An unseasonably cool July breeze blew through the tiny well-kept beach town of Whitepoint. It danced through the perfectly trimmed hedges, teasing the leaves as they rustled and shook on their branches, adding to the evening's wild music. It continued over Farmer Joe's wheat field, stirring the crows from where they hid amongst their old tattered and largely neglected nests. Before breaking free from gravity's hold and gliding over the wide open glowing beach that made Whitepoint such a tourist attraction. The sky glowed dull amber and was dusted with stars as they tried to out shine the setting sun. The last thing the breeze had played with before losing itself to the evening was a young girl's childish, light brown, soft, curls.
The young girl danced around the shoreline, teasing the still cold hungry ocean. She giggled and squealed in glee as adrenaline from sneaking out of her parents house surged through her tiny 11-year-old body. Her parents sat on their tough black leather coach; T.V turned up too high and to engrossed in their conversation to realize that their young daughter's snores had stopped drifting down from her room. They would probably go up in an hour or so to discover her empty bed and window shoved agar with the breeze lightly ruffling the white sheer curtain but by then it'd probably be too late.
Back on the beach, the water greedily lapped at the young girl's toes and she wiggled them in the orangey sea foam left behind. Behind her, an ancient weathering man with long silver hair and equally long wispy silver beard silently walked up the beach, weary of the young carefree and rebellious child. He stared at her with concerned twinkling blue eyes through half-moon spectacles hanging off of a crooked hooked nose. She cooed at the birds, disappearing with the setting sun and half buried her toes into the cold wet white sand. The ancient man breathed a light but cautious laugh. The young girl's shoulders stiffened at the intrusive sound and her whole body went ridged.
"You couldn't have just let me be, Dumbledore?" the young girl's voice hissed. There was no trace of the giggling child anymore; her voice grew angry, anxious, and a little tired. She sounded wise beyond her years and her voice didn't match her childish body.
Dumbledore's smile faded into a look of sympathy. "I've hidden you from the world to which you truly belong to long enough, Mia. These are troubled time, young one. Your people need you."
"My people," Mia sneered, putting as much venom into the words as she could, "All they've ever done was spit on the people they care about. Forgive me for not wanting to be a part of that." She turned up her nose to the setting sun and glowered at darkened sand.
"The Chamber of Secrets was opened last year. HE is getting stronger," Dumbledore said calmly, staring intently at the body language of the young girl as her shoulders stiffened again and her fingers involuntarily twitched towards her pocket where her wand should have been.
She abruptly spun on her heels and huffed herself up and squared her shoulders, daring Dumbledore to challenge her obvious rebellious decision. They held each other's gaze; her reluctant and stubborn filled with a secret hurt and his patient and indifferent unwilling to show any emotion at the moment. It was like the world around them froze, it only thing around them still moving was the wind.
Suddenly, the young girl's shoulders sagged forward in defeat and she lowered her broken gaze. "I'm not doing this for them. I'm doing this for you and because you asked me too," her voice was just barely higher than a whisper.
The air around her shimmered as her light childhood curls lengthened into chest length, dark brown, sleek, straight hair and her face thinned. Her arms and legs grew and muscled until they were un-proportional the rest of her childish body. Her body shifted and shaped itself into one of a young woman's; her chest developing and growing pulling her too little shirt tight across her body. Her stomach flattened, losing all of its baby fat, and the edges of an old dark pink scar showed itself under the shirking fabric. Her body continued to grow until a dark haired, 14 year-old vixen stood in front of him, her pained iced blue eyes never looking up once from the ground.
"You were quite adorable as a child," Dumbledore mused, glancing at the too-still girl. He had a sinking feeling that she was going to disappear if he didn't keep her attention. He held out a stack of robes for her to put on.
"Thanks," she sighed instantly regretting her choice to return to the one place she hated more then anything. She took the robes and shrugging them over her shoulders. They fit perfectly around her slimming frame and defined shoulders. Dumbledore held out his arm for her and without looking into his eyes, took his arm and waited patiently for whatever was going to come next.
"I'm sorry it has to be this way, Mia. I wish you to know that." Dumbledore sighed and drew out his wand, giving it a small swish. With a small popping sound, they both vanished leaving the wind with nothing to play with but the fields of wheat, the perfectly trimmed hedges, and the hungry waters of Whitepoint; her already forgotten home.