispered to himself, his voice trembling with anger he fought to mask. This was not supposed to happen. The Dursleys were charmed to keep Harry alive, to never push him too far, just enough to break his will but not his life. He had spent years ensuring their compliance through subtle threats and Confundus Charms, through misdirection and the carefully fostered assumption that they had no safe way to rid themselves of the boy. And yet, something had gone wrong.

  Dumbledore's blue eyes—so often twinkling with false grandfatherly warmth—narrowed behind his half-moon spectacles. He straightened, his many-ringed hand brushing over the instruments that had failed him. He had to know what happened. The wards usually told him if Harry died. But he did not feel the telltale wrench that would have accompanied the destruction of that Horcrux fragment. Instead, he felt nothing. Harry was simply...not there.

  With a swirl of rich robes, Dumbledore crossed the room, reached for his traveling cloak, and stepped into the Floo. A fsh of green fire ter, he emerged at Hogsmeade's outskirts and Apparated directly to the vicinity of Privet Drive. The wards he had once woven here were in tatters, the quiet suburban air holding no trace of Potter's magical signature. Moving invisibly—he was skilled at that—Dumbledore slipped toward the Dursley home and let himself in through the unlocked kitchen door. His face was thunderous, though he kept his voice calm at first. He did not bother with niceties; these Muggles were beneath him. But they knew something, and he intended to extract it.

  Inside Number Four, Privet Drive, Vernon and Petunia Dursley were recovering from the previous night's excitement. They had disposed of their long-held burden, that boy, under the cover of rain and darkness. It had been easier than they'd dreamed—just shove him out of the car and drive away. No more freakishness, no more stares from neighbors suspecting something off about their perfect life. Let the brat perish on the streets where he belonged.

  Petunia was cleaning, humming to herself, relieved of a decade's worth of unwanted obligations. Vernon read the newspaper, content and satisfied. Dudley pyed with his toys, unaware of the recent upheaval.

  Without warning, they heard a click of the back door. Suddenly, at the threshold of their spotless kitchen, stood that old man—tall and robed in garish purple, beard sweeping to his waist, spectacles perched on a crooked nose. He radiated an aura of menace that Petunia and Vernon had rarely glimpsed during his previous, cordial visits. Gone was the gentle twinkle; here was a storm contained in human form.

  Dumbledore raised his wand slightly, wandlessly sealing the doors and windows to avoid interruptions. He was past the point of polite fa?ades. He wanted answers. "Where is Harry Potter?" he demanded, voice low.

  Vernon turned from his paper, startled. Petunia's face paled, but then a strange defiance lit in her eyes. She remembered all too well how this old man had abandoned that wretched baby on their doorstep, how he had forced them to raise him. Now he dared to return, demanding answers as if they were his servants. The fear that once controlled them had dried up and blown away. They had rid themselves of the freak, and whatever consequences came, perhaps they would face them with perverse satisfaction.

  "Harry?" Petunia spat, affecting an air of innocence. "He's not here."

  Vernon snorted, folding the paper. "Got rid of the boy," he said bluntly. "Last night. Dumped him in London. He's probably dead by now." He chuckled, a mean, hollow sound.

  Dumbledore's eyes widened, shock and fury warring within them. "You... what?" He had expected them to have lost Harry by accident, or for some unexpected force to have taken him. But they had done this deliberately. These foolish Muggles had undone years of careful pnning. The indignation that swelled within him was palpable. "You dare—"

  Petunia barked a shrill ugh that cut him off. "Don't you dare speak to us, you vile old man. You left that boy with us without permission, forced us to care for him. We never wanted him. Now we don't have him. Go and find your little burden yourself."

  Dumbledore's wand twitched, and for a moment, he considered a painful hex. He seethed with fury, but kept his composure—just barely. Hurting them might draw undue attention from the Muggle authorities, which would complicate matters further. He clenched his jaw. "You ignorant fools," he hissed. "You have ruined everything."

  At this, Vernon rose from his chair, his walrus-like face twisting with contempt. "Get out!" he shouted, jabbing a finger toward the door. "We're done with your freakishness. No more of it, do you hear?"

  For a moment, Dumbledore's mask slipped, revealing raw hatred. He wanted to obliterate these Muggles, to break them like dolls. But he refrained. He needed secrecy, control. He needed no Muggle investigations. Besides, they had given him his information: Harry was alive when they abandoned him. No death throes had echoed back through the wards. So Harry might still be out there.

  With a sneer and a sweep of his robes, Dumbledore turned on his heel and marched out, smming the door behind him. He Apparated away without a second gnce, leaving behind two shaking but oddly triumphant adults. The Dursleys had faced the old menace and survived—and that would be their boast in the pub for years to come, if they dared speak of it at all.

  Dumbledore reappeared in his office at Hogwarts, staggering slightly as his anger overwhelmed him. He paced the length of the room, his long robes swirling about his ankles. How dare they thwart him? How dare they ruin his carefully id pns to shape the Potter boy into a pawn? He had intended Harry to suffer but never escape his grasp. He must correct this error.

  Eyes darting to his magical instruments, he began to murmur incantations, attempting to scry Harry's location. He pced a drop of blood—kept in a crystal phial secretly obtained from Lily Potter's belongings—onto a silver disc etched with runes. He muttered words of power. The disc should have vibrated to show Harry's general location, but it y silent.

  Dumbledore's fury rose. Was Harry dead after all? Had he starved or frozen overnight? If he were dead, the Horcrux within him would have perished as well, and Dumbledore would have felt some resonance—something. No, he reasoned, Harry must be hidden, shielded by some power he had not accounted for. The notion that a mere child could vanish beyond his grasp made him tremble with rage.

  He paused, breathing deeply, reasserting control. He was Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of his age. He had stolen the Elder Wand from Gellert as he slept, crushing the dreams they once shared. He had orchestrated the deaths and imprisonments of those who stood in his way. He had twisted prophecy and rumor to ensure his ascendancy to the de facto throne of wizarding Britain. He would not let a child undo him.

  "To the greater good," he whispered mockingly. The phrase had once been Gellert's. Now it was his shield, his justification for every crime, every lie. Without the boy under his thumb, his grand design to eliminate Voldemort's final anchor would be in jeopardy. And he needed Harry back under his control before the child learned the truth about anything—about magic, about his parents, about his role. Harry's power, if trained otherwise, could become unpredictable. If Harry found allies...

  Dumbledore smirked. Allies? Who would help a starved, bruised child in the streets of London? Wizards would not. Muggles were too blind and weak. No one in the magical world dared oppose him openly—Ministry officials cowered under his reputation, and the Wizengamot sang to his tune. Sirius Bck nguished in Azkaban, framed; Remus Lupin lived in poverty and suspicion; the Longbottoms were broken in mind and body. All threats neutralized. His chessboard was secure, every piece controlled. It was unthinkable that some force—especially from the Muggle world—could intervene.

  He felt calmer now, certain that whoever had the boy, if anyone had found him, would be of no consequence. He would uncover their identity, frighten them or obliterate them, and retrieve his piece. Harry must never gain confidence, never know what truly happened, never grow strong enough to deny him.

  Dumbledore considered calling some of his allies—several members of the Order of the Phoenix still danced to his tune, though they believed him benevolent. But caution stayed his hand. He didn't want anyone to know Harry was missing. It would raise awkward questions. Instead, he would move quietly. He had long-range tracking spells at his disposal. He could send out discreet probes. And if he had to, he would roam Muggle London himself, disguised and determined.

  He stepped to the window, looking out over the Hogwarts grounds, plotting. He did not see the shadow that passed by outside, clinging to the stone fa?ade.

  Alucard, vampire servant of the Hellsing Organization, floated just beyond the Headmaster's window, adhering to the castle's outer walls as if gravity did not apply. He was invisible to the wizard's senses, shielded by ancient vampire magic and his own cunning. His crimson coat was subdued, folded into the gloom. He observed Dumbledore's fury with a feral grin.

  How Alucard had found his way here was a matter of careful stealth. After hearing rumors from Integra's contacts, he suspected that Dumbledore would react to the wards' failure. Alucard had chosen to follow this lead, using his own abilities to track the strange signature of wards breaking—an art he had developed over centuries of stalking prey through supernatural defenses.

  He had arrived in time to witness Dumbledore's return and subsequent tirade. The Headmaster's words were muffled by gss, but Alucard was no ordinary eavesdropper. His enhanced hearing caught every sylble. He listened as the old wizard revealed his contempt, his schemes, and his vile maniputions. The vampire's grin widened when he heard how Dumbledore boasted internally of his 'epic duel' with Grindelwald, which clearly never took pce as cimed. Alucard chuckled quietly. This man was a fraud, a coward, a spider spinning webs of deceit.

  So the wizard had stolen a wand from a sleeping lover, trapped him under a Fidelius Charm, falsified a prophecy, orchestrated deaths, condemned Sirius Bck, and broken the Longbottoms. All for the 'Greater Good.' Alucard's crimson eyes narrowed. He recognized monsters well enough, and Dumbledore was certainly one—just one wearing a kindly old man's face.

  He also understood something else: Dumbledore had no idea who had Harry now. The vampire had expected that. Wizards were arrogant and insur, rarely bothering to learn about Muggle organizations like Hellsing. Dumbledore believed that Muggles posed no threat, that he alone was the apex predator in this world. Alucard found that assumption amusing. He himself was no wizard, yet he would tear Dumbledore apart if Integra commanded it. Magic or not, the old man was made of flesh and blood, and nothing could stop Alucard if he truly wished to kill. The only reason he held back now was strategy. Harry was safe at the Hellsing estate, and Integra needed information before making any moves.

  Alucard listened further as Dumbledore muttered about sending out silent scouts, about controlling information. He could feel the man's anger simmering. The vampire took careful note of every name Dumbledore dropped: Longbottom, Bck, Pettigrew, Potter. He smirked at the irony of Dumbledore's ignorance—he had reduced these powerful wizarding families to pawns, thinking himself unassaible. Yet he was blind to the simplest truth: Harry Potter had escaped him.

  A vision floated through Alucard's mind—Integra holding Harry's hand, guiding the boy through the Hellsing estate, offering him a future free from cruelty. He had never seen Integra show such gentle protectiveness, but it pleased him. She had always wished to nurture something beyond the battlefield. Harry could be that someone. The boy had power, but also kindness and innocence. Raised under Hellsing's aegis, he would become strong and righteous, a guardian rather than a sacrificial mb.

  Alucard chuckled softly, his voice lost in the wind. If only Dumbledore could see how his grand design unravelled. The vampire wanted to reveal himself now, to show the old man that he was out of his depth, to witness the panic in those ancient blue eyes. But not yet. Integra would want a full report, and stealth would give them the advantage. Dumbledore was more dangerous than any average wizard—he possessed cunning, resources, and allies. Underestimating him would be foolish. Better to remain unseen and collect more intelligence.

  He settled against the stone, waiting for more revetions.

  Dumbledore paced his office, trying various spells and failing at every turn to locate Harry. He attempted a complex ritual using a handkerchief once pced in Harry's crib as an infant—a memento he had stolen from Godric's Hollow after the Potters' murder. Normally, such a personal item would give at least a hint of the child's whereabouts. The ritual fizzled, leaving only a faint smoke curl and no answers.

  "This makes no sense," Dumbledore hissed. "No sense at all."

  He considered the possibility of Harry being taken in by wizards. Impossible, unless someone powerful had intervened—someone who could hide from his scrying. The thought of another powerful wizard interfering enraged him. He had neutralized such threats. Ministry officials were under his thumb, the Death Eaters scattered or imprisoned, and any independent pyers like the Fmels were isoted. Who dared interfere?

  He paused. Could it be Severus Snape? Snape was his creature, indebted and cowed, but he had once loved Lily. No, he dismissed the idea. Snape cked the backbone to openly defy him. McGonagall or Flitwick? Loyal minions, too meek to dare such a bold move. Possibly a foreign wizard? That seemed far-fetched. It must be something else.

  What about a Muggle orphanage or some Muggle with unusual abilities? Dumbledore sneered. Muggles could not hide from wizard tracking. Their wards and magics were too rudimentary, if they existed at all. Still, something was shielding Harry. He felt it like a dull ache in his chest—some presence, old and unknown.

  At a loss, Dumbledore sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers. He would need a new tactic. The wizarding world believed whatever he told them—he could craft a narrative that Harry was safe, just to buy time. He would send out agents to comb London's alleys, disguised as Muggles. Perhaps he would instruct his Order members to quietly search. They would not question him if he cimed it was just a routine check for... something. He smirked. Yes, he could say that the wards required a renewal and he needed confirmation that the boy was fine. Nobody would suspect.

  He also had a few Dark artifacts locked away—tools that could, if properly handled, track souls or magical signatures. They were dangerous and tainted, the kind of relics he pretended to abhor. But necessity dictated usage. After all, the Greater Good justified any sin, did it not?

  Before he could continue this line of thought, a tapping came at the window. An owl—one of the school's birds, waiting with a letter. Dumbledore sighed and stood, moving to let the creature in. Outside, Alucard pressed himself ft against the stone as Dumbledore opened the window. The vampire grinned, fshing fangs. Too close for comfort, but Alucard was no fledgling. The breeze did not betray him.

  Dumbledore took the letter from the owl, scanned it quickly. It was from a Ministry official, asking about the upcoming Wizengamot session. Nothing of consequence. He tossed it aside, feeling distracted and irritated. He closed the window with a snap. Alucard remained in pce, unmoving, blending into the gloom.

  Meanwhile, in a pce sealed away from prying eyes, Gellert Grindelwald y in his cell in Nurmengard. Half a world away from the current drama, he knew nothing of Harry's disappearance, but he sensed the subtle quake in the magical currents. Something was off in Dumbledore's grand tapestry. Gellert smiled, a hollow, vindictive grin. He understood Dumbledore better than anyone. Any disruption in the old man's pns would infuriate him. Gellert found comfort in that. Let Albus stew in uncertainty.

  If only Gellert could see who was behind it. But he y powerless, trapped under Fidelius and wards, robbed of his wand. He closed his eyes, whispering in the darkness, "For the greater good, Albus? Whose good?" His voice echoed, unheard.

  Back in Hogwarts, as morning drifted toward afternoon, Alucard decided he had heard enough. Dumbledore's frustration, his arrogance, his pns to send out secret feelers—all was clear. The old wizard was determined to recim Harry, would stop at nothing to reassert control. But he was blind to Hellsing's existence. Good. Surprise would be their weapon.

  Alucard released his hold on the wall and drifted away, moving with supernatural grace along the castle's outer ledge. He stepped into a shadow and vanished, reappearing miles away in the English countryside as if by some predatory magic of his own. The journey back to London and then to the Hellsing estate was swift and silent.

  At the Hellsing manor, early afternoon light snted through tall windows. Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing sat in her office, reviewing some documents reted to recent supernatural sightings. Although her primary concerns were usually vampires, ghouls, and other creatures of the night, today her mind kept drifting to Harry Potter. The boy rested in a sunny room upstairs, recovering from his ordeal. According to Walter, Harry had eaten more breakfast, timidly asked for a book to read, and marveled at the estate's quiet grandeur. The child was still frightened, still unsure of his new guardians, but at least he seemed calmer.

  Integra closed a file and removed her gsses, rubbing the bridge of her nose. A child in her care. It felt... strange, but not unwelcome. She had long believed she would never have children of her own, never nurture a young life. Duty and biology had conspired against that dream. Now fate had delivered a broken child to her doorstep. She would do right by him.

  A gentle knock on the door drew her attention. Walter stepped inside, bowing slightly. "Sir Integra, Alucard has returned. He wishes to speak with you privately."

  She nodded. "Show him in."

  Walter stepped aside, and Alucard emerged from the shadows near a bookcase, his boots making no sound on the polished floor. He removed his wide-brimmed hat and bowed theatrically. "My Master," he intoned.

  Integra gave him a sharp look. "Well? Have you learned something?"

  Alucard's grin faded into something more thoughtful. He described, in detail, Dumbledore's fury, his trip to the Dursley home, and the subsequent tirade in the Hogwarts office. He recounted Dumbledore's words, his admissions of orchestrating Harry's suffering, lying about Sirius Bck, and leaving the Longbottoms in torment. He painted a vivid portrait of a twisted puppet master who believed himself invincible.

  Integra listened in silence, her expression growing stonier with each revetion. When Alucard described Dumbledore's disregard for Muggles and his bragging about how he had stolen the Elder Wand from a sleeping lover, Integra's jaw tightened. She despised maniputors, especially those who harmed children. The idea that this wizard saw himself as king, shaping destinies, turned her stomach.

  When Alucard finished, Integra let out a slow breath. She looked out the window at the neatly trimmed hedges and the autumn trees swaying in the breeze. "This is worse than I suspected," she said quietly. "We knew Harry's abandonment was no accident, but the scale of this man's interference..." She shook her head.

  Alucard stepped closer, an unusual seriousness in his eyes. "The old wizard is dangerous. Not because he's powerful—though he is—but because he believes he is the sole authority on what is right. He will not hesitate to kill Harry if that fits his grand design."

  Integra closed her eyes briefly. "Over my dead body," she said, voice quiet yet firm as steel. "If he wants a piece on his chessboard, he will find the board shattered."

  The vampire chuckled low in his throat. "I thought you'd say that."

  Integra turned back to face him, arms crossed. "We must protect Harry and gather more information. If this Dumbledore controls wizarding Britain, then our intervention may have rger consequences. We must prepare. Walter!"

  Walter re-entered. "Yes, Sir Integra?"

  "Have our intelligence gather any and all information about the wizarding community in Britain. We know little of them; it's time we learned. Discreet inquiries, Walter. I want to know their institutions, their leaders, their major pyers."

  Walter inclined his head. "Of course, Sir." He left quietly, already composing lists of reliable contacts.

  Integra tapped a finger against her desk. "Alucard, if Dumbledore tries to find Harry by conventional magical means, he will fail. The estate's wards will confuse him, and we can enhance them if needed. But what if he comes in person?"

  Alucard bared his teeth in a humorless smile. "Then he will meet me."

  Integra allowed a small smile. She had no doubt that the ancient vampire could give Dumbledore a nasty surprise. "He underestimates Muggles," she said thoughtfully, "and he knows nothing of Hellsing. Let's keep it that way. We must maintain the element of surprise. We will not initiate contact—let him fil in ignorance."

  She took a seat and gestured for Alucard to continue. "What else did you learn of his resources?"

  The vampire reted how Dumbledore considered sending out quiet agents—likely his Order of the Phoenix, a group Integra now understood to be an unofficial paramilitary he controlled. Dumbledore would likely try to spin a narrative that Harry was safe to prevent suspicion. He might try scrying again, or use forbidden artifacts to track Harry down. Alucard noted the mention of rare magical objects, concluding that the wizard would do anything to recim his pawn.

  Integra frowned. "We may need magical countermeasures. We have wards, but if he tries dark methods, we must be prepared. Alucard, I trust you can find someone in the wizarding underworld to advise us on how to mask Harry from these forms of detection?"

  Alucard inclined his head. "I can. There are always creatures, half-breeds, and outcasts who know the back alleys of that world. Some owe me favors. I'll have to be careful, of course. If the name Hellsing spreads too widely, it may alert Dumbledore."

  She nodded. "Do it quietly. Meanwhile, I will arrange for Harry to have what he needs. Education, medical care, perhaps even a tutor to guide him through basic magical theory. The more self-sufficient he is, the less vulnerable."

  The idea of teaching Harry magic under their roof intrigued her. This was new territory. But if Dumbledore wanted Harry ignorant, that was reason enough to do the opposite. Give the boy knowledge, confidence, and the power to choose his own path. And if that path led him to stand against Dumbledore one day, so be it.

  Alucard's grin returned. "This will be interesting, Master. I have never considered guiding a young wizard out of the grasp of a tyrant. It might be fun."

  Integra arched an eyebrow. "Fun is not the word I'd choose, but I trust you to keep Harry safe if I cannot."

  The vampire bowed. "I will."

  Upstairs, unaware of the machinations below, Harry sat in bed reading a picture book Walter had given him. It was a simple Muggle children's book with bright illustrations of animals going on adventures. Harry traced the drawings with a finger, smiling shyly at the antics of a cartoon fox. He had never had a proper childhood toy or story. Now he savored this small comfort.

  He gnced around the room. It was rge and comfortable, with heavy curtains, a warm quilt, and a bedside mp. Outside the window, he could see gardens and the faint outlines of distant buildings. He had never looked upon such elegance from within. The Dursleys kept him locked in a cupboard or stuck with chores, never giving him a moment to enjoy something beautiful.

  A soft knock at the door startled him. He looked up to see Walter, kindly and reserved as always, carrying a tray with tea and some biscuits. "A little snack, Master Harry. I thought you might like something sweet."

  Harry's cheeks warmed. "Thank you," he said, voice quiet. He accepted a biscuit, nibbling carefully. It was delicious, buttery and fky.

  Walter observed the boy a moment. "How are you feeling, Master Harry?" he asked gently.

  Harry considered the question. Physically, he felt better: warm, full, and safe. Emotionally, he was confused, scared of the future, unsure why these strangers were kind to him. But he felt a seed of hope sprout in his heart. "Better," he admitted softly.

  Walter nodded approvingly. "That's good to hear. Miss Integra will want to speak with you ter. She wants to ensure you are comfortable, and perhaps discuss a bit about your special abilities."

  Harry swallowed. "My... magic?"

  Walter smiled kindly. "Yes, Master Harry. Your magic. It is nothing to fear. You are among people who will help you understand it."

  He still felt apprehension, but also relief. "O-okay."

  Walter straightened and left Harry to his reading, promising to return for dinner. The boy watched the butler go, a strange warmth in his chest. He could not recall anyone ever treating him with genuine concern. It was frightening and wonderful at the same time.

  Harry returned to his book, pushing away the nightmares of the past. He knew nothing of Dumbledore's scheming or the forces aligning outside this sanctuary. He only knew he was safe for the moment.

  In the te afternoon, Dumbledore stood before the Pensieve in his office, gazing into swirling memories. He had reviewed scenes of Lily and James Potter, of Sirius and Peter, of Frank and Alice Longbottom. He saw himself encouraging Lily and James to choose Peter as their Secret Keeper, subtly hinting Sirius was too obvious a choice. He recalled how he ensured Neville Longbottom ended up with Augusta, a strict and unloving guardian, guaranteeing Neville's meekness. All these maniputions had served him well. But now, a crucial piece was missing from his board: Harry Potter.

  Rage coiled in his belly once more. He had to regain control. If Harry grew confident, if he learned he was famous, if he discovered that Dumbledore had lied and maniputed... The thought of a free, informed Harry Potter was unacceptable. Harry must be docile, ignorant, and self-sacrificing. Dumbledore refused to let a tool become a threat.

  He locked the Pensieve away and moved to a hidden cupboard. There, he kept Dark detectors and cursed objects he had confiscated over the years. He retrieved a small obsidian mirror that shimmered with unholy light. A stolen artifact from a Bulgarian necromancer, it could sometimes glimpse souls at great distances. It required a sacrifice of blood and pain to function properly, but Dumbledore had never balked at unpleasant tasks in pursuit of his goals. The Greater Good demanded it.

  Carefully, he pricked his finger and let three drops of blood fall onto the mirror's surface. He muttered forbidden words, ignoring the way the air grew cold. The mirror's surface shimmered, showing blurred shapes—rooftops, cityscapes, a hidden estate... It refused to focus. Dumbledore hissed in frustration. Some power shielded Harry, blocking even this dark instrument.

  He smmed the mirror face-down, dispelling its magic. Whatever shielded Harry must be formidable. Yet he would find a way. He always did.

  Evening approached. The sun dipped low, painting the horizon in bands of gold and crimson. At the Hellsing estate, Alucard emerged from Integra's office after finalizing pns. He would make quiet inquiries into wizarding society's underbelly—knock on a few metaphorical doors in the night, extort information where needed. He was ancient and resourceful, and no petty wizard would best him in cunning.

  He paused by Harry's door, listening to the boy's soft breathing and the rustle of pages. Good. The child was rexing. Alucard's protective instinct surprised him. He had never considered himself nurturing, but something about Harry's plight touched an old chord in his undead heart. He remembered times past, human children lost in wars, innocents sacrificed by tyrants. Perhaps protecting this boy was a way to spite all those who took advantage of the weak. Perhaps it was simply pleasing Integra.

  He chuckled quietly, imagining Integra mothering Harry—teaching him to shoot, to stand tall, to question authority. The formidable leader of Hellsing fussing over a child's bruises, ensuring he ate enough. The image warmed his cold heart.

  Then he thought of Dumbledore's arrogance, his dismissal of Muggles, his bsphemous attempts to set himself as king. Wizards always underestimated the world beyond their own. Hellsing would show them otherwise. The moment Dumbledore tried to cw his way here, he would face something older and deadlier than he could imagine.

  Alucard vanished into the evening to begin his reconnaissance. He would return before dawn with answers. In the meantime, Harry would rest and grow stronger, sheltered by Hellsing's embrace.

  At Hogwarts, as darkness fell, Dumbledore stood at his tower window, staring into the starlit sky. He had sent out magical probes disguised as harmless charms drifting through London's skyline, searching for even a hint of Harry's magical signature. He would re-establish control, one way or another. He always did.

  "Soon," he murmured, voice hollow. "I will find you, Harry. And then we will set things right."

  He considered the Elder Wand resting unseen in his staff drawer. With it, he believed himself unconquerable. He had bested Gellert Grindelwald—through betrayal and guile, but bested nonetheless. He had maniputed the British wizarding world into his pocket. He had shaped destinies. A single eight-year-old boy would not be his undoing.

  Outside, the night answered him with silence. Alucard was gone, Integra slept beneath wards, and Harry rested safely, dreaming no doubt of a better life. The wheels of fate turned quietly, and for once, Dumbledore did not control their motion. He thought he was the grandmaster of the board, but cracks had formed in his perfect game. Pieces moved independently, forging alliances he could not predict.

  In the distant shadows, worlds would soon collide. Until then, Harry would remain out of Dumbledore's reach, nurtured by hands that would never let him fall again. The old wizard had made a grave error in underestimating the Muggle world's quiet guardians. He had overlooked the existence of an organization that dealt in a realm he rarely dared to tread—one that could shield Harry from all his cunning.

  For now, Dumbledore schemed in darkness, Alucard gathered intelligence, and Integra prepared her household to raise a broken boy into a formidable young man. The csh that would one day come was still distant, but inevitable. Fate had changed its course, and there would be no going back.

  End of Chapter 2

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  Lonely Ruler and Her Sunshine: Harry Potter/One Piece Crossover (Up to 8 chapters avaible now)

  Raised by Mew Reborn: Harry Potter/Pokemon Crossover (Up to 8 Chapters avaible now)

  Fragile Hope: Harry Potter/Saw series Crossover (Up to 8 Chapters avaible now)

  Symphony of Machines: Harry Potter/FNIA Crossover (Up to 8 Chapters avaible now)

  Despair's Unexpected: Savior Harry Potter/Danganronpa Crossover (Up to 8 Chapters avaible now)

  The Silent Lulbies of Forgotten Factory: Harry Potter/Poppy Pytime Crossover (Up to 8 Chapters avaible now)

  Threads Woven Between Two Souls: Harry Potter/Coraline Crossover (Up to 8 Chapters avaible now)

  Queen Of Forbidden Forest: Harry Potter (Up to 8 Chapters avaible now)

  Worlds Unbound Magic: Modern Harry Potter(events are 20 years so instead of 1981 it is in 2001) (Up to 8 Chapters avaible now)

  Moonlight and Mist: Harry Potter/Percy Jackson Crossover (Up to 8 Chapters avaible now)

  You can read any of my fanfictions which are published here with 2 weeks of early access before everyone on my Patreon

  Beyond Boundaries of Time: Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 already avaible on my Patreon

  Neon Shadows of Fate: Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 already avaible on my Patreon

  Bound by Shadows and Sorrow: Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 already avaible on my Patreon

  Harry Potter and the Crimson Shadows: Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 already avaible on my Patreon

  Harry and the Wolf: Chapter 12 and Chapter 13 are already avaible on my Patreon

  Naruto and Secret of Aperture Science: Chapter 12 and Chapter 13 are already avaible on my Patreon