In the evening, three days after leaving The Burrow, Sunset was lying in her makeshift hammock, strung up between an abandoned utility pole she had found and cut into two pieces.

Next to her was the relaxing crackling of a campfire, with some mushrooms on a stick above it.

The backseat of the DeSoto was still her sleeping spot of choice, but she had found a nice, secluded copse of trees to camp this night.

Maybe she was overanalyzing, but Sunset felt that something had changed with Celestia lately, since Twilight moved to Ponyville and Princess Luna had come back.

Hopefully it was an improvement.

And I did not realize that only one additional ticket would be insufficient, and this is after I met her friends. I am not above saying that I am very embarrassed.

Sunset held herself back from trying to analyse the mind of a millennia old hero-princess too much before putting her pen to the paper.

From how you’re describing it, I probably would’ve interpreted it as some sort of test. Six friends, one extra ticket, and it sounds like she picked the right choice. She probably admires you even more now.

The book was still for a moment.

Are you certain?

No, but it’s what I suspect.

.

Sunset put her pen on a new line, and stopped, leaving a little dot of ink as she thought.

If Celestia asked Sunset why she suspected that, Sunset would not want to answer the question. It was hard enough admitting the answer to herself.

“Ngh…” Sunset groaned, and slumped a little. She figured that two years of physical independence would’ve lessened her need for Celestia’s approval, but every time, a gust of wind would destroy that house of cards.

Sunset figured that Twilight thought like herself, and Sunset admired Celestia.

She sighed, and prepared to continue writing, when Celestia mercifully did so instead.

Thank you, Sunset.

What are you doing now, if I may ask?

I have a lead on something I want to research.

Oh? Do tell.

Old wizarding families.

Oh, by the way, how are things with Lucius?

I think he has been lulled into a sense of security concerning our correspondence. He is lowering his guard, and sharing some of his thoughts, mostly his frustrations. He is quite upset at the moment.

Sunset raised her eyebrows.

Why?

He has been ousted from his position on the school board, and Dobby has left his services.

Aha. Yeah, I remember Draco being kind of dour the last few days this semester.

What have you said to Lucius?

I told him that I know how he could achieve power.

Sunset smiled. She had seen this before.

Power like he has never imagined it, right? And Lucius has never imagined the power of the kind you have when people are eager to help you?

Am I that predictable?

You are right, of course. It will take some time for him to understand, if he ever does. He is very guarded. From his master’s fall I expect.

Oh what fools they see in the mirror, those who have kissed the hooves of the dead.

Ah, but he is not so dead, you told me.

No, and it’s him I’m trying to find.

Be careful, Sunset.

I don’t need to be careful, I just need to be me.

—

High up in the sky, the television rested in the passenger seat, playing the sights and sounds that the game machine told it to play.

Next to it, Sunset was banging her head and looking smug and a bit mean as she spied out across the landscape, her banging intensifying as the electronic bass performed a particularly satisfying flourish.

“YEAH!” Sunset whooped, and punched her fist out of the side window, before reaching over and turning the volume knob up an additional notch.

That little robot had some great tunes on his adventures.

Sunset tried concentrating on her search, but also strongly considered learning to play an instrument. A guitar most likely. It seemed like there were some really nice ones in this world.

She leaned her head outside to take a look at the body of her car and make sure it was still near invisible from the outside, then sat back down and banked to the left, tilting the car and letting her more easily see the landscape far below.

“Keep steady for me, will you?” she asked her car, and patted the armrest to the right of her.

The car revved slightly in response, as Sunset kicked off her boots, turned around in her seat, and slid up over the seat onto the roomy back part.

She yawned and stretched, gripping the soft carpet with her toes, before pulling the curtain away from the window next to the larder.

“Maybe it’s time for a break,” she said, and cast a glance out the window before checking what she had to eat, then slammed the door shut and looked out the window again.

There had been no shortage of castles and country manors during the last few days, and while some of them definitely seemed like they could’ve belonged to witches and wizards, being old, grandiose, decayed, and hidden away, they had all been mundane so far.

This one, however, there was no question. Sunset could feel the magic from all the way up in the sky.

She ran up to the front and hopped into the driver’s seat again, grabbing the wheel, banking further to the left, and starting to descend.

Cruising just above the treetops, she spotted the old, overgrown avenue further ahead, and piloted her DeSoto between the twisted trees.

She slowed the car down to a brisk walk, and she felt the magic all around her.

It was unlikely that any muggle had approached this place in… forever, probably, but Sunset was ready for it.

She had noticed the signs long before she entered the avenue. Despite being in the middle of a sunny day, the light was rapidly starting to dim. The sky was becoming overcast, to the point where it was impossible to tell what time of day it was, and a thick fog approached from all directions, cold breezes seeming to form tendril-like shapes in the mist, as if grasping at her, with more of them the closer to her target.

The mansion wasn’t even visible anymore, but Sunset knew better, and she wasn’t scared. If anything she was annoyed that this effect was robbing her of a nice day in the sun.

Still, whoever had made this had put in some serious work.

Then, the gate came into view. Set into a wall of great slabs of stone, an old and twisted-looking iron gate covered with damp and diseased-looking vines, and tipped with sharp spikes. Slowly, it opened inwards with a deep creak, as if alerting anything that might lurk in the fog.

Sunset just rolled her eyes, nodded, and waved her fingers impatiently.

Yep. Muggles, and probably a lot of witches and wizards really, would’ve turned tail and ran by now, but these were parlour tricks to Sunset. Good ones, but just smoke and mirrors in the end.

When the gate was opened, Sunset rolled up her window, drove up to the cul-de-sac in front of the great, slightly dilapidated mansion.

She reached for an oil lamp before stepping out of her car, and held it up after closing the door, making it light up without words or gestures.

The mansion had three floors, all of them with high ceilings, and an attic as well by the looks of things, and the choking fog made the whole building look even more majestic, and even terrifying. The shrubs and vines, the still-living ones that is, that rested along the walls felt tired and mean from having been ignored and left in fog for so long.

The misty tendrils kept creeping closer and closer to Sunset, who glanced at them, unamused.

Like Mr Weasley’s car, the magic that kept these… aesthetics up, was sophisticated enough to develop some facsimile of a personality, and Sunset knew how to use that.

The hand holding the oil lamp glowed slightly, and a gout of flame spewed out of the lamp. The light intensified a thousandfold, before calming down again, but it was enough to make the shapes in the mist beat a hasty retreat, proverbial tail between its legs.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she said, and walked up the steps to the double doors.

Up by the door though, Sunset had to pause. A quick glance didn’t reveal any warding magic, but whoever had put up the illusory protections had been skilled indeed, so caution was warranted.

That’s when she decided on the inspired idea of trying the door knocker.

Again, no magic appeared to activate, which made it doubly surprising when, after a full minute, there was a set of loud clicks from the old oak door, and slowly and with some effort it slowly started swinging open.

At first, Sunset was just looking into the darkness beyond, when she noticed the tarsier-like eyes of a house elf staring up at her.

“Oh! Young Mistress Shimmer!”

It took a second for Sunset to be sure she wasn’t confused in some ways, before smiling politely at the nervous little creature.

“Master Dobby,” she answered, nodding at him. “I didn’t expect to see anyone here.”

Dobby searched for words for a moment, seeming, like the previous time Sunset had met him, very nervous, but Sunset’s lack of anger seemed to give him the confidence to continue.

“N-neither did Dobby, young Mistress. If… if Dobby may ask, why is she here? Is she alone? This is… not the usual place to meet a member of the Malfoy family.”

“I’m alone. And you are correct. They haven’t lived here for… how long is it now?”

“Uhm… many, many years, Mistress,” Dobby said, shuffling on his feet.

“Right, and I merely wish to have a word or two with the Malfoys, and I think written words will suffice.”

After a moment, Dobby opened the door further.

“It is… not the place of Dobby to… invite or deny entry.”

Sunset stepped inside. “Thank you. But what about you? What are you doing here?”

Dobby’s ears sank, and he looked at the floor, as if ashamed. “Dobby is… without a master. Dobby is a most unusual house elf, because Dobby does not want a master. Dobby wants to be employed.”

“Sounds fair,” Sunset said, looking around the gloomy foyer.

Dobby’s ears perked up. “Mistress think so?”

“You don’t have to call me that you know,” Sunset said.

Dobby closed his mouth as quickly as if a bug had flown into it, and then looked up apologetically at Sunset while shuffling his feet and wringing his hands.

“Dobby apologizes, Mistress. Dobby doesn't know why he said that.”

“Old habit, maybe?” Sunset suggested.

Dobby thought for a moment, before shaking his head. “No, Mistre- m-Miss. Young Miss just feels so… uhm…”

Dobby looked down at his feet again, and silence descended over the dark foyer, as Sunset looked at the house elf.

Sunset scratched her head, searching for words and wondering if Dobby was saying that she looked impressive, or intimidating, or something else.

“Well…” she eventually said to fill the silence, before searching for words again, “... anyway, I just needed to look through the library.”

Dobby’s eyes lit up. “Dobby can show young Miss!” he said, and closed the door before bounding off to the stairs.

Sunset followed, and oil lanterns lit themselves as the two ascended the stairs, illuminating the darkly rich surroundings, with formerly white sheets, now yellowed with dust and age, covering large parts of the walls.

“Portraits, young Miss,” Dobby whispered, as they reached the top of the stairs and walked on the dusty carpet down the hallway. “The Malfoy family is… not as large as it used to be. The portraits are lonely. Dobby was told to put sheets in front of them. It helps them rest, it does.”

“Uhuh,” Sunset said, as they slowly walked down the hallway. “And will anyone know that we’re here?”

“No Malfoy has been in this house for a long time, Mistr- Miss. Dobby has taken care of it, he has… as best as he could. Dobby was sent to keep the other Malfoy houses neat.”

“You’ve been taking care of the Malfoys in their home and also been maintaining this mansion?” Sunset asked, as Dobby stopped in front of a double door.

The house elf once again shuffled his feet. “Dobby tried, Miss, but… there are doxies in a closet in the north wing, and other nasties in other places… no gnomes though,” he added, sounding carefully hopeful. “They are scared away by the magical mist. Although… the mist scares Dobby too.”

Sunset nodded to herself, thinking that if anyone deserved to be squatting anywhere, it would be Dobby in a house that the Malfoys didn’t even use.

“Just illusions,” Sunset assured him, and looked at the door. “Is this the place?”

“It is, Mistress.”

Sunset carefully opened one of the doors, revealing, indeed, a library. It almost rivalled Hogwarts’ library, with a high ceiling, desks and tables, and lecterns with writing implements, like dusty quills, cracked from old age, sitting in long-dried inkwells, all of it just barely lit up by sooted up oil lamps that lit up when they entered.

Letting out a low whistle, Sunset stepped in, followed by Dobby.

“Dobby has… dusted books in here sometimes, but… some books have grown angry and bitter. Dobby did not like caring for them.”

“Sounds like you don’t have to anymore,” Sunset noted. “Besides, I’m with you, and if any of them are feeling uppity I’ll make an example of it.”

Dobby looked up at Sunset, eyes wider than normal. “Mistress would… risk herself for Dobby?”

Sunset just shrugged. “Why not?”

The house elf looked stunned for several seconds, before tears started welling up in his eyes. “Mistress is a noble witch!” he said, and threw himself at her feet.

“Uh yeah, well, technically true, but–” was what she managed to say before Dobby started kissing her boots, “– uhm… stop that… please.”

Dobby backed away and simply bowed deeply.

“Dobby is sorry, Mistress! Dobby was just overwhelmed by Mistress’ overwhelming nobility!”

This felt too genuine to Sunset to be a joke, and she looked uncomfortably at Dobby, lost for words.

“Uhm… please, uhm… stop showing so much reverence for me, Mr Dobby.”

Dobby looked up at Sunset, scared and confused. “Mistress does… not like Dobby’s presence?”

This had all come too suddenly for Sunset, and she looked up into the ceiling, uncomfortable.

“It’s uh… look, I don’t want to be worshipped for the same reason you don’t want to be worshipped.”

Dobby looked up at Sunset with an uncertain look on his face.

“Look, if you wanna do something for me, help me find the books containing the Malfoy family history. In fact, all the wizarding family history books here,” Sunset said, gesturing to the dark library around her.

“Dobby can do that!” the house elf said, and jumped to his feet, and started walking over to a large shelf. “Dobby will carry them for you as well, Mistress!”

“You’ll carry no more than you’re capable of,” Sunset ordered, following him. “I’ll take the rest.”

“Of course, Mistress. Thank you.”

Sunset waved her hand at her boots, casting a quick cleaning spell on them, in case Dobby forgot himself again.

An hour later, Sunset was sitting in the kitchen on the first floor, a stone room with an extensive cooking area and a fairly large eating section, presumably for servants, skimming through family registers, chronicles of deeds, relations, and feuds, and some blatant propaganda.

Despite the size of the room, and the grimy windows barely letting in any sun, it was like a cozy hideaway compared to the rest of the enormous house, especially when lit by dozens of candles, and with the crackling of the woodfire stove, where Dobby was busying himself cooking dinner.

“So you’ve been living here since Lucius accidentally released you?” Sunset asked, before taking a sip of warm chocolate that Dobby had prepared for her.

“Oh yes, Dobby has, Mistress.”

“Just ‘miss’ is fine if you don’t wanna use my name,” Sunset reminded him. “Where do you sleep?”

Dobby jumped down on the floor and opened the door to one of the cupboards next to the stove, in which a tiny bedding of worn pillows and blankets was prepared.

“Dobby’s bed is quite cozy, Miss. He has a lamp, and the stove keeps it warm, and now he can sleep in if he wants. Dobby never does, of course. Dobby is not tardy, no sir. But Dobby could,” he said, looking genuinely pleased with the arrangement. “But Dobby will prepare one of the guest rooms for the young Mistress of course. He will make sure the linen is clean and the air is fresh and the–”

“Perhaps it’s best not to,” Sunset interrupted as gently as she could. “There’s some magic that comes with making a place one’s home. I’ll just be… visiting.”

Interestingly to Sunset, Dobby nodded in understanding, and climbed back on top of the kitchen counter to stir the pot. “Of course, young Mistress. Young Mistress is quite wise,” he said, and hesitated. “Dobby… would never speak ill of wizards and witches, but… many have, uhm… been learning of magic other than the ones of the home.

“House elves knows of the magic of homes. Dobby would protect the young Mistress from any magic that came from living in this house of course, but… Dobby understands if the young Mistress wishes to be careful.”

Sunset nodded, a part of her musing about the fact that she was having one of the deeper discussions of magic she remembered having in this world with Dobby, of all creatures.

“Perhaps we can put up a cot in here,” she suggested.

That got an approving nod from Dobby. “That would be clever, Mistress. Dobby will fetch something after dinner.”

“Thanks. And you’re quite wise yourself,” Sunset said, still scanning the pages of the books laid out in front of her. “Lucius strikes me as a knowledgeable wizard, but he had a servant that he didn’t know how to treat. That’s playing with fire.”

“Dobby… did not wish the master any harm. Dobby just wanted to be free,” Dobby said, and then stopped stirring.

Sunset looked at him as he stared down into the pot, lost in thought, for several minutes. But she didn’t interrupt him. Besides the relief, there was something going through his head that looked painful but necessary

“That’s probably protected him in ways we might never know,” Sunset eventually said, in a soft voice so as to not startle the house elf, and before Dobby could respond, Sunset spoke again. “Dobby, tell me of any aches and pains you’ve gotten.”

Dobby over at Sunset, a little startled, and awkward. “Uhm… Dobby’s knee hurts sometimes. More when it’s cold, and, uhm… Dobby’s ear tips are… a little sensitive.”

Sunset had collected her bag and was rummaging through it. “Uhuh,” she said, as she deposited all the potions she had saved from practicing on her own. “Right, here we go. I assume you’ll want a smaller dosage of this relative to your size. We’ll pour some of this into your drink later. It mends several kinds of chronic pains.”

“But, but Dobby can’t accept–”

“Not even if I insist?” Sunset countered, who was ready for it.

—

For two days, Sunset stayed in the old mansion with Dobby.

The house elf gave her the tour of the house, and Dobby’s reverence of Sunset, which she had already found to be uncomfortably high, doubled both when Sunset’s potion had done the trick, and later when Sunset subdued an animated bear rug that had woken up and lunged at them, and Sunset gave up trying to get Dobby to not call her “Mistress”.

Still, Sunset stayed mostly in the kitchen, where she had put up a cot, and studied the chronicled histories of old wizarding families at the table.

It seemed to Sunset that someone in the Malfoy family, a long time ago, had gotten their hands on books that had not been written to stroke their own egos, but had for some reason decided to not destroy them or throw them out. It was a tale of how the family had come to be, though Sunset had to take it with a grain of salt, since it had been written centuries after the events it described.

The book told of a family of cruel witches and wizards who lorded openly over their non-magical subjects, and waged war against their neighbors with their magic. Neighboring lords and ladies had planted servants in the family’s midst over generations, and one night given the order to kill their employers in their sleep in the name of their true masters.

It had not gone entirely according to plan though. Some of the magical family’s children fled into the woods and hid away with their magic, landless and destitute, while other children had been taken in by either the killers or the nobles that commanded them, getting magical blood integrated into their lines and becoming several of the families now revered as the oldest and most distinguished wizarding lineages.

With the tale repeating several times before magical people decided to hide themselves away from the world, Sunset could see the stories spawning sentiments among pureblood magical people that muggles were thieves and usurpers. It would have helped if they had also learned of their own progenitors' behavior towards their non-magical brethren. Someone in the Malfoy family seemed to, long ago.

The book did give her names to look into however. She already knew of Malfoy, but there were many related families, like Black, LeStrange, and one which had slowly faded across the centuries of records; the Gaunt family.

At first she had thought nothing of it, just another clan of bluebloods with a family tree that had a little too few branches, even after their monetary wealth was long gone.

Sunset figured that if there was any point at which a noble line would abandon too-selective breeding, it’s when they were out of money. The Gaunts had not. They had something else keeping the family insular for centuries after the point of slow self destruction.

It had required almost a full day of research, but eventually Sunset had found out what the Gaunt family had.

“The heirlooms of Salazar Slytherin,” she muttered to herself.

“Mistress?” Dobby said, looking up from dusting the cabinets.

Sunset leaned back in her chair and grabbed two tea mugs in her hands, magically heating them up to a pleasant temperature. “Join me,” she said invitingly to Dobby.

Dobby was a little uncertain as he walked up and took a seat opposite of Sunset in the dim light, and even more uncertain when Sunset held out one of the mugs to him.

Taking a sip of tea, Sunset started compiling the idea forming in her head into words.

“So… last school year I learned that Salazar Slytherin had left a secret chamber at Hogwarts that could only be opened by his heir,” she said, to which Dobby sat and listened attentively. “I met him, the heir I mean, briefly, only a few days ago. Harry Potter and I killed him and his basilisk.”

Dobby’s already large eyes widened. “Mistress fought along with Harry Potter!?”

In school, and especially in front of a figure of authority, Sunset would’ve tried being evasive, which was honestly getting somewhat tiring, but here, hidden away in an almost forgotten old house with an unemployed butler, Sunset felt she could loosen that particular boot a bit, and smirked, satisfied.

“That’s right. The Dark Lord is minutes away from succeeding in his plans at the expense of the innocent, then… in rides Harry Potter and Sunset Shimmer, saving the day with gleaming steel and fiery magic in their hands, as it should be.”

Dobby was transfixed as he stared at Sunset, who allowed herself quite a bit of pride at the memory.

“Dobby knew Mistress was noble,” he said, before continuing in almost a whisper. “Fighting with the great Harry Potter.”

Sunset chuckled. “Yeah, he turned out to be pretty good against dark wizards. Shouldn’t be surprised,” she said, and then shook her head. “Anyway, apparently the dark lord’s name was Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he was, obviously, the descendant of Slytherin. These books all but confirm that the descendants were called Gaunt, but that family name slowly faded. If the Gaunts became the Riddles, that could explain what happened to them.”

Dobby’s wide-eyed expression now became concerned. “Mistress means to… to find the dark lord?”

“I’m considering it, yes.”

“B… but… Mistress must not!” Dobby cried.

“Why not?” Sunset asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Mistress is too noble to risk her life against dark wizards,” Dobby pleaded.

In the dim, orange light of the kitchen, Sunset could see tears welling up in Dobby’s eyes, and smiled as comfortingly as she could to the house elf.

“I aim to be something which requires someone to be truly worthy,” she explained. “Besides. I’m not so noble that I plan on fighting completely fair. Knowledge is power and I aim to know more about my enemy than he knows of me, and not to brag, but I am quite the enigma.”

“You are, Mistress,” Dobby said, nodding eagerly. “Master asked and wondered a lot about you. He read books and sent letters to many witches and wizards, and heard that even Albus Dumbledore does not know who Mistress really is.”

“Hah,” Sunset said, feeling more than a little pleased with herself. “And he didn’t even learn from my book.”

Dobby’s ears suddenly fell, and he recoiled almost as if struck.

It took several seconds before Sunset realized what that was about, and waved it away.

“Oh yeah, I know it was you who took my book to him. Don’t worry, no harm done.”

Dobby hanged his head and sobbed, tears slowly running down his cheeks. “Dobby is so ashamed,” he said.

“Yeah, well, you can stop that. Like I said, he hasn’t learned anything about me from the book. He hasn’t learned anything dangerous at all.”

That made Dobby curious enough to look up at Sunset. “How does Mistress know that?”

“She told me. The one who answers when you write in it,” she explained, and continued when seeing Dobby’s curious face. “My teacher… the Princess.”

That made Dobby’s mouth fall open. “So… master Dumbledore was right? Mistress is from the court of the sun?”

Sunset froze, and her heartrate didn’t shoot up, but the beats certainly became stronger.

“Wwwwh… what do you mean, Dobby?” she asked, as calmly as she could

“Master Dumbledore has talked with the teachers at Hogwarts. He had many ideas. One of them was that maybe Mistress was of the old ones, the ones hidden in the woods and the mists. They had two courts, wizards say, a dark and a light one. They were always mysterious to witches and wizards, and they had mighty magics. Wizards have stories of a powerful woman among them, or many with the same name, who would go out and find mortal men to inspire in exchange for their love. Master Dumbledore thought a child from her could be a powerful half-human witch or wizard.”

Now it had been Sunset’s turn to sit in silence and listen, and gradually a smile grew on her face, but she managed to refrain from laughing in relief when Dobby finished.

“Aha,” she said, nodding to herself. “That is… fascinating.”

Sunset became lost in thought for several minutes at that, leaning back and staring out into nothing.

Possibilities raced through her head of what this could all mean. Perhaps that Equestria had been in contact with the magical peoples of this world long ago, or people had fled from one world to the other.

Sunset shook her head. She was a scholar, sure, but something like this would require years of studying to form anything other than hypotheses.

“Right, yeah… anyway, I guess I should get going,” Sunset said, standing up.

Dobby jumped down from his chair and rushed up to Sunset.

“Mistress is leaving?”

“I’m not actually your mistress, you know,” Sunset gently reminded him.

“Oh… yes, it just slips Dobby’s mind,” he said, fiddling a little. “But Dobby can keep looking after Mistress.”

“And you’re good at it, but you said that you wanted to be employed. I don’t really have any money, or a house for that matter.”

Dubby’s ears fell a little. “But Dobby wants to help Mistre- uhm… Miss.”

A thought struck Sunset. “Maybe you can work at Hogwarts. That’s quite the house to look after, and Dumbledore strikes me as a decent employer.”

A wide smile grew on Dobby’s face as he considered this. “Young Miss is so wise! At Hogwarts, Dobby has a chance to meet both young Miss again, and Harry Potter!”

“That’s right,” Sunset said. “But I have a favor to ask you, Dobby.”

“Anything, young Miss.”

“Try, and don’t punish yourself if you don’t, but try not to say anything about me to anyone.”

Dobby looked at Sunset with confusion. “But… not even to Albus Dumbledore?”

Sunset shook her head. “Not even to him.”

—

It was early enough in the day for it to still be full of life and energy even as the sun was low enough to be orange. The beautiful wealds rolled on and on in the distance, and Sunset sighed, thinking on how best to handle this situation.

“Hmm… perhaps raise the seat a little… maybe a pair of aviators,” she said to herself as she looked at the two police officers walking up towards her from their own car.

The timing was bad too, there was a particularly good song for cruising playing in the speakers- someone had left a pretty good cassette tape in the car stereo.

She preferred not to, but she made sure her wand was easily accessible on the armrest when the officers came to a stop outside her window, and leaned down slightly to look at her.

“Miss… how old are you?”

“Old enough to be on my own,” Sunset said, but not sneeringly. What muggles did without magic earned them that much respect.

The two officers, one round bellied and one moustached, looked at each other.

“Can I see your papers?” Moustache said.

Sunset slowly drew her breath apologetically. “Sorry, officer, but no can do. I…” she waved her hand as she searched for words, before giving him a flat, honest look. “I don’t have any.”

Another shared look. “I’m confused, because you don’t look like you can be older than fourteen,” the round bellied one said.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s very confusing,” Sunset agreed, slowly reaching for her wand to point it out the window, concentrating to hold back her magic as much as she could, to magically move so softly as to not wake up the most alert of cats. “Even… confundo-ing,”

A gentle wave of ethereal energy washed out of Sunset’s wand, and the two officers stood still for a several moments, simply staring at Sunset.

“... Don’t you think?” Sunset said, studying their reaction closely.

They gently snapped out of it. “Hm? What was that?” Belly said.

“That the lyrics are confusing,” Sunset improvised, nodding slightly at the radio. “What are Bette Davis eyes?”

The two officers took a moment to identify the song on the radio, before “Oh”-ing in comprehension.

“Bette Davis was a famous actress,” Moustache explained. “... And the look of her eyes was very distinct.”

“Oh,” Sunset said, smiling in comprehension, as she searched desperately for something to say that wouldn’t draw attention to the fact that she was driving a car. Nothing about listening to the radio on the road, because roads were associated with driving, and driving wasn’t something the officers should think about.

Nothing to draw attention to the car, and nothing that would seem as if it was to draw attention away from it either.

“Well, thank you, officers, I’ve been wondering about that for days.”

They chuckled, and stood up straight. “No problem, miss.”

“Have a nice day.”

“You as well.”

Sunset waved and smiled at them, and gently drove off, keeping her eyes on them in the rear view mirror.

Thankfully she managed round a copse of trees while they were still heading back to their own vehicle, talking casually with each other.

She let out another sigh, this one of relief, and turned up the radio. “Thank you, whoever you are.”

Sunset was trying to follow maps and descriptions she had copied from the family chronicles in Malfoy’s old manor, some of them centuries old, for a few days now.

She had wondered what mental effect it could have on her, just searching the countryside for days on end without talking to anyone, but had dismissed any concerns about that. After all, muggles and ponies both went on days-long hiking trips, and besides, she had Celestia to write to.

If anything, she was more concerned about the locals, with their local shops, who insisted the shop was for locals, and that they did not burn people.

Sunset drove around so many hills and through so many valleys that she started to suspect that there was some magic at work, folding the British landscape in on itself and making the region she was in larger on the inside than the outside, just like the Everfree Forest supposedly were.

Then again, millennia of activity might just have resulted in very unintuitive roads.

Just as Sunset thought that she should take off into the sky, she found herself looking out of the passenger window to an old, old signpost on a dusty dirt road.

At one point it could’ve been a nice signpost on a well cared-for road, but the signpost was old and barely legible, and thickets were spilling out onto the road over old, warped, and partially collapsed wooden fences.

The sign had two arms pointing in opposite directions, and read:

Great Hangleton, 5 miles. Little Hangleton, 1 mile

Birds sang in the background, and across the neglected, thicket-covered field was an old and calm forest, serenely pleased with its moderate health and size. No sound of other traffic was even hinted at in the background.

Sunset reached over to the passenger seat, where her notes and copied maps lay, and started digging through them, mumbling to herself, while looking back and forth between two papers. It would’ve been much easier if it was written plainly, and not a messy compilation of centuries-old anecdotes.

“... Right,” she said, set the papers aside, and patted the steering wheel. “Let’s go, DeSoto.”

The car gently rumbled to life on its own accord, and rolled down the steep slope into the valley ahead, with the village visible in the distance.

It didn’t take long for Sunset to realize that she stood out quite a bit in the village, as she slowly rumbled down the main street in a large and shiny fuchsia colored car, on asphalt so old and worn it had practically gone back to being gravel.

The quiet villagers, sitting around tables in unlit kitchens, eyed her with a mix of suspicion and amazement through their windows.

Sunset pulled in on a parking lot behind a pub. Old as the resident looked, the whole village seemed to be within walking distance, and so most of the spaces were taken up by dusty old bins and frayed pallets covered in shreds of old newspaper and bird droppings.

Carefully stepping out of the car, Sunset felt her hair rise in the back of her neck. In this village, the shop was really local, and the owners were even less inclined to burn people.

The bell on the door to the pub only let out a shy thud as Sunset opened it and let herself in.

Like the last time she had been in a muggle pub, it was in the middle of the day, and all was quiet. Only the bartender and some flies, some winged and some not, were present, looking at Sunset in silence.

The bartender glared at Sunset as she walked up to the bar, and it was rather incredible how clearly he asked, “What are you doing here?” in a moderately confrontational voice without making a sound.

“Hi there.”

“Mruf,” he said… or something to that effect.

“Hmm…” Sunset said, openly thinking on how to proceed, she decided to be straightforward. “Do you know of someone named Gaunt?”

“Mrrrh.”

<> she muttered to herself. “Alright, how about Riddle?”

That had an effect. The bartender leaned back, eyes wide, while the huddled patrons around the tables looked back and forth between Sunset and each other.

From the corner of the pub came a garbled cackle, and Sunset turned around to see an elderly woman in worn clothes swaying back and forth in her seat. “Eheheheheuuuuh-rrrruuuIDDLE!” she laughed, or something, before continuing, “Yes, sir, Master Riddle, sir! Five-o-clock SHARP I was ready, yes sir! Always the best for mister and mum, and dessert. Perfectly cut strawberries on the cream, oh yes.”

Everyone but the rambling old woman and Sunset collectively rolled their eyes, and the bartender gave Sunset a disappointed look. Once again without speaking he managed to say, “now look what you’ve done.”

Sunset walked up to the bar and said, “bottle of beer, and a soda,” to the bartender, who looked at Sunset for a moment before shrugging and fishing up two bottles and knocking the caps off from them, then placed them on the bar.

Sunset grabbed the two bottles, and walked up to the rambling figure, who now had descended into muttering into her almost empty mug, ignoring the openly curious looks she received from the other, quiet patrons.

Unnoticed by the grey-haired woman, or perhaps crone, Sunset sat down opposite her, and studied her for a moment.

She was wearing old clothes that were washed so many times there was almost no color left, and Sunset suspected that the only reason her hair wasn’t sticking out in all directions was because, like Professor McGonagall, it was secured in a tight bun in the back of her head.

“... What was ready five-o-clock sharp?” she asked.

The worn figure in front of her snapped to attention and gave Sunset a disappointed look. “Dinner, of course! Silly girl,” she said, with more clarity, before starting to sway a little again.

The bartender scoffed in amusement, but Sunset ignored both him and the jab.

“You had dinner ready at five? You were a chef?”

She turned her head and scowled out the window at something in the distance. “Hrrmm,” she grumbled.

“... For the Riddle family?”

The pub had been ready for this. The bartender had calmly put his fingers in his ears, and the closest patrons leaned away as screeched curses and spittle flew from the suddenly enraged old woman.

“Since I was a gal, I did! Dinner every day for fifteen years. No days off either, noooo! Pah, fancy folk. Biiiig house, land all around. Stables, and fields, and rent, up to their nose in money. Then, whoop! All gone. Leave anything for us normal folk? Nooo! Had to work for a pittance, I did! Prisons, schools, orphanages. Riddle! Pah!”

Sunset understood every one of the words, but what was actually being said was another matter.

“So… where are they?” Sunset asked.

There was a mean glint in the old woman’s smile as she brought her tankard up to her mouth, and emptied what was left in it.

Sunset leaned back in the chair, when she caught sight of the bartender giving her a meaningful look. He leaned his head back to expose his throat, before running two fingers across it.

Sunset got the message, and nodded slowly, trying to figure this one out.

The Riddles were dead, then. But Voldemort’s name was Riddle. Muggles weren’t supposed to know of witches and wizards, but if one of the greatest wizards in living memory came from this place, perhaps these muggles were an exception, perhaps not.

“How did they die, and when?”

The ragged lady let out a strangely deep chuckle. “Huur, he killed them, didn’t he? Frank did.”

“Someone named Frank killed them?”

But the woman just grumbled and stared out of the window again.

Sunset grabbed the opened bottle of beer, and clinked it against the glass pint to make sure the old woman got the hint, as she filled it up.

The old woman smirked and mumbled in approval, before taking the glass and emptying half of it in one go.

“Aye, Frank killed them,” she said, now much more clearly again. “Got home from the war, he did, funny in the head. Unlocked the kitchen door in the middle of the evening he did, walked right into the dining room and killed them on the spot.”

She turned to look at Sunset with a conspiratorial look on her face. “Had finished for the day, you understand? Gone to bed. Good thing too. Didn’t want to be in that kitchen when Frank passed through it.”

She let out a shiver, and the rest of the pub slowly nodded critically at each other. This was clearly an old and worn story in these parts, but that bit at least had a smudge of excitement left in it.

“... When?” she asked, and reached for her soda, but the old woman was faster, and simply grabbed that too, drinking it straight from the bottle.

“Eh,” Sunset simply shrugged, and waited for an answer.

“Oh, uhm… fifty years now,” she said, suddenly cheerful at having remembered something as esoteric as that, and emptied Sunset’s soda bottle.

Puzzle pieces were raining down on Sunset’s head, but they didn’t make any sense. How could a man living among muggles, and thus presumably a muggle himself, kill a family of witches and wizards single handedly?

“Poison?” Sunset asked, thought mostly to herself.

But the old woman shook her head, and started swaying again. “Nnh, don’t care what any police say. It was Frank who did it.”

“Who is Frank?” Sunset asked.

But the old woman’s head had fallen forward, and after a moment it became clear that she had fallen asleep.

Sunset waited for a moment, before standing up. The entire pub was still looking at her, and Sunset wondered if maybe she should start feeling self-conscious, but decided not to, which might have had something to do with being out in the sticks in a society she wasn’t normally interacting with, on a plane of existence she still didn’t really consider to be home.

She caught the bartender’s eyes, and he beckoned her over with a simple nod of his head, his hands being busy with a glass and a rag.

“Happens when she drinks anything you can’t set on fire,” he grunted.

“Right,” Sunset said, glancing back at the sleeping old bat. “So why is this Frank type?”

The bartender simply shook his head. “Leave it, girl,” he simply said.

Sunset shook her head. “Can’t do that,” she said, looking out the window, trying to figure out what the drunkard had kept looking at.

The bartender kept looking at Sunset, and also like McGonagall, his default expression was much like a glare.

“... Don’t bring no trouble here,” he muttered, in a tone that sounded like a goodbye.

Sunset looked at him, but didn’t sense any actual hostility, so she simply turned towards the door. “Goodbye then,” she said, and started walking.

The bartender simply grunted in response.

Outside, Sunset walked around the corner to the parking lot, to see a group of children, three boys and a girl, around her age, standing with their feet on each side of their bikes, looking at her car, and blocking access to the driver’s seat.

They didn’t notice her walking up to them as they loudly talked, completely uninformed and with great confidence, what kind of a car it was, excitement and resentment in their voices.

“Help ya?” she asked.

Just like their reaction to the car was a mix of admiration for its beauty and resentment at other people having nice things, their reaction to Sunset was a mix of automatic hostility towards outsiders and admiration of her appearance.

The first one who spoke chose the hostile part. “Tchyea,” he scoffed, and nodded at the car. “This yours?”

Sunset took that to mean whether it was her family’s car, and nodded, crossing her arms. “That’s right.”

“Yeah? Where you from, then?”

“I’m an alien invader. You?”

Just a second of being caught off guard was enough for the boy’s friends to snigger at him.

“From here, ain’t I?” he challenged, lamely.

“Makes sense,” Sunset noted, looking around at the worn village. “Now, make way, if you will,” she said, and moved one of them to the side, so she could open the passenger door and take her seat.

The children looked at each other, uncertain. “You can’t drive that!” the girl in the group said.

“Yet, here I am,” Sunset said through the rolled down window, shrugging. “Now, move it.”

The first boy had fished out a house key, and was visibly feeling the excitement of having reached a boundary he felt he might be able to push.

Sunset knew just the thing to say to make him do it too.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, calmly shaking her head.

She realized she should’ve sounded more urgent, but it was enough. The boy put the key against the lacquer of the DeSoto with foul intention, but Sunset was ready for it.

Like almost exactly a year ago, a discharge of electricity shot out through a boy’s hand on Sunset’s command. The difference here was that it was a much less flashy display, and this time also real.

“Ah!”

It wasn’t nearly enough to hurt him, but it did make him drop his key.

“Hm, static electricity,” Sunset said, as the children looked on in surprise, before she opened the car door and reached down to pick up the key.

The boy didn’t stop her, being busy massaging his hand and staring at Sunset.

Sunset shot her own arm out like a snake and grabbed the boy’s wrist, pulling his hand towards her slowly enough not to hurt him, and strongly enough to demonstrate her strength.

“You’ll want this back,” she said, scowling at him, and holding the key above his open palm.

She took the moment to bend the key slightly with her thumb, before dropping it into the boy’s hand, before letting him go.

The other children had backed away, and did so further now that the boy did so in a panic, and fell over around his bike, staring at Sunset.

“Come on, let’s go!” one of them, who had been quiet so far, urged them, as they helped their friend up, and hopped onto the seats, speeding away.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Sunset said to her car, which rumbled to life, and gracefully backed out of the parking space and out towards the street.

The boy, his legs shaking, drove straight into a dustbin and fell over. His other friends looked back at him for a moment, before abandoning him.

Sunset rolled her eyes, glad that he didn’t look hurt. She felt she might’ve had to take care of that if he did.

Instead, she urged her car to simply roll up beside him, and he looked up at her in fear.

“Hey,” she casually said, as if the previous exchange had never taken place. “Who’s this Frank-character?”

Author's Note

Pre-read by Snuffy, Dreadnought, and Blue Horizon