2 – Things I Must Know

Minerva left us with a whirl of her cloak. She had agreed to inform Professor Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw, that there would be a new student under his charge.

I looked around the cluttered office at all the odds and ends and curiosities, so many things. On a perch, near a spiral staircase, on the far side of the room, sat the most beautiful bird I'd ever seen. It had crimson and gold feathers, and it looked at me with shiny, black, knowing eyes, like it understood the turmoil that I was going through. I didn't know what to do, now that I was here, so I waited patiently for my grandfather to explain.

The Headmaster approached, his hand holding out a small paper bag.

"Sherbet Lemon, my dear?" The twinkle in his eyes was comforting.

"Thank you," I said as I took a candy and popped it into my mouth.

"Come, my dear, sit down. We have much to discuss and not much time before dinner. It's beef stew tonight, with dumplings." He grinned with anticipation. "I'm sure you must be hungry."

Steered me to a comfortable armchair by the desk, he bade me to sit. Then, he took the chair next to mine rather than sit behind his massive and untidy desk.

Maybe he didn't think he could see me over the mess, I wondered.

"Yes," he said absently glancing over his shoulder at the desk. "I really must clean that up one day."

Was he reading my mind? I thought, quizzically gazing at him, wondering if I needed to watch my thoughts.

"You must have many questions about who I am, what happened to your parents, and why you are here," he began.

Those weren't questions; they were statements, like everything could be explained as if it were the weather. I just sat there staring at him, wondering what to say.

"You were right. I am your grandfather. How did you know?" he continued, leaning back into the cushion and steepling his fingers at his lips.

"I recognized your voice," I replied simply with a shrug.

His bushy, grey eyebrows rose in surprise. "My voice? The only time I have ever spoken to you was when you were in your mother's womb. Hardly something one would remember."

"You used to talk to me, tell me stories. Sometimes you would play music. I know your voice." What else could I say? I knew it sounded strange, but I knew instinctively that I was right.

Silently he gazed over the top of his half-rim glasses, examining me closely.

"How did my parents die?" I asked a simple, straightforward question expecting a simple, straightforward answer.

"It's a long story," he sighed quietly.

Okay, that wasn't what I wanted to hear. I waited, hoping there would be more. The old man looked distant as if trying to put into words what he wanted to say.

"Your mother was my only daughter," he began. "She married your father with my blessing. He was a wonderful man, but we knew that my involvement with a former student from here, Tom Riddle, would one day come back to, shall we say, haunt me." He paused and looked away. When he looked back, there was determination in his eyes.

"Your father had been helping me devise ways and counter measures to stop Riddle's influence over people. I never thought I would call anyone truly evil, but this man is manipulative and demanding and gets what he wants through coercion and threat." The old man became agitated. "Riddle is gathering followers and is becoming more powerful every day. He discovered your father's lab here in England, and he and your mother were attacked one evening. We never saw it coming." There was another pause as my grandfather looked away again.

"Did they feel anything?" It was a childish question, but I needed to know.

"I seriously doubt it. The attack was quick. I don't think they even knew what hit them."

"Why didn't you ever visit?" I asked another childish question.

"You are special, Alicia. I knew that you would have talents beyond your years, talents that are considered…unique, just like your mother and grandmother. If it were known that you were connected to me, Riddle would seek you out. He would have done one of two things; coerce you into following his lead or kill you. I couldn't let either of those happen, and your parents agreed with me."

"Whose idea was it for me to have a different name from my parents?" This was an interesting point, and one that had bothered me for years. My mother's name was Catherine Marceilla Dumbledore. My father was Enrico Venici Salvatorini. I'm Alicia Elizabett Lacosa. Why was I named differently?

"This was simply another ruse to fool Mr. Riddle. If he could not track you by name, it was merely another way to keep you safe. Your first and last names are ancient Etruscan, your father's idea. They mean, "to live for the cause". Rather appropriate, considering. Your middle name was your grandmother's name." There was a pause before he continued; "I am afraid I must insist that you not refer to me as "Grandfather". We have kept you protected all these years, and it would not do to expose you now. You are here and exist for a purpose, and that purpose will be known in time, but for now, I must direct you to your House."

The abrupt change in topic startled me.

"Professor Flitwick, our Charms teacher, is the Head of Ravenclaw. Your House rules are posted on the bulletin board in the Common Room. I'll have your schedule by dinner and will pass it to Professor Flitwick. He will present it to you. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask him."

I could tell that this conversation was over as the Headmaster rose and began to walk across the room.

"I was expecting you," he stated as he led me to the door. "And, as we speak, house-elves are placing your belongings, a uniform, and your school supplies in your room. I did not foresee the Hat advancing you a year, so I will request that your teachers supply you with the proper books until we can purchase appropriate ones. Good evening, my dear." He tipped his head in dismissal. "I will see you at dinner."

As abruptly as I had arrived, I was rapidly being sent away. Feeling completely lost, I took a deep breath and left the office, not entirely sure where I was going. My legs, however, started to move, and before I knew it, I had climbed moving staircases, traversed ancient corridors, and found myself having to climb a spiralling flight of steps to a door with no handle and no keyhole.

"What grows down as it grows up?" the large brass eagle on the door asked.

"Excuse me?" I answered in bewilderment.