Chosen
by Ben Barrett

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…
Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…
And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…
And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.

-Sybill Trelawney

Chapter One – The Lost One

Albus Dumbledore appeared in the alley in a blinding white explosion that sounded like a small sonic boom. It was a violent upheaval of the normal tranquility of the place, which stank of piss and booze. A cat which had been digging through a nearby trashcan fled from him with a screech of rage. It knocked the metal container over in its haste, causing the contents to spill out onto the ground. Dumbledore looked down his crooked nose at the used condoms and black banana peels, the tiniest hint of a disgusted sneer tugging at the upper corner of his mouth. Muggles could be so vile at times.

There were several homeless people there, quaking beneath cardboard blankets. He knew his appearance there has frightened them, and the look in their eyes told him that they thought he'd come there to kill them. Where was the one he'd come to find? Surely he couldn't be here, not amongst the dregs of humanity, the decay of civilization. What kind of self-respecting wizard would allow himself to fall to such a level? Even the Weasleys, who were among the poorest of their kind, had once managed to build a house from an old pigpen. There was no reason for anyone with magical ability...

The thought occurred to him then, as it had numerous times, that this might be a waste of time. The one he came here to find might not have any kind of magical ability. He might just be a Muggle. It wasn't a thought he enjoyed and he always felt a cold chill run through his blood whenever it entered his mind.

A small ferret stuck its small head out of the pocket of his robes. The tiny pink nose twitched as it sniffed the air. It sneezed when it caught a whiff of the almost overpowering stench that usually pervades alleys. It began running a tiny claw through its little whiskers, trying to get the odor out of its nostrils. It clambered up to Dumbledore's shoulder and fixed him with a disapproving glare. It chittered in his ear and he nodded his understanding.

"I'm aware of how sensitive your senses are," he said. "I am truly sorry you have to endure this. However, if you wouldn't mind lending me a hand, I'm sure we could make quick work of our business here and be on our way."

The ferret nodded and scrambled down to the ground. It ran ahead, skirting around the puddles of piss and vomit. It stopped at one homeless Muggle who looked to be about seventy and sniffed at his face. The old tramp made a grab at the animal and it jumped back with a squeak of rage, showing its fangs.

"I wouldn't recommend getting too close," Dumbledore said, hoisting up his robes as he stepped over the puddles. "These types of Muggles are not known for their love of animals, or of much of anything for that matter."

The ferret squeaked its assent and moved on to the next person. It edged forward, trying to get close enough to catch a scent while keeping an eye out for any sudden movements. Dumbledore began working the other side, waving his wand over each of them in turn. He may not have the nose of a ferret, trained to sniff out magical blood, but he did know a few incantations that were sometimes used by the Death Eaters in determining blood status. It wasn't the method he would have preferred, but they didn't have a lot of time.

He reached the end of the alley where it joined up with the main street, which looked a great deal like Charing Cross Road, except not nearly as busy. It was, in fact, devoid of all life. He stood there beneath the yellow glow of the lamp post and looked up and down the sidewalk, trying to spot even one person, even a drunken straggler. No such luck. Dumbledore wasn't all that surprised; the Bobbies would be on patrol for anyone out at this hour of the night, and definitely would not tolerate anyone sleeping in a conspicuous place, especially in a high traffic or tourist area.

He turned back and saw that the ferret had inspected all the Muggles on the opposite wall and had likewise found nothing. The elderly tramp had a look in his eye that was cunning, underhanded, and hungry. Dumbledore didn't have to use Legilimency to understand it. The man was debating whether he could catch the ferret and kill it without being bitten or noticed. He looked as though he hadn't had a bite to eat in over a week.

"I think you will find that that particular ferret will give you a run for your money if you attempt something foolish," Dumbledore said, then knelt down and took a generous amount of Muggle money from his pocket. "Please take this and find yourself something a little more edible."

The old man snatched the money without a word of thanks and jumped from his cardboard bed. He scampered from the alley, nearly dancing with glee. He rounded the corner and vanished, never once looking back.

"Now that we have that little problem out of the way," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet and dusting off his hands, "perhaps it would be wise to employ some other methods in our search."

The ferret chittered in approval and ran back up to its perch on the old wizard's shoulder. Dumbledore backed up to the entrance of the alley, then took a small pouch out of his robes. He opened the pull strings and reached inside, drawing out a small amount of black powder in his palm. He held his hand out and blew the dust lightly toward the sleeping homeless. It expanded as it flittered through the air, becoming a bluish-gray cloud. When it had covered the entire area above the alley, blocking out the night sky above like a thunderhead, it began to descend. It broke up and vanished like steam as it came into contact with ground, tinkling lightly as it did so. The sound always reminded Dumbledore of windchimes, which in turn reminded him of the lazy days of youth, and he smiled.

When the cloud finally vanished entirely, the Muggles were once again asleep, dreaming of booze or spare change or whatever it was that homeless Muggles dreamed of. Dumbledore stepped forward again and pulled out his wand. The ferret looked at him with an inquisitive expression.

"Don't worry, I have a hunch," Dumbledore said, and gave his wand a swish-and-flick. "Homenum Revelio."

Instantly, they could see another figure begin to materialize in an empty space next to a large, green garbage bin. He was curled up into a ball and looked terrified at what was happening. The sleeping powder hadn't worked on him, just as Dumbledore had known it wouldn't. It was only for Muggles. Anyone with magical ability of any kind would be immune to the effects.

"I was wondering where you were hiding, my boy," he said. "Why don't you get up off the wet ground before you catch a cold?"

The man got slowly to his feet, though he did not move forward. He stood there by the trash bin, regarding the old man with a wary eye. He was weighing his odds, trying to determine how dangerous Dumbledore was and what his odds of getting out of the alley alive were.

"What do you want with me?" the man asked, scratching at his dirty black hair. The ferret on Dumbledore's shoulder recoiled in horror and squeaked anxiously.

"No, I don't think he has fleas," Dumbledore mumbled to the animal. Turning back to the man by the trash bin, he said in a louder tone of voice: "Might I introduce myself to you, Harry?"

–

Harry's eyes went wide. This man knew his name, and that caused him some alarm. Living the way he did, on the streets and always on guard, the only people who knew your name were your friends or the authorities. Harry had no friends. He'd learned long ago not to trust anyone, lest they rat him out or try to screw him over. That meant that this guy was most likely with the police, and that made him an enemy.

He's awfully old to be a Bobby, Harry thought. He looks like he's a hundred years old, easy. Why would they send someone so ancient?

Perhaps he was with some kind of secret government organization, then? That would certainly explain his weapons, if that's what they were. That black powder he'd used had been selective, like some kind of special nerve gas. Harry had breathed in his fair share of it, even felt it burning in his nose and in his lungs. He'd tasted it on his tongue, a strange citrus flavor that reminded him of lemon drops. Yet it hadn't put him to sleep like it had with everyone else.

A terrorist, then? Was that anthrax in his bag? No, certainly not. A terrorist wouldn't worry about a bunch of homeless people, and anthrax wouldn't taste like candy.

Then there was the old man's stick, the one that had lit up like a laser pen and shown where Harry was hiding. Nobody – nobody – had ever managed to find him when he used his invisibility trick. He had no idea how he did it, only that when he was in serious trouble and in need of a place to hide, he could wish himself invisible. He'd discovered the ability at an early age, in what he thought was probably his third or fourth foster home. His older foster brother Tyler was a tosspot of the worst kind and constantly chased him with flaming sticks and dog chains, threatening him with bodily harm. One day he'd come close to catching him with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and Harry had vanished into thin air. It had taken him two days to change back, and by then he'd been classified as a runaway. He was promptly packed up and shipped off to another home.

It took him over fifteen years of vanishing and reappearing before he'd finally gotten the hang of it. Of course, by then he'd come of age and the BAAF (or the BARF as he often called it) had shown him the door. Adults don't get to stay in foster homes. He quickly adapted to his situation and used his little gift to dodge the police and, on rare occasions, to steal food to keep himself from starving.

"You don't like that I saw through your little vanishing trick, do you?" the old Gandalf-looking bastard at the entrance to the alley asked. He'd moved a few feet closer. "Well I can tell you, Harry, that not only can I do that, I can do a lot of other things, and I can show you how to do them, too."

As he spoke, the man flittered in and out of sight like a chameleon. To say Harry was impressed would be an understatement. Even he couldn't pop in and out like that. It usually took him at least thirty seconds to change just once.

"Who are you?" Harry asked. He wondered what these other tricks were. Could he change into a bird, create things out of thin air?

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," the man said, "though most people just refer to me by my last name."

"Dumbledore then," Harry said. "How do you know me?"

Dumbledore took a step closer. To Harry's surprise, this didn't bother him as much as it would have even two minutes ago. Perhaps the old man was pulling another trick, some kind of mind control or something. Maybe if he could put multiple people to sleep at once he could mess with someone's emotions, too.

"I know a great deal about you, Harry James Potter," Dumbledore said. "I know that you never knew your parents, that you've been an orphan all your life, and that you feel out of place, like you're destined for greater things than sleeping in a filthy alley."

"Anything else?"Harry asked.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied. "There is much we need to discuss, though I think it might be better to do that over a warm meal, which I can tell you haven't had in quite some time."

"You...want to take me to dinner?"

"Yes, unless you object?"

Harry wasn't sure what to say. On one hand, this guy was offering a free meal and a chance to get off the street for at least an hour. He didn't get many offers like that, and he couldn't deny that it was tempting. On the other hand, however, he couldn't help but question the old man's motives. He seemed to have some unique abilities that he was willing to share, but he still hadn't given any definitive answers as to where he'd come from or what he really wanted. What if this whole thing was just a ploy to get him to take his shirt off or something?

"You're suspicious of me," Dumbledore said when he didn't respond right away.

"Of course I am," Harry replied. "You show up here out of nowhere, spray the place down with your mustard gas or whatever it was, claim to know all these things about me, and expect me to just follow along behind you like a puppy?"

"I expect you to do nothing," the old man replied. "I simply extended a friendly invitation to join me in the comfort of a local restaurant if you wish. A place as befouled as this is hardly the setting to answer your questions, or for you and I to get to know one another."

He stopped speaking as the animal on his shoulder began chittering in his ear.

"I'll leave the choice up to you, dear boy," he said when the animal fell silent. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that the old man was actually under the impression that he could understand what it said. "I have never been fond of repeating myself. If you choose to follow, I promise you that your life will never be the same. There will be answers to so many of the questions that have plagued you all these years. However, if you decide that you're satisfied with the way things are, please accept my apologies for disturbing you."

His gaze lingered on him for a moment longer and Harry suddenly had the strangest feeling of familiarity come over him, like he knew this man in another life or something. He could not explain it, for he had certainly never seen eyes of such piercing blue in his life, eyes that almost seemed to twinkle.

Then Dumbledore turned on his heel and walked out of the alley. The little rodent on his shoulder looked back at him as they rounded the corner and Harry could have sworn he saw it smirk at him.

What the hell?

Before he could have second thoughts about what he was doing, he rushed out of the alley after them, silently praying that he wasn't making a terrible mistake by doing so.

Next Chapter: Dinner