The Ministry of Magic, Second Floor:
Albus Dumbledore was furious. In his long and eventful life, he could recall being furious so rarely that he had almost forgotten what true fury felt like, but this was it alright, he thought, as he marched down the long, official-looking ministry corridor towards a sign that simply read 'DOH'. Striding impatiently past the stammering junior department member that he encountered on entering the Department for the Orphaned and Homeless, he flung open a second door and came to an abrupt halt in front of the head of department's desk. Cassius Mildew blanched visibly at this unexpected and frankly terrifying arrival, and tentatively quavered 'Do you have an appointment?'
The glint in the Headmaster's eye hardened, and Mildew gulped, 'Well, I suppose… if it's urgent… '
Dumbledore nodded curtly and settled himself into the chair opposite the now positively sweating Mildew, and paused. Perhaps the most terrifying thing about an enraged Albus Dumbledore was the almost total lack of obvious physical signs – he barely ever shouted or glared, and even his take on 'marching' came across more like a purposeful glide. No, Dumbledore's wrath was noticeable only in the glint of his eye and the furrow in his brow, along with an overall sense of impending doom, and it was a wrath that was nigh on impossible to miss. And Cassius, whatever his flaws, was not known for his obliviousness.
'Mr Mildew,' Dumbledore began, 'an unacceptable state of affairs has been called to my attention which, were your department anything other than woefully neglectful of its duties, should never have arisen. You have been head of this department for how long?'
'Approaching two years, Mr – I mean Professor – Dumbledore.'
'And,' frowned the Professor, his piercing blue eyes boring into the watery grey pair of the now pathetically clammy wizard across the desk, 'exactly how many of the unfortunate young witches and wizards placed under your care have you utterly abandoned?'
'What?' spluttered Mildew, 'What an accusation, I can assure you I have been most attentive in-'
'I have one name for you, Mildew', cut in Dumbledore, 'Rhoswen Hewitt.'
If the Head of the Department for Orphans and the Homeless had been sweaty before, that was nothing to the copious perspiration dewing across his wide-set brow. He drew out an embroidered (though not entirely clean) handkerchief, and, dabbing his forehead, replied.
'Oh. Yes. I see.'
He gazed helplessly across his cluttered desk for a moment, but the silent storm cloud that was Albus Dumbledore remained silent. Taking a shaky breath, he went on.
'Well, you see, I – I mean, oh merlin I'd completely forgotten… Terrible mix-up, see, and my being new to the department and – well, it was so out of the blue, her previous family toddling off and all that. And she was such an unusual case – her parentage – well, we didn't really know where to put her! And I was so busy so I put Wilbur on the case, but then he was called away to sort out that nasty case of that boy who didn't get along in his new home in Paisley, and her files just sort of – got lost.'
He trailed off in a very small, guilty-sounding voice, then added in a rush,
'And we did check at the house but she wasn't there…'
The ice in Dumbledore's voice sent shivers down Cassius's spine as he asked the question he had dreaded; 'Why didn't you go looking for her?'
'Well we were going to but – but it was a very busy time for us and I had just got the position-'
'So you naturally put your job first. You sacrificed a little girl for your professional reputation.'
Mildew seemed to collapse internally at these words, and a small noise that sounded like 'well', escaped from him like the squeak of air escaping from a balloon. Shaking his head in disgust, the Headmaster rose to leave.
'You might be interested to know that I have found young Miss Rhoswen, and that she is alive and well. I will be taking charge of her care from now on, as it is clear to me that you are entirely unfit for your position. Feel at liberty to submit your resignation on ground of professional ineptitude as soon as you think appropriate.'
Mildew sat in utterly defeated silence and watched Dumbledore stride briskly out of the office, feeling his career crumbling into ashes with every step.
Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Diagon Alley:
Florean smiled genially at the strange little girl sitting on one of the stools next to the shop counter, happily devouring a dandelion, burdock and lemon sundae. Even now that he was used to it, he still couldn't help wondering at her blatant out-of-the-ordinary-ness. Approaching eight years old, the girl before him was small and slight, with almost luminously pale skin and intense ice-blue eyes. She had short, messy hair, made unusual by the fact that it was the pure, unadulterated white of freshly-fallen snow. Add to this her pretty but strangely pixie-like features, and the whole effect was of something not of this world. Particularly when you took into account her unique abilities. Chuckling to himself at her enthusiasm for what was undoubtedly a rather eccentric choice of ice cream, he busied himself in wiping down the mismatched tables that populated his little shop, wondering how long it would be before Dumbledore got back from the Ministry.
He supposed that this whole business was a travesty, and felt more than a little guilty for having taken so long to spot that something was amiss, but he had to admit it was hard to be too worried when the supposed victim was taking full advantage of his hospitality as if nothing was, or had ever been wrong. In fact, one of the reasons that Florean had failed to notice the problem for over a year had been the consistently upbeat and carefree disposition of the little girl he internally thought of as 'Lady Rose of the Bottomless Stomach'. Rose, 'or Rhoswen, as I suppose I should call her', had been a regular visitor to his shop for quite some time, and ever since their first meeting (in which Rose had gazed with such long at all the flavours on display that, when she finally admitted to having no money, Florean couldn't quite bring himself to send her away empty –handed) they had developed an unwritten agreement in which Florean gave Rose free ice creams in return for entertaining chitter-chatter that prevented his job from ever getting dull. The shopkeeper didn't have any children of his own, but he knew that if he ever had a daughter, he would want her to be like Rose – she was intelligent, friendly, and somewhat mischievous without crossing the line to bad behaviour. He couldn't believe that in all that time he had never got wind of the problems with her home life, or become suspicious at the amount of time she was spending in Diagon Alley unaccompanied by an adult. Perhaps he hadn't been listening hard enough. The thought that he might have unintentionally ignored her subtle pleas for help made his insides twist with guilt. She could have all the ice creams she wanted.
The bell on the shop door tingled, disturbing Florean from his mental turmoil, and Albus Dumbledore entered his shop with a warm smile.
'You're looking much cheerier than before, if you don't mind me saying so sir' the ice cream man grinned.
'Why yes, thank you Florean, I believe that all that needs to be seen to concerning the DOH has been, ahem, seen to.'
Florean couldn't help thinking that 'DOH' couldn't be a better acronym for the people that were responsible for this mess. He strongly suspected that their department would be thinking things along the lines of 'doh' at this very moment.
'All sorted then, Professor?'
'I believe so, my dear fellow! I have asked Tom to arrange a permanent room for her in the Leaky Cauldron for the time being, until we can find a suitable family to settle her down with. I have, of course, made a few enquiries, but it would seem that foster families are thin on the ground at the moment, and also suspect that Rose has spent so much time in Diagon Alley over the last year that the people here are probably the closest thing she has to a family right now – I don't want to be the one who takes that away from her.'
Dumbledore turned towards the young girl, who had been surveying them pensively over the remnants of her sundae. 'Does that sound about right to you?'
Rose nodded wisely, mumbling around a mouth full of lemon sorbet. Eyes twinkling, Dumbledore continued.
'I will be arranging for someone to come and teach her a few things during the rest of her time here – she has informed me, in a tone of extreme exasperation, that her foster family did not put much effort into her education. Although that has by no means quelled her determination, her attempts at blending in at Muggle schools were, shall we say, eventful.' Rose caught the Headmaster's eye and smiled shiftily – being unhelpfully conspicuous was a particular talent of hers. 'But now, Rose, you are in good hands. It may take a while but we will find you a family, and you won't have to face anything like this alone until you are ready for it, not as long as I have a say. Although I must say you did a remarkable job by yourself!'
Glancing down at his many-handed pocket watch, Dumbledore blinked in surprise.
'Dear me, look at the time! I asked poor Tom to have Rose's rooms sorted by four, and he must have been waiting for at least twenty minutes for her to check in… how time flies! I suppose we'd better go then, Rose.'
Dumbledore warmly shook Florean's hand, and gestured Rose towards the door. Following him out, Rose paused as she passed the man who had been a much-needed source of friendship (and ice cream) for so long. She would still get to see him every day, she supposed, but somehow she was sure it would never be quite the same – although she would still continue to chat with him over sundae after sundae for years to come, she would never need him like she had over this past year – she was no longer alone. The seven year old with the white hair considered this for a moment, then stretched up to kiss the shopkeeper on the cheek.
'Thank you', she whispered.
