Harry Potter
And The Legacy of the Headmaster
Chapter 1: The Last Night
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, so get over it dudes. (I wish I did, Wahhhh begins to throw a fit on the floor)
Channing Wells glanced again at his watch. How long were they going to keep him in there? It was well into summer now, and every day so far Channing had waited out here for hours on end. His best friend had gotten himself into a bit of trouble over the school year, and had been assigned to 2 months of summer-school. Today was the last day, but 3 hours had quickly multiplied to 5, and Channing was beginning to worry.
Finally the doors to the old school opened and an exhausted looking 11 year old boy tumbled out followed by a strict looking teacher.
"…Now you behave yourself, boy, or I swear I'll drag you and your smart-mouth back in there!" the teacher yelled brandishing her walking stick.
"Well, ma'am," the boy started. "I must say much more of that and the only place you'll be dragging me is the nearest morgue"
"There's that attitude of yours again, that's only ever going to bring you trouble!" The teacher grunted, poking her student in the chest with her stick. Immediately the boy yelped with pain and dropped to his knees, his hand clasped to his ribs. Channing rushed up to help his friend to his feet. "Dear God, child, what has your father done to you now?" the woman asked.
"Nothing!" the boy yelled, swatting the old woman's hand away and allowing Channing to pull him to his feet. "The year's over, Mrs. Stapes, so keep out of it!" and with that the two boys set off down the road. The sun was beginning to set now in the little town off Manchester, The sky was tinged with a faint orange glow that swept over crumbling houses along the drive like a painter's careful brush strokes. The clouds above, which seemed never to be white, but always grey over this deadened town, were tinted a deep violet. The old textile mill around which the town had been founded was but a blackened silhouette in the distance, smoke billowing from it as it sucked in water from the overgrown river that cut through the heart of the city.
"Who does she think she is?" Channing asked angrily as they walked down the street. "First she keeps you past your 3 hours…"
"I thought she was going to hold me there after dark," his friend agreed with a glance at the fading sky. "She didn't even have reason to hold me in there for 15 hours a week to begin with!"
"Well, you did turn her hair pink, blow all the windows in the lunch room, kill power to the entire school, you vanish and appear out of thin air a lot, you have the tendency to make your enemy's quiver in pain before you even touch them and …"
"How many times do I have to tell you that wasn't my fault?" the aggravated young man shouted somewhat desperately, as he stopped walking and turned to face Channing. "So weird things happen in the school, it's not me!"
"How many times do I have to tell you that you've got…magic powers or something?" Channing retorted as they turned the corner.
"Magic powers? Honestly, Channing, that's the dumbest thing I've ever…"
"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" the boys were stopped by a livid looking man walking towards them. Channing saw his friend's face go paler than chalk.
"Father! I th-thought you were leaving o-on a business trip!" the boy stammered, backing into the fence of the nearest house.
"I HAVEN'T LEFT YET!" The man roared knocking his son to the ground as Channing stood, frozen. "SUMMER SCHOOL AGAIN IS IT? WHAT WILL GET THROUGH TO YOU, BRAT?" he screamed "MAYBE I SHOULD START HITTING YOU A BIT HARDER!"
Albus Dumbledore glanced around at his surroundings with a twinge of uneasiness. Behind him a line of old, rusting railings was all that divided a murky, trash lined river from the narrow cobbled street upon which he now stood. The street itself was no beauty, rundown brick houses lined either side of it, their deadened windows and poorly shingled rooftops seemed to become one with the surrounding darkness. Wilting petunias and dying tulips seemed to fill every garden where it seemed even the weeds withered away to dust. Death; that seemed to be all this place could hold. Dumbledore drew his cloak tighter, it was a warm night on that summer's eve, but this place seemed to suck all the warmth from the air like a throng of swirling dementors. The only light on the street came from the one remaining streetlamp by the last house on the boulevard, cracked and broken it's dim light flickered on and off like an old neon sign; but there was life in this house. From the outside this little shack looked like all the others, made of dark, dingy brick , one of the upstairs windows was boarded up, the only light shone dimly from one of the downstairs rooms, but Albus Dumbledore swore that in the eerie silence of the night he could nearly make out the faint heartbeat of it's only remaining occupant. There was life in this house, if only just a flicker.
It was quite uncommon now for Dumbledore to go out and 'educate' non-wizard-raised students, but this one was a special case. The particular boy he was here for was a young half-blood wizard who had tragically lost his mother at a young age and had been forced to live alone with his abusive father in a rundown little mill town a ways off from Manchester. To make maters worse the boy seemed to have become aware of his magical abilities to an extent. It all rather reminded the old headmaster of another case he'd had a long time ago, one of a child by the name of Tom Riddle. Albus would later look back on this night as the beginning of a journey for many people; a story whose outcome would determine the fate of the wizarding world as a whole, but tonight it was only a quest to help yet another young wizard into the magical world.
As Dumbledore grew nearer to the flickering streetlamp at the end of the road, however, he found his 'quest' interrupted as a bespeckled young man no older than ten or eleven years of age, came clambering over the fence of the house next door, and made a beeline to the neighboring home's front porch. Spotting Dumbledore, the boy hesitated for a moment and finally ran panting toward the old headmaster.
"Please, sir, can you help me?" He gasped desperately, beads of sweat rolling down his pale face. "It's my best friend sir; he lives in that house up yonder, I think he might be hurt really bad, he won't wake up!"
Dumbledore bent down so that he and the young man were at eyelevel. "Calm down son, who are you?" he whispered calmly.
"My name," the boy said quickly, "Is Channing Wells, I live on the next street over. My mom's a nurse at the local hospital, but she's left for a conference… in London I think… I've just run home to check, but there's no one there, she won't be back for weeks. Please, sir, can you help me? Please!"
"Alright, I'll see what I can do, it just so happens that tonight I have business with the young man who lives here."
Channing froze where he stood. "You don't work for Tobias, do you?" he asked timidly.
Dumbledore shook his head. "I assure you, Channing, I am familiar with no one of that name." Channing merely nodded and, calming down, led Dumbledore past the flickering streetlight to the door of the run down home. Albus watched as the child drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the front door. The pair walked into a dark sitting room that looked more like a cleverly disguised dungeon cell than anything, all around the room were shelves lined with thick leather books, the only light came from the dim glow of an ancient candle filled lamp; a crimson threadbare sofa, a rickety old armchair and a small table that looked likely to fall apart at the hinges was all that adorned the room. Albus shivered, remembering the feeling of dread he had had outside. Channing moved behind the armchair and ran his fingers down a groove in the book covered stone wall that lay behind it with a bang the hidden door swung open revealing a narrow staircase.
"Come on." Channing said as he led the way up the rickety stairway, wondering who could lock a child away like this, Dumbledore followed. A plain wooden door lay at the end of the passage, under the crack Dumbledore could see the faint glimmer of a candle, presumably lit by Channing before he had left for help. "Sev?" Channing called as he pushed the door open, he received no answer. This room was perhaps more depressing than the first. The wood floor was badly damaged in places, several of the floorboards would creak when stepped on, the room's only window had been boarded up, letting in little light, Dumbledore imagined, even during the day. The only furniture Albus could see was an old wooden chest-of-drawers that was dented and cracked in places, a rickety metal bed, who's white paint was peeling off showing the rust beneath, and a small side table beside it across the top of which several different over the counter pain-killers were strewn, their bottles lined in a messy row. The walls were made of a dark grey stone, the only thing that hung upon them were newspaper clippings of multiple crimes all believed to be connected to a particular mob, allegedly headed by a man named Tobias. The crown jewel of these clippings covered the south wall: In the middle of the stone barrier was a rather old clipping hosting a photograph of a young woman with deep black hair that fell in a cascade of messy waves, she had a long pallid face and a heavy brow, there was an air of familiarity about the photograph, and Dumbledore felt sure he had once known the woman. Beside her was the face of a grim man, he had a rather evilness about his appearance, but Dumbledore couldn't quite put his finger on it, the man had dark brown hair which fell messily and limp around his ears, he had a long pointed nose, and deep blue eyes that seemed to hold little life. Above the two was the headline "Eileen Prince Murdered in Her Home". Dumbledore at last realized where he had seen the young woman in the photograph before.
"Oh, Eileen, you poor child…"
"Yes, she was," The door leading back down to the stairway snapped shut behind them. "At least until her 'loving husband' chopped her up into little tiny bits and dumped her body in that river of garbage outside of town." From the shadows behind them another young man of about Channing's age emerged, his liquid black eyes fixed upon Dumbledore.
"Sev!" Channing cried. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Channing." The vicious child replied, not letting his gaze drift from the old man standing before him. Dumbledore however found 'fine' a poor way to describe the boy: he was dressed in shabby clothing consisting of a wrinkled white t-shirt and an old torn up pair of jeans. His inky black hair fell lankly about his shoulders, the cut, although overgrown, was somewhat jagged as though it had been done with a kitchen knife. There were bruises coming in on his arms, and a deep cut across his face, and there was a shaky sort of shallowness about his breathing that made him seem anything but fine. "Who are you?" he spat at Dumbledore. "Some bum he picked up off the street?" he nodded his head toward Channing.
"Severus Snape, I presume?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly.
"That depends," the dark young man replied. "Who are you, what do you want, and what's your relation to my father?"
Dumbledore suppressed a chuckle. Who are you, what do you want with me, and do you work for the man that probably did this to me? Eleven years old, and already this child already knew how to survive. "My name is Albus Dumbledore," He replied calmly to the child. "And all I want is to help you."
Albus sighed as he pulled his head from his pensieve, where the unfinished memory swirled still around the basin's interior. This night felt not unlike that summer of 71', doom seemed to hang in the air, as it had all year for Dumbledore, death was on the horizon. Once again, as on that night, he found himself afraid, afraid for the world, for Hogwarts, afraid once more for the life of friend Severus Snape. Someone was to die tonight. "Let it be me" He thought to himself. "Let Severus be spared." Dumbledore sat down behind his desk, for the first time he felt old. Young Harry Potter would be coming soon; they would be leaving Hogwarts, leaving in search for Harry's destiny, leaving for Voldemort's horcurx buried deep within a cave. Someone was to die tonight, but Dumbledore had no more time to dwell on this, he had no more time for memories, Harry would be arriving soon.
Well, what do you think, I had some spare time on my hands, so I decided to rewrite this story which was originally under another one of my user names (Alejadra Rosaline I think) so if it seems familiar, that's why. More when I can.