In the year of 1950, I started to realise that the feelings of admiration I had for Professor Dumbledore were more than that.
It was in the afternoon off, when we got our first snow of the season, that I truly fell for him. He came outside, in his oh so ridiculous robes, I remember them being a midnight blue, a beautiful, complementary colour, but they were velvet.
So I walked up to him, I was never one for snowfights (in actual fact I'd been leaning against the castle wall sketching) and asked him, "Aren't you robes going to get wet, Professor?"
He looked at me, blue eyes twinkling, and lent towards me, "Flitwick told me of a little something that will keep them dry, don't you worry."
"Oh," I replied, looking down at the hem of my own trousers, which were, unfortunately, wet.
He chuckled, "Now now, we can't have that can we?" And he pulled out his wand from god knows which ruffle in those ridiculous robes, and gave it flick.
"Oh! Thank you Professor!" I exclaimed.
He laughed again, "No problem my dear, no problem at all." And still chortling, he walked off into the grounds, ducking as a snowball whizzed over his head.
I was left there, standing, alone in front of the doors. "He called me 'dear'." I whispered, through my fingers that were over my mouth. "He actually called me 'dear.'"
Several sixth years chose that moment to run out the doors, and shoved past me, "Move it, twerp!" They yelled, but I didn't hear.
I stumbled to the side as they pushed me, but still had tears of joy in my eyes, and a dandy smile on my face.
Spirit golden, I went back to the castle wall, and began drawing the scenery, making sure to capture Dumbledore in the distance, standing on the slight hill, against what I would soon draw to be a moonlit sky.
