HP (AU) : Wizard with a Mutation

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US Consulate, Magical Britain [1980]

–Scott Winters–

Dropping the letter for the president after labeling it an important delivery, he stood outside the US consulate, debating where to go. The hearing for that new bill was tomorrow and unlike MACUSA, where every piece of legislature was available freely in the public domain, there was not even a peep of what the bill's precise language was, outside the wildly biased piece on the Daily Prophet.

The only other comparable piece was completely private and owned by a single family, as far as he was aware, and yet, the Quibbler was not the go to source of information for most people in Magical Britain. It was mostly written by someone who preferred looking into more imaginary magical creatures rather than writing about politicians who were about to declare the No-Maj born as magical creatures.

No, that wouldn't be right. After all, Magical Britain gave some of the Magical Creatures more rights than they were proposing to give to the No-Maj born wizard kids since it was actually illegal for any ICC member state or any ICC registered sanctuary to separate the kids from their mothers for a number of animals, at least not until they were fully grown adults.

As such, he returned to his hotel, packed up his stuff, thanked, and more importantly, tipped the front desk staff before setting off to another hotel in the city. His training wouldn't let him stay in one place for too long. A palace preferably more discreet than the hotel he was staying at. After all, he would need to mingle with the seedy areas of London now that he was here, those guys had the most fresh information and were the easiest to bribe.

After all, he was paid handsomely by MACUSA, not to mention the mission fund he had access to, on top of all the bounties he had cashed in already, so money was not exactly an issue for him. It was just that he was naturally frugal by nature, having realised the importance of money early on in his life once he realised that his uncle was footing all his bills back in the States. 

Shaking his head, he got into his second choice of hotels in London. It was a decent one, with monthly options, provided you paid upfront, which he did, for their Deluxe room, which was not that Deluxe but only had the name up to trick any tourist who had not yet seen the rooms. Settling down, he unpacked his stuff and freshened up.

Changing his clothes into something more casual, he set out to tour the city. He would have loved to drive around but he did not have his license here and getting a rental would be more hassle than it would be worth, especially since he already had a lead for tomorrow.

Tomorrow, he would finally lay his eyes on Albus freaking Dumbledore, the big bad of Britain that everyone and their mothers in the ICC feared. The man was a legend who had hundreds of strong students in every facet of the government, even in the ICC, that was on top of the many, many people he knew who would gladly do him any favour.

Honestly, he knew that he should be cautious in dealing with Dumbledore and therefore, remain in the shadows until he was sure that he had a direct line of shot but that would not work if he had to fight against Voldemort because Dumbledore would think of him as an enemy as well. 

Fighting one fully realised Archmage seeped in Dark Arts? Difficult, but doable.

Fighting two? Impossible. Not even Albus Dumbledore would be able to get out of that fight with his limbs intact, and if all of them were fighting to the death, no one would probably get out of it alive.

The Leaky Cauldron was set but that was the face of Magical Britain. There would hardly be anything illegal happening there. No, he had to look for the more isolated areas of London, which were more likely to be held by wizards.

So far, he had narrowed down his search to a couple of locations, the first of which he was headed to right now.

The Docklands were full of empty warehouses right now, and so were the factories in Thames Estuary. Then there were the old WWII bunkers, either sealed off or forgotten, along with closed off tube stations.

All in all, he had the day ahead jam packed for him.

Grinning, he entered the Docklands. Casting a chameleon charm on himself, he cast a featherlight charm on his shoes, erasing any sound or light as he waltzed into the area, looking for any movement but more importantly, relying on his magical senses to look for any magical spell or enchantment being cast, to either make people forget the place or to ward off the place from magical damage.

Both of these things could be done, but they were notoriously difficult to cast and also expensive to maintain so they were probably only reserved for Noble Houses, or more strategic locations, like Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and more. Doing that level of protection for a drug house or something equally low value was unthinkable.

Also, it was much easier to sense through the Net that Magical Britain had all around its mainland. 

Alas, it was not meant to be, as even after running around the entire Docklands for hours, he had yet to find anything even remotely resembling a magical signature, not even near the areas where it would be easy for wizards to make underground structures.

Just like that, it had already become dark, even though it could barely be called evening according to his body's timetable, which was more accustomed to Manhattan's time.

Sighing, he caught a cabby and returned to his hotel room. Ordering room service for dinner, he freshened up and got into his PJs.

While eating his dinner, he read up on the previous weeks' worth of newspapers, from both the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler, just in case he needed to know something for tomorrow.

As it turned out, the Daily Prophet was nothing more than a sensationalising piece of newspaper with no regards for accuracy whatsoever. It was, as expected, a propaganda mouthpiece, and the hottest pieces were always written by one Rita Skeeter or by her senior.

The Quibbler meanwhile focused more on Magical Creature sightings all across the world and how the author wished to go to different countries to try and find the new creatures, sprinkled with the occasional interviews from people who claimed to have seen the so called mysterious creatures, namely the Wrackspurts, Nargles and more.

So, tomorrow, he would hopefully meet his family as well, and maybe, it would not go as disastrous as it did, and who knows, even if the Winters Family wanted nothing to do with him, he could at least learn more about his parents and then leave, once this Voldemort problem was taken care of anyway.

He didn't think he had it in him to change the fabric of Magical Britain because they were moulded for generations to become the sheep that they were now. Lethargic, afraid, and wary of acting out, in fear of what? He did not know but he knew that it was not his problem to handle the very systemic issues in Magical Britain.

That would take more than a powerful mage to achieve. It would take someone of…Dumbledore's stature to do.

That's what irked him the most about that man. Unlike Magical Britain who looked up to him with lenses full of admiration, he looked at the man and his actions with a more clinical gaze.

The man had practically everything he could ever want to bring about more lasting change in Magical Britain, if not through force then through his position as the Headmaster of Hogwarts which gave him ridiculous amounts of influence over the next generations of magical generation. 

He could have single handed brought Magical Britain to the forefront of Magic and yet, what did he do? Keep his hands tied and his mouth shut, and went along with the flow. A flow that the previously corrupted generation decided. They too probably exercised some restraint because of Dumbledore but that was vastly overshadowed by what Dumbledore could have achieved.

He exhaled in frustration before he crawled into his bed. After, casting his usual bedtime security spells, obviously.

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