'Twas was the only trolley cart with the cookie crunch.
Where to begin? The spectacular wizardry shenanigans which will undoubtedly be praised by my descendants for generations have compelled me to write them down, to let them out in some sort of outlet. At least, that's what Hermione suggested to me. Could good writing be produced by me? That answer will hopefully reveal itself later on.
In West New Jersey born and raised- to say the least I have mixed feelings about that place. No need to go too much into it- 'tis not an auspicious beginning. There I was, destined to go into a normal school with normal children, until an old man with a grey beard showed up, intent upon changing my fate.
A man, with a long beard with a green hat and robes strolled through the quiet paved roads in New Jersey. The weather had just begun to be cool and chilly with leaves turning red and yellow. The man attracted curious stares from fellow pedestrians far and few between. Granted, it seemed to others that this man was wearing flamboyant bathrobes for a midday walk.
Stepping up to a building, the man raised his fist, softly pounding upon the door twice. Footsteps were heard on the other side; the door opened to reveal a young man.
"Good Afternoon. I believe I have made an appointment with Mrs. Johnson, the matron in this orphanage."
The teen at first gaped at the man's clothing before responding. "Ah, I, uh, I see. I'll fetch her for you." turning back, he quickly stalked inside, eager to get away from the man standing before the door. After few moments an apron wearing woman appeared on the doorway.
"Good Afternoon, Mrs. Johnson. My name is Albus Dumbledore. May I come in?"
"...Of course." Mrs. Johnson gave a fake smile after overcoming her shock. The man stepped into the hallway, with plain walls with pattered floor. The door closed behind them.
"I have sent you a letter requesting an appointment to which you kindly responded and have invited me here today."
After few moments Mrs. Johnson remembered her schedule. "Yes, of course. Well - it'll be best to discuss inside the meeting room."
After shouting instructions to other helpers, Mrs. Johnson and Dumbledore stepped inside a room, with little decoration, a large table, and several stiff chairs. Mrs. Johnson sat down, eying Dumbledore apprehensively.
"As I have stated within my letter I have come to discuss about Procyon Black and his future."
"How did you get to know about Procyon?" asked Mrs. Johnson.
"His name has been down for our school since his birth."
"Are you directly related to him in any way?"
"No, I am not. I am a teacher. I have come to offer Procyon a place at my school."
"Well then, how was his name down for your school? Who registered for him? His parents?"
It seemed as though Dumbledore who have to answer each and every question Mrs. Johnson asked.
"Here is a document that I hope will explain everything." Taking out a piece of folded paper Dumbledore took out his wand, tapped it once on the paper, and handed the document toward Mrs. Johnson. The effect was immediate – once her eyes fell on the sheet of paper, her eyes began to swivel around for a moment before refocusing. She placed the paper down.
"The document seems to be in order." She stood up from her chair. "Come with me, please."
Walking out from the room, Mrs. Johnson led Dumbledore upstairs.
"No one ever came to visit Procyon before." Mrs. Johnson explained as they walked. "You are the first one. He is very clever and a kind boy, but the orphanage roughened him up somewhat - but then again this type of life is hard to everyone. Here we are." Mrs. Johnson stopped in front of a door, in the hallway filled with numerous rooms. Twisting the knob she opened the door.
"Procyon?" She called inside. "Someone is here to see you."
A young boy, age of eleven was inside the room, a book on his desk, and his face turned toward their direction. He merely raised his eyebrows at the clothing of the man.
Mrs. Johnson walked away; Dumbledore stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
August 10th, 1991.
How to describe him? How would you describe an old man wearing a bathrobe, wishing to visit you? At first, my impression of him was not favorable. Eccentric. Dangerous. Intelligent. Dangerous. Whimsical. Dangerous. Liar. Dangerous. Kind. Dangerous. Manipulative. Dangerous... did I mention danger?
A loud silence hung in the room as we both silently appraised each other, making calculations within our minds. Was I supposed to trust him? He had this sense of ridiculousness to him that reminded me of Willy Wonka.
Finally, he spoke.
"Hello, Procyon."
Inwardly, I cringed. What kind of name was that, anyway?
"Please, call me Jack." I outstretched my right hand toward him. A proper gentleman was to be polite, or so I was taught. He accepted my handshake. From that brief moment of contact, I began to analyze it. Warm hands, psychologically making him more affable within my mind. Tough, wizened lines of long years etched onto the surface. Firm, proper handshake as expected from a British man, I assumed from the accent.
"You seem to dislike your name."
"Weird name." I replied. "I do wonder what was going through my mom's head when she gave me that name."
"Your mother?" he inquired.
"My mom. Everyone has a mom."
"I see." He cut to the chase. "My name is Dumbledore. I am a headmaster at a boarding institute, Jack. I am here to offer you a place within my school."
See, that was surprising. It was not like I had particularly high grades, nor was I someone who was considered to be a 'role model' to others.
"Really?" replied myself, a bit surprised. "But why me? Why not anyone else?"
"How do you know that I have only come for you?" he said.
"Obvious." I began my long line of reasoning. First impression was everything, and I needed to convince him of my capability. "If you were willing to offer a chance at your school to everyone within this orphanage, you would not bother coming in to see each and everyone here in this building, but speak with Mrs. Johnson to set up an advertisement instead. On an off chance that you do, however, a gossip about a man in a strange clothing going around offering a chance to escape this place would spread like wildfire. The chances of me being the first to be offered is relatively low, as my last name is neither first nor last on alphabet system in this school, my grade is not the number one in this orphanage, I am not the oldest in this orphanage nor the youngest, and my room is a bit far away from the front entrance. Therefore, you have only come for me, not everyone else."
Granted, it heavily relied on many fallible assumptions, but it seemed as though this time I had hit the mark. The Headmaster sat back, studying my words intently.
"You are right in assuming that I have come for only you. You see, you are a bit special."
I smiled. "I try not to assume. It leads to errors. I hope you mean special in a good way," I said, "-Headmaster." I quickly added.
"While you lived in this orphanage, you must have noticed things happening around you. Peculiar things."
"..."
"Something that cannot be described by logic. Can you remember any?"
It was clear; this old, flamboyant man held the key to my understanding of the things within the dark, the occult, the supernatural. Indeed, as he said, many weird things happened around myself, unable to be explained by my line of reasoning. I took the gamble of being frank with him.
"Well... There was one time where a kid's glasses exploded when he took one of my toys. And then there was one where I somehow found myself achieving twice my normal speed while couple of jerks were chasing me. Then there was one time my head split a bookshelf in half when it fell on top of me." I shrugged. "Yeah, weird stuff happened."
"They often happened while you were in high-stress situation, I hazard to guess?" the Headmaster asked.
"Hrm... Not really. They only happened when I wanted them to happen. It's kind of like I have a little control over them."
Cue more scrutiny. Then, he continued.
"The school I come from is for special people like you and I." he leaned closer to me. "School of Magic." He whispered.
...
Well.
Magic. How to describe it? A complete, new and separate set of laws that contradicts normal way of thinking. Its very existence shattered my previous view of the world, and replaced it, supplemented it, superseded it, like Newton's theories being partly accepted and rejected by Einstein's thinking.
It was certain.
I had to learn more. And, I needed to master it.
But first...
"...Alright, can you show me a spell, Headmaster?"
Ah yes, the burden of proof. It was now or never... if he refused me now, I wouldn't have believed him.
But, slowly he turned toward the clay figurines located upon my desk. Intricately designed little pieces, I poured countless amount of hours into them, giving them personality, shapes, and features. Taking out a piece of wood longer than a twelve-inch ruler, he merely waved it toward them.
One by one they all began to twitch, and move on their own accord.
"...Will I be able to do that?" I whispered, my head being filled with countless amount of ideas to the point where I was surprised that it didn't burst.
"If you attend Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." he explained. He waved his wand once more, and the figures ceased their movement, much to my disappointment. "To attend Hogwarts, proper materials are required. Textbooks, for example."
"Well, um, my pockets are empty at the moment, Headmaster." I sheepishly scratched my head.
He lightly smiled. "The family vault of the Black family should suffice."
"I have a family account in a bank?" and all those years I stood in front of that vending machine, wishing for cash. Was I dreaming?
"Gringotts, in Diagon Alley, London. There is enough money inside the vault to supply for the books and more."
"London... how would I reach there, Headmaster?"
Having thought for a minute, he replied. "There are two options. Taking a plane, or Apparating alongside with me."
"Apparate?"
"What you would call magical teleportation. However it is inadvisable if you experience motion sickness, or have a weak stomach."
"Nah, forget all that; teleportation is worth it." I was filled with too much excitement to care about the side effects of that particular mode of transportation.
"The school starts in three weeks. You should begin packing up now if you wish to leave by tomorrow." The Headmaster stood up. "If so, I will pick you up tomorrow."
"I'll begin packing up today, Headmaster."
"Good. I'll see you soon."
So ends the first day of my new life dyed with magic, I suppose. There are far more unmentioned stories before that day that I have not written down, but that's for some other time. It felt like being a protagonist in some sort of novel; in the midst of my less than fortunate upbringing, I was whisked away to new lands by a mysterious visitor. It was all so cliche.
The more I delved into the history of my family, the more I was intrigued. I was part of this long, deep rooted family of 'Purebloods' who practiced magic generation to generation for eons. Supposedly I received their blood for talent, and therefore, had the ability to do magic. Also, most other male bloodlines in my family died out, apparently, except for my uncle, who was in a wizarding prison for killing about a dozen people. Yeah... not a great start of reputation.
And, consequently, I was bequeathed to a family home, disguised within the apartment of the muggles... later I found out that muggles built their apartment around my family home, unaware of its existence.
So there I was, stuck within a dark, dusty, gloomy, and allergy inducing house of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, with only an elf to keep me company. Kreacher is a great guy, but not a fun guy. How to describe the home itself... ever read the House of Usher? It's exactly that. Minus the cracks. And the marsh. The Painting of my Grandmother hung around the entrance hall had favorable attitude toward myself, I'm happy to say.
One thing I did notice was the gigantic family tree hung within the house. Described all family members within the bloodline- right up to myself, with picture for each member.
"...I look nothing like that. And who burned the portraits?"
"I did." I voice spoke up from a painting. "A hex spell for each and every one of our FILTHY BLOOD-TRAITORS, SCUM ON THE EARTH-"
But, I digress.
The copious amounts of dangerous objects within the household was bit of a trouble to deal with, but mostly I avoided trouble by staying within my own chamber. So passed my several weeks within my ancestral home. I am glad to write that I have made myself at home gracefully. The trip to Diagon Alley was nothing special, so I won't go too much into details. Instead, here are some notable events that took place.
Instead of buying a Wizard Hat, I bought robes with hoods attached. A clear violation of the Supply List, but I was a rebel. Hats you needed to carry around, and your head became too hot when you wore them. Hoods held advantage in that particular case.
Instead of Pewter Cauldron I bought Bronze Cauldron. I was rather hoping that they probably would not notice. I bought a Peregrine falcon instead of the usual limit of cat, toad, or an owl. I convinced myself that they would mistake it for a mutated owl. You should have seen the shopkeeper's face when I asked for this unprecedented choice.
As for the wand, I had actually broken the usual wand core standard... a Kelpie Mane, Apple wand wood, Ten and a half inches. Now, as to actual competence of kelpie hair compared to other cores, I had yet to see. My wand, I knew, was destined to be a wand of greatness.
All in all, I trampled over the written rules.
Dusty copies of tomes buried deep within my home had their own charms and niches. Some described grotesque experimental spells, some made note of the top forbidden foul creatures known to the wizardkind... I had hard time sleeping during certain nights, but the dark knowledge obtained from the many a quaint and curious volumes of forgotten lore made their worth. I would hazard a gamble that I knew more about dark arts than any other first year students within Hogwarts... letting a young, curious scholar run around amok within a household filled with grim objects. What were they thinking?
In addition to the black arcane, I had found various books that matched the list of required textbooks for the first year at Hogwarts. One that caught my attention in particular was the old copy of Magical Drafts and Potions, which contained copious amount of tips and notes informing the reader of much better method of preparing and brewing potions. Intrigued, I substituted the old book for the school supplies, intent upon trying out the informal method.
The trip itself to the 9 and 3 quarters was eventful, to say the least. Imagine your typical English bus. Now, make it blacker. And then, give it a personification of a drunkard on cocaine. And, while you are at it, set its hair on fire. That was the Knight Bus. Not a moment of tranquility or peace was given to its passengers in order to gain its speed. The drivers themselves were more scatterbrained if possible. A shrunken ball resembling a head that looked like it was taken out from the pickling jar of a coven witch hung near the driver seat, babbling unintelligible languages in its meaningless conversations. There was a lady that posed danger to everyone else within her meter radius around of being puked upon.
All in all, a life experience. I was glad for the lessons I gained through it, but I hoped never to encounter that bus within the future.
September 1st, 1991.
New Jersey did not have a lot of trains, so I was a bit excited about the prospect of being transported to a castle within it. As for the compartments themselves, I had within my mind developed a top notch method of locating the compartment with most beneficial connections as possible. Even as of now I hesitate to write the trade secret method upon this very protected parchment, but knowledge not passed down to future generations is considered to be wasted in my book.
...
"One spot, two spot, zig, zag, tear. Pop-die, pennygot, tennyum, tear. Harum, scare 'em, rip 'em, tear 'em, tay, taw, toe..."
Gathering more attention from bystanders in each passing second I began to point my fingers back and forth furiously, trying to pick the best compartment possible. Upon the door of the chosen room I opened with such speed that it startled the two unfortunate students located within. With perfect calm I placed my bag within the space above the seats, sat down, and opened up my favorite volume of grimoire: Necronomicon.
Brief silence followed as the other two occupants carefully studied me, while I studied them. One with wild red hair, the other with black messy mop with glasses.
"Yo. I hope you don't mind my intrusion. I chose this compartment at random, you see. My name is Jack Black. What's yours?"
"...Harry Potter."
"Ron Weasley."
"Nice to meet you. Now." I clasped my hands together. "I'm excited to go to Hogwarts. How about you?"
"Oh yeah," Ron nodded. "We are pretty excited. Magic and all."
"Good, good... Ron, do you have brothers?"
"Yes?" he replied, confused by my sudden curiosity. "I have several."
"Two of them are twins, right?"
"Yeah, their names are Fred and George. Why do you ask?"
"Just a hunch. They are troublemakers, right? Does pranks."
"Definitely. Drives me mum mad all the time."
"Perfect. Now, if you'll 'scuse me... save me this spot, would you?" standing up, I grabbed my bag and made my way out to the hall. If they were troublemakers, than I had a deal they would not be able to refuse.
It took a great while to find the correct compartment; they were within the middle of the train. Sliding it open I nonchalantly entered, my bag within my hand.
"Hello," I spoke toward the surprised occupants. "You are Fred and George, I assume." I nodded toward the two with fiery red hair.
"Yes we are." They answered at unison.
"My name is Black- Jack Black. And, I have an interesting offer for you. May I sit down?"
Sitting next to the African-British student, I reached my hand inside the bag and pulled out a small brown bag.
"Griffin Liver. Class B Non-Tradeable Substance. Can only be acquired with proper connections within Knockturn Alley, or if your house is filled with particularly dangerous objects. An important ingredient for certain potions with annoying side effects... pranks, for instance. I'm willing to make a trade. Care to hear the details?"
Interested at my proposition the two exchanged glances, and one of them spoke up.
"Sure. What do you want from it?"
"...Apprenticeship." leaning back, I placed my hands behind my head. "I intend to create an interesting prank that will most certainly startle the students during morning breakfast few days after I arrive to Hogwarts. For that, I will require some information from those more experienced, like yourselves."
"A prank to kick off a new year?" one of the twins spoke up.
"Sounds great." the other one grinned. "Let's hear it."