One early November evening in a small village on the edge of Dartmoor stood an old wizened man in bright purple robes and pointy hat.
He was waiting patiently, nose twitching at the damp smell rising from the tall, uncut grass.
With a loud pop, another strange man appeared next to him. A small bundle, roughly the size and shape of a baby, rested in the crook of the man's arm.
"Severus." Albus replied.
"We'll just be leaving it here then, with the muggles?" Severus scowled.
"It's the best we can do." Albus' eyes fixed on the cottage: brick and mortar, with its bright, unnatural muggle lights.
Next to the cottage, some metal muggle contraption stood sentinel and silent.
Severus leaned in closer, hissing. "This is a foolish idea, I'd dare say even reckless. If they discover what we've done—"
"—we'll make sure that doesn't happen." interrupted Albus.
The old wizard then took the child from Severus's arms and walked to the front door of the small cottage, where two unsuspecting muggles lived.
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