Chapter II

The Catalyst Thought

Never in her memory had Diana known such excitement as when she waited for Professor Dumbledore at ten o'clock on the thirty-first of August. She was awake three hours early, despite having gotten a dismal amount of sleep the night before; her mind was racing too fast to allow more than a few necessary hours. As she waited in the dim front hallway, all her worldly possessions in a tiny bag on her shoulder, she wondered whether it had all been a dream. Maybe she was crazy, maybe the doctors and Ms. Laurie and all the other children were right after all, and no one would ever come because it had all been a gross hallucination….

But, as those who know him can predict, Professor Dumbledore rang the doorbell at exactly 10 o'clock, and before she knew it Diana was sharing a seat with him on the London Underground. His attempts at Muggle apparel now took the form of a bright green pants suit, accompanied by a matching hat that looked like it belonged in a very eccentric circus. His attire attracted too many stares than Diana would have been comfortable with, but Dumbledore remained quite serene, listening patiently to Diana's frequent inquiries about the world she had just become a part of.

"Where are we going to get all this?" she asked, reading off a piece of parchment Dumbledore had given her that listed all her school necessities.

"Diagon Alley," replied Dumbledore.

"Where's that?"

"You'll see," he said with a twinkling smile.

"And you say I've got money? How much?"

"Your mother left you a substantial amount when she passed away. It will be more than enough to get you through your seven years at Hogwarts."

"So –" the question Diana had been wanted to ask ever since she learned Dumbledore had known her mother burned on her lips. "My mother – what was she –?"

But at this instant the train halted and Dumbledore stood up. "This is our stop," he said, and Diana had no choice but to follow him as he stepped smartly off the train and headed into the streets of London.

Diana had never been in such a crowded place before. She stayed very close to Dumbledore, although there was really no need; the people in the crowd seemed to part before him as if his strange ideas about dressing were somehow contagious. Diana had been wanting to ask why he chose to appear the way he did, but couldn't think of a way to do it without being rude. After all, he was the first person who had ever seemed to really like her, and she didn't want to change his mind. Before she could think of a way to phrase her question, Dumbledore halted at the door to an old, grubby looking pub that Diana wouldn't have even glanced at if they hadn't stopped. Bemused, but starting to get used to the feeling by now, she followed him inside.

It was a dark, shabby looking place with only a few customers scattered about the little round tables that filled the room. The low buzz of chatter stopped for a moment when Dumbledore entered, and a few people waved before turning back to their drinks. Dumbledore smiled heartily at a thin old man in a corner, and returned the waves of a group of women who looked like they were in the middle of some very juicy gossip.

"Dumbledore!" called a cheery voice from behind the bar. "What a pleasure! Haven't seen you in ages, have I?"

"No, Tom, I dare say you have not," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "But I regret that I cannot stay long. I have business in Diagon Alley today."

"Ah, of course you do, of course. And who's this little lady?" asked Tom, catching sight of Diana. "Starting your first year at Hogwarts, eh?"

Dumbledore looked about to reply for her, but Diana surprised him slightly by beaming at him and saying, with childlike zeal, "Yes!" Dumbledore smiled at her enthusiasm and beckoned to her to follow him across the bar.

They emerged into a tiny courtyard enclosed in stone walls, and Diana watched as Dumbledore confidently tapped a brick on the wall with the same stick Diana had seen him use to make the dead bird disappear. To her astonishment, the bricks in the wall moved aside to form an archway, and beyond that archway….

"Shall we proceed?" asked a smiling Dumbledore, with one look at Diana's star struck expression.

Diana didn't know what to think, except that this place was the most brilliant and intriguing thing she had ever seen. There were shops everywhere, advertising everything from spellbooks and wands to cauldrons and eyes of newt. Men and women dressed in robes of all sizes and colors walked through the streets, many weighted down with bundles of goods, some of which were moving of their own accord. Diana drank in every sight with an eagerness she had never known before as she and Dumbledore started down the alley towards a large, white building at the end.

Three hours and many questions later, she was sitting happily outside a place called Florean Fortescue's and licking a cone of the best chocolate ice cream she had ever tasted – in fact, it was the only ice cream she had ever tasted. Her purchases were sitting on the floor next to her in various boxes, and on top of them sat a contented looking grey owl who was dozing in the sun, the remains of a snack on the bottom of his cage. Diana had changed into a set of brand new black robes, and somewhere along the way she had looked up at Dumbledore to find him suddenly wearing flowing purple robes instead of the green suit. She was looking at him across the table now, trying to think of another question to ask him. One occurred almost immediately.

"Would you tell me about my mother now, Professor?"

Dumbledore paused, thoughtfully gazing at his generous helping of pink ice cream. Diana watched him hopefully, waiting for the information she had wanted to hear all morning.

"Your mother's name was Larissa Cementire," said Dumbledore finally. "She was a very bright young witch when she was at Hogwarts."

"She went to Hogwarts?"

"Yes, she did. If I remember correctly she was particularly gifted in her spell work – though she did have a certain impatience with herbology." He smiled at this, as if remembering something amusing that had happened long ago.

"What did she do after she left school?"

"Herbology wasn't the only thing your mother had impatience with." said Dumbledore choosing his words carefully. "She had no tolerance for the Dark Arts, and devoted her life to seeking out those who practiced them and putting a stop to their activities. Your mother was an Auror."

Dumbledore was perfectly aware of what he was telling her, and though he was not entirely sure it was a good idea, he thought it best that Diana learn what the Dark Arts were from him rather than from other students. As much as he wished his students could remain ignorant of evil, it was impossible.

"What's an Auror? And what are Dark Arts, Professor?"

"One thing you must understand, Diana, is that not all wizards are good." He turned in his chair to face her directly and leaned forward over the table. "There are good and evil wizards just like there are good and evil Muggles. Some wizards decide to use their powers for evil, and Aurors are the ones who catch them. Wizards have laws just like Muggles do, and consequences for anyone who should break them."

"Is that what all those posters are for? Evil wizards?"

Dumbledore was slightly surprised she had noticed the wanted posters hanging around Diagon Alley; they were certainly nothing compared to the bright displays in the windows of the shops they had passed. The nearly unrecognizable face of another former student glared at Dumbledore from a poster across the street. "Yes," he said after a pause. "They are criminals."

Diana's curious eyes searched Dumbledore's for what would not be the last time, clearly thinking he knew more than he was telling – and she was right. For as Dumbledore glanced at the poster across the street he was remembering another child, one with which he had never been to Diagon Alley but had met in strange circumstances almost exactly as he had met this one. Her eyes held the same expression that his had when he had learned he was a wizard, and her face was handsome in almost the same way… but Dumbledore quickly pushed these thoughts from his mind. There was no connection between that child and this one, the man who stared from a poster across the street and the girl who sat across the table with a chocolate ice cream cone. As Dumbledore watched Diana another question occurred to her, and she spoke without hesitation:

"Do you know anything about my father?"

Dumbledore's kind expression told her the answer before he said it.

"I'm afraid not. Your father is a mystery."