A few days later, Arthur picked up something shiny in Stormveil Castle.
The Mimic's Veil.
Its power: spend mana to disguise yourself as… Well, pretty much anything.
In-game it only worked for random objects—urns, statues, crates. But Arthur quickly discovered it worked on people here. The devs probably locked that feature out to stop degenerates from running around as NPCs doing unholy things.
But in the real wizarding world? That little oversight was his golden ticket.
Today was July 31st—the very day Hagrid would escort Harry Potter into Diagon Alley and collect the Philosopher's Stone from Gringotts.
Arthur smirked. With this veil, I can grab that Stone right under Dumbledore's crooked nose.
Not because he wanted eternal life or unlimited gold. Nah. He thought the Stone itself was a shoddy product—Nicholas Flamel had clearly stripped most of its power already. But the technique behind its creation? That was alchemy's holy grail.
And Arthur had an advantage. He didn't need to reinvent the process from scratch. He could just yoink the Stone, dump it in front of Sellen-sensei, or even hand it over to his wife Ranni—or better yet, mother-in-law Rennala—and let them reverse-engineer it.
Worst case, they could use it to fix their, uh… body issues. Ranni's doll body, for instance, didn't sync perfectly with her soul; she sometimes fell into long slumbers. Rennala was literally carting around in an egg. A perfected homunculus system could solve all of that.
Alchemy existed in the Lands Between too—the Albinaurics were proof enough, though their tech was still half-baked. Too many frog heads and floppy legs. But with a Philosopher's Stone as reference? Easy mode.
Arthur licked his lips. Time to go treasure hunting.
Early morning. He released a clone, slipped it into Diagon Alley, and stationed it outside Gringotts. With the Mimic's Veil, he disguised himself as a plain cobblestone in a nearby alley, patiently waiting.
Before long, a half-giant loomed into view, leading a scrawny little boy. Hagrid and Harry.
They entered the bank. Minutes later, they came out—Hagrid now holding a suspiciously wrapped parcel.
Arthur dropped the disguise, morphed into an anonymous middle-aged wizard, and casually bumped into Hagrid.
"Oi! Watch it!" Hagrid grumbled as the parcel tumbled to the ground.
"So sorry! In a terrible rush—my deepest apologies." Arthur stooped to pick it up, face turned away. In that split second, he swapped the package with a transfigured decoy stored in his system space.
Apologies made, he slipped into an alley, dismissed his clone, and poof—the Stone was safe inside his inventory.
Smooth.
Or so he thought.
Back at the bank entrance, Dumbledore appeared in a flash of apparition. His face was grim.
"Professor! You're here!" Hagrid waved happily. "I've got Harry, and your package as well—"
"No. The package has been stolen."
Dumbledore tapped the parcel. With a faint shimmer, it reverted to a common brick.
Hagrid's eyes bulged. "How—?"
"A thief switched it during your walk. I carry a charm that senses the Stone's resonance. That resonance was just… severed."
Hagrid clenched his fists. "It was that bloke who bumped me! A middle-aged wizard ran into us in the street!"
Dumbledore flicked his wand. "Revelio Imago."
The air shimmered, replaying Arthur's disguise sprinting into the alley. But the image vanished midway, as if the thief had simply ceased to exist.
"No apparition," Dumbledore muttered. "No portkey either. Whoever it was, he slipped away by means I don't recognize."
Hagrid shifted nervously, like a child caught breaking dishes. "I've messed it up, Professor. Lost your Stone…"
Dumbledore placed a calming hand on his arm.
"Do not worry, Hagrid. That was merely a lesser fragment left to me by an old friend. A bauble, with little power remaining. At worst, the thief gains a few extra years of life. Hardly a tragedy."
It was a lie, of course. There was no second Stone. But better to seed rumors and bait Voldemort into showing his hand.
He turned, finally acknowledging the boy beside them.
"Harry, my dear child. I am Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts."
Harry's eyes widened. "Sir… was someone trying to steal from you just now?"
"Yes, but it was nothing important," Dumbledore said kindly. "Merely a worthless trinket. Pay it no mind."
Already, curious witches and wizards were whispering from the streets.
"Is that Dumbledore?"
"And Hagrid?"
"Merlin's beard—that boy, could it be—Harry Potter?"
Harry flushed under the stares, his thoughts snagging on the mention of his parents.
"Professor… my mum and dad. Do you know what happened to them?"
Dumbledore's gaze softened.
"They were my students. Fine wizards. Braver than you can imagine. As for the rest… that is a path for you to discover yourself."
With that, he straightened, cloak swishing.
"Now, I must return to school. Enjoy your day with Hagrid, Harry. Hogwarts awaits."
And with a crack of apparition, he was gone.
Leaving Harry both awestruck and frustrated. Answers dangled just out of reach.
But soon enough, Diagon Alley's wonder pulled him in, and the boy's eyes shone with excitement once more.
Meanwhile, in Arthur's system space, the Philosopher's Stone glimmered faintly. He grinned.
Mission accomplished. Time to put this baby under the microscope.