A/N: In HBP, Dumbledore mentions that he has never taken Divination lesson. Watch, as our hero skillfully extracts himself from an unwanted situation; as he attempts to conquer his fear of the opposite sex; as he deals with the attention seeking ways of his young brother Aberforth; as he possibly discovers a German Wizards' plot. The word zeitgeist may eventually be mentioned: do not fear it, it is only a word. I couldn't find much information on which wizards are Dumbledore's age or older (it's rather outside of cannon, time-wise), but did my best to use those I could/their ancestors.

I used to put disclaimers in my stories, but why? This is a fanfiction site, for the love of Socrates!

Chapter One: Quirks Explained

"Slytherin!" cried the Sorting Hat from its perch atop a small, round boy in expensive-looking dress robes. Amidst general clapping he took his place at the proper table, stopping to give Albus Dumbledore a small wave. The older boy, sitting amongst his fellow Gryffindors, waved back. Young Horace had befriended his brother Aberforth at Wizarding Camp that summer (the summer of 1853, to be exact). Some Gryffindors frowned at Albus's Slytherin fraternization, but the third-year paid no attention to them.

Albus cultivated a general attitude of blithe unconcern toward the opinions of others, except, of course, when it came to girls. Then, he grew completely tonguetied, and could merely babble nonsense. On one memorable occasion, while working next to Aurelia Bones in Herbology, she had dropped a bit of potting soil down the front of her robes, and he had so lost track of his tongue that somehow the words, "Nitwit—blubber—oddment—tweak!" had escaped his gaping mouth. He hadn't spoken to her since, and was, in fact, avoiding looking at the entire Hufflepuff table.

His task was made more difficult considering his brother, Aberforth, had just been Sorted into Hufflepuff. Albus had to admit he was rather relieved. Dealing with Aberforth's shenanigans at home or at Wizarding Camp was quite enough; this summer, for example, he'd fallen in with a nasty crowd of young farm hooligans, who seemed to enjoy molesting the livestock.

Albus could only hope Aberforth would grow out of it. That, or become an instant success in Care of Magical Creatures.

"Psst—" Phineas Moody gave Albus a sharp poke in the side with his wand. "Are you gonna drink that pumpkin juice?" The feast hadn't yet begun, but a starter of pumpkin juice had appeared to refresh the students during the Sorting. "I couldn't eat on the train, I got motion-sick—strange things, aren't they, trains? Is it true they were invented by Muggles?"

"What? Oh, yes, they were," Albus said vaguely, starting up in his seat. He pushed his pumpkin juice over to Phineas. "Go on, it's not sweet enough for me."

Phineas took a long drink from Albus's goblet. "I say, there're more in Hufflepuff every Sorting, aren't there?"

Albus winced, glimpsing Aurelia out of the corner of one eye.

"Oh, no… there goes one to Ravenclaw." Sure enough, a tiny wizard was attempting to pull of the Sorting Hat, which had settled over his entire upper torso. "Blimey, that Filius boy is tiny, isn't he? Part gnome or something, maybe… honestly, what's next, werewolves?"

"What, don't you think they deserve an education?" Albus said mildly.

"I just don't think we deserve getting bitten. Come off it, Albus, it's just your parents talking. Notorious liberals, aren't they? Honestly—trying to get a grant from the Ministry to combat Muggle slavery. In America, no less—you know they're all barbarians there, don't you? Well, I hear my father gave him a right talking-to—we need out forces for other things, not Muggles… like…" Here he paused, and his voice dropped. "…well, the German wizards have come up with a new curse, my Dad's said… drives you mad, he says… but he hexed my ears off when he found me listening in on his meeting, so I don't know much."

"That'll be enough gossip, young men!" Nearly Headless Nick caught the tail end of Phineas's speech as he floated toward them across a table. "Settle down and enjoy the Sorting… and the feast… wish I could…" He stared sadly down at the plates, still empty in anticipation of the feast.

"I reckon he's right," Phineas said. "Best not to mention it, the Aurors are taking care of him, my Dad told me. Say, what do you think of the new Potions professor? Dead mysterious, he is."

"Ah yes, Nicholas Flamel." Nearly Headless Nick looked like he was enjoying a private joke. "Interesting man. I think you'll enjoy him."

Albus stared broodingly at the table in front of him as, in the background, he heard "Stein, Abraham" being sorted into Gryffindor. "Potions should be fine, then. It's just Divination I'm worried about. My parents say it's all hogwash."

"Divination's not so bad," Phineas said darkly. "It's History of Magic that gets me. The only time Professor Binns is entertaining is when Peeves tampers with his lecture notes… he just reads them right off, it's really funny… heard him mumbling something about memorizing them all this year, so I suppose he's caught on. Ugh!"

"Defense should be nice this year, though," Albus said. "Professor McGonagall's said we get to start on magical creature defense. I can't wait for the boggart lesson, I've been practicing all summer. Got one in my cupboard, you see."

Phineas shook his head. "Only you, Albus, only you. I expect your boggart is an empty bag of lemon drops."

Albus's jaw dropped. "How did you know?"

"You're the only person who could possibly be so bloody optimistic."

"Optimistic, nothing! Imagine life without lemon drops…"

"Well, if the Aurors succeed in declaring Muggle edibles contraband--my dad's said, you know, he's been discussing it with some other Aurors."

Nearly Headless Nick tut-tutted. "Dear, dear… a life without Muggle sweets. Why, I recall, back in my day, I used to sneak into the Muggle Baron's estate just to nick some rose jellies… those were the days. Rose jelly. Do you know, I never tasted chocolate? In my day, what you got after a Dementor came'round was a cup of spiced mead and some pepperup potion."

"There, there, Nick," Albus said quietly.

"Look, the Headmaster's beginning his speech!" Phineas had a hopeful look on his face. "Maybe he won't go on so long this year. I'm hungry."

Albus groaned. He had always hated Professor Fortescue's long-winded, if good-natured speeches, earnestly enjoining the students to perhaps take a stab at following some of the rules. In his opinion, a well-placed quip would have worked just as well, maybe better. As the headmaster's speech reduced several students to loud snores, Albus found his own mind wandering. He planned on spending extra time studying Defense this year, and didn't want his stupid new Divination class to get in the way. Besides, he was still helping his parents with their anti-Muggle-slavery campaign. There was never enough time for it all; he didn't need Divination to tell his future was far too cluttered. But how could he escape from a class just because he thought it was absolute rubbish?