A/N: Again, because apparently it bears repeating. I do not believe that Dumbledore is gay and I refuse to write him as gay simply because Rowling said he was…after she finished writing the books. I am a grad student who focuses her studies on literary criticism, and I prefer to base my readings on the primary texts. If Rowling had wanted Dumbledore to be gay, she should have written him that way! Out of respect for the story that Rowling weaved in Book 7, I did write Dumbledore as a bit of a misogynist whose main desire is to find someone who is his intellectual equal. He thought that the had with Gellert, but then he discovered that Grindenwald was too corrupt and dangerous for him, especially after the death of Arianna. In the very first chapter Dumbledore even says that he has no interest in women…but Minerva's not just any woman, and Dumbledore is a bit thrown off by her.
Chapter 4: Bested Again!
It was a bright, sunny day; from inside the castle it almost looked as if it could be summer, almost, if one failed to notice the bare branches and the hoards of brown leaves littering the ground. It was early November and the air was brisk, a sharp, cool breeze flitted through the air, making Dumbledore's robes billow around him as he walked briskly toward Hogsmeade.
Dumbledore whistled as he walked, the wind tingeing his cheeks a bright rose, contrasting greatly with his auburn hair and his rather garish purple robes. Albus was rather excited, he had ordered a book from Fourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, and it was supposed to be delivered to Barnaby's Books in Hogsmeade that afternoon.
Albus had had his eye on this particular book for quite awhile, but it was a bit difficult to find, as it was a muggle book from the early seventeen hundreds. The book in question was a tactical book, a manuscript detailing a master's most successful chess moves. Albus had wanted this book for years, but despite the fact that evey birthday, every Christmas he received dozens and dozens of books, no one ever sent him chess books, and next to chamber music and ten pin bowling, chess was one of his great passions in life.
With a bounce in his step, despite the cold weather and the blustery wind, Albus walked into the warmth of Barnaby's Books. The scent of leather, dust and mould assaulted his senses, wrapping him up like a warm blanket and engulfing him in its scent. Walking into the warm, cozy room, Albus passed dozens of high bookshelves, ignoring tomes on transfiguration and alchemy, walking directly to the main desk to claim his book.
Albus stood at the front desk, rather impatiently, waiting for old Barnaby to come up to bring him his book. Barnaby was an elderly wizard, nearing one hundred and thirty years old. He had short, sparse hair that stuck up at odd angles. He was short, and doubled over with extreme age. Thin and withered as a small raisin, he was spry nonetheless and wise with the sort of intelligence that comes from years and years of life experience.
Catching sight of Albus from across the room, Barnaby bid a hasty goodbye to the customer he was talking to, and quickly crossed the room to greet Dumbledore.
"Why hello, Albus!" Barnaby said with a grin, coming toward him.
"Hello, Bertrand!" Albus said greeting Barnaby by his first name. "How are you?"
"I'm well, Albus, quite well. But I'm afraid to say that we have a little problem."
Albus's face immediately fell. "What's the problem?" Albus asked trying to reign in his emotions.
"Well, your book has yet to arrive." All of a sudden the air in the room began to get thick and incredibly, uncomfortably warm, raw power crackled in the air, as Albus tried to keep his annoyance in check.
Sensing the change in the climate, and knowing its cause, for the legend of Albus Dumbledore's temper and his raw physical power, and occasional lack of control of it, had already become legend, Barnaby began to wring his hand uncharacteristically and began to speak rather faster than he was wont to do "I've called Flourish and Blotts, but they don't seem to know what happened. "
Albus's power snapped and crackled in the air, barely contained. Barnaby pressed on, "Between you and me, they've hired some new people, just out off Hogwart's, not that there's anything wrong with the school," Barnaby hastily amended lest he should unintentionally further anger Albus by slighting his school, "they're just a little young to be running the place, unsupervised is all, in my opinion, but then again I still refuse to take on help in this place, even though I've got more clients than I can tend to…" Barnaby quickly ceased his rambling, not knowing what else to say. His viscous eyes were darting, and his wizened old hands wringing, as he awaited Albus's response.
The air cracked and snapped, it was thick with tension and anger, Albus stood stock still, silent and brooding. Barnaby seemed just about to fill the uncomfortable silence with infantile prattle, when Albus finally spoke, "May I use your floo?"
"What?" Barnaby asked, startled out of his reverie, "umm, yes, of course, go right ahead." Barnaby said, gesturing toward the grate.
As Albus stepped quickly over the threshold muttering 'Diagon Alley', Barnaby raised his hands as if in prayer, and crying out to no one in particular, said, "Merlin, help those poor boys at Flourish and Blotts!"
Arriving in Diagon Alley, Albus quickly crossed over to Flourish and Blott's, walking as if on wheels, he threw open the door and crashed into the store. Stalking toward the front desk, as a cat stalks its prey, Albus approached the two pimple-faced teens sitting at the desk.
The teens were startled from their perusal of several magazines of rather ill-repute, by Albus's outburst, as he marched through the doors, glaring at them all the while.
Summoning up all of his courage, the fatter of the two boys, addressed his ex-professor, "Why, Professor Dumbledore, what a pleasure!" He nearly choked on his words, seeing the expression on Dumbledore's face, but he soldiered on, "What brings you to our humble bookstore?"
"Kindly stop your driveling, Mr. Potts. Where is my book?" Thundered Dumbledore.
"What book?" Asked the other boy, feigning ignorance.
"The book that Barnaby ordered for me, Mr. Lewis. It's called Chess for Champions, and was published in the 1800s in muggle Germany. It was supposed to be delivered today, but Barnaby said that it never arrived. Care to explain why?"
The boys cowered under Dumbledore's intense gaze, both remembering many a detention that they had served with him. Feeling Dumbledore's raw power crackling through the air, the boys began to stammer, their eyes shifting under the scrutiny of his gaze, they looked to one another and then reacted simultaneously.
"He did it." Each said, pointing at one another.
"No, I didn't you did." Said Lewis.
"Don't lie, Phil. You're the one who gave the book to that bitty who came in." Said Potts.
"How was I supposed to know it was Dumbledore's book? You never told me."
"If you hadn't been so busy looking at that lady's…"
"That's enough, gentlemen!" Dumbledore said, rubbing his temples wearily with his fingers. "Find me another copy of the book by the end of the week, and I won't insist that your bosses fire you. " Dumbledore starred down both boys. "I'm an old fan of both Flourish and Blott, don't doubt that I can have you out of here faster than you can say lemon drop!"
"What?" asked Potts, looking confused.
"Don't ask, idiot!" snapped Lewis.
Dumbledore turned on his heels and strode toward the doorway, his robes billowing menacingly about him.
Turning, an idea forming in his head, he asked suddenly, "Who was the girl?"
"What girl?" They boys asked in unison.
Dumbledore rubbed his temple, mimicking his earlier actions, he was so very glad that these two had graduated, "The girl that you sold my book to. I believe that you referred to the young woman as a bitty, Mr. Potts. One that Mr. Lewis was apparently quite impressed with."
"Oh, that girl…" said Lewis.
Dumbledore nodded.
"We don't know." said Potts. "I don't remember her giving her name."
'Incompetent imbeciles!' Dumbledore muttered, turning back toward the door. "It's no matter…"
Suddenly an idea struck Mr. Potts, "Wait!" He shouted, ignoring the glare from Mr. Lewis. "I could look her up in the book."
Dumbledore sighed, at least one of them had some sense.
Turning, Dumbledore, loomed over the two boys as they pulled out an old tome, and began to leaf through the pages.
"Ah, here she is," said Mr. Potts with a grin. "McGonagall. Minerva McGonagall."
"Damn!" Dumbledore swore, the air crackling as he smashed his hand on the desk and then swooped out the door.
The two perplexed boys were left dazed by their encounter, staring weakly at one another.
"What the bloody hell do you suppose that was about?" Asked Lewis.
"I don't think we want to know," replied Potts.
They nodded at one another in agreement, and picked up their discarded magazine.
