Chapter 2--we're still developing here. I tend to go heavy on dialogue, so please bear with me and
keep reading!
***
Christine banged the enormous doors shut behind her, whipping off her scarf and pressing her
palms to her cheeks, in a futile effort to restore some warmth. How strange that she had
forgotten about Scottish winters in so short a time! Her bags-a trunk, large piece of issued
luggage, and two long cases of different shapes, lay on the floor at her feet, dripping water
onto the stone floors which formed the entry way. She stared up at the vaulted ceiling, then
across from her at one of many doors, staircases, and hallways she could choose. Having no
idea which to take, she leaned back against the huge doors and tried to decide how to find
the one individual here whom she knew.
Despite her years of experience with the impossible, meeting Albus Dumbledore had not been
what she had expected. It hadn't been the first time they had met, of course, but she had
been so young the first time that she only remembered bits and pieces. She recalled the look
on Geral's face more clearly than anyone else-an expression of both surprise and resolute
determination.
"I can train her," he had said. "It's what her father would have wanted."
That's when she had first started to pay attention.
"Perhaps. However, our first concern must be to keep her safe. Hogwarts is really the best
place for her-I assure you, she'll be under my personal protection."
"No. Absolutely not. We haven't avoided other wizards for all this time for no reason,
Dumbledore. Besides, attending Hogwarts didn't save her parents."
The other man-older, with a wild beard, blinked slowly, but didn't break his gaze.
"Unfortunately, no. As you well know, training alone is not enough in certain. . .situations.
However, her enrollment at Hogwarts would provide her with a wider range of. . . ."
"Opportunities?? She doesn't need opportunities. She needs to be able to survive!"
Dumbledore's face hardened slightly. "She does...or you do? Is this a conversation about
her future, or your past?"
Geral sank back into his chair. "I've come to terms with my past-which is what she'll need
to do. What happens when she starts asking questions? Will you answer those for her? What
about the fact that she'll be the youngest one there? How will you explain that to her?"
"Admittedly, her youth is unusual. However, she would not start coursework until she met the
required age. You know as well as I that Hogwarts has certain protections that. . . ."
"That may hinder her own abilities. I'm sorry. No."
The problem, she thought, was that he never did get around to those explanations.
The second time she had seen Dumbledore had been three months ago. This time, it had been she
seeking him. After Geral's death, when she had been searching through his belongings for
something, anything, she had found the letter...the one she, true to form, had received shortly
after her eleventh birthday. She had read it, of course; Geral would never lie to her. He just
didn't always tell the whole truth. He had even asked her if she had wanted to attend.
"You could join them, you know," he had proposed. Of course, by that point, she knew she
couldn't. He had dropped hints, over the years, that there were more like them out there,
somewhere, but yet. . .they were different. They suspected people with her abilities. Their
power rested in objects outside themselves-the wands that were intricately linked to the fairy
tales of her childhood. They had lost certain. . .elements. Certain controls. Only the most
advanced had the concentration, the focus, to maintain their natural abilities without material
aids. . .of course, he had been right, she thought wryly. He had also been extremely manipulative.
She had run directly into his arms. "No," she said, "I couldn't."
With that, the matter was settled, and they had led a reasonably normal life. Christine had
attended Muggle schools, a Muggle university, even joined the Muggle military. The whole time,
she and Geral were careful to keep their secret, and her training, their own. No one suspected
anything-if she had an uncanny ability to read people's emotions, well, it was a result of her
degree in psychology. If she had a knack for escaping unscathed in dogfight after dogfight-well,
it was because she had a natural talent for the cockpit.
But then Geral had died, and Kevin shortly after, she pondered, and when someone loses both the
only parent they've really known and their husband so close to one another, it leads to a certain
period of seeking. . . .
So she had sought, and the letter was the most concrete pointer she found. She had read it,
re-read it, and wondered if, somewhere along the line, someone had a made a mistake that her
years of learning both Muggle and magical defenses couldn't fix. To her surprise, however,
Dumbledore had found her, even before she had decided to-
"Can I help you?" a scathing voice snapped, breaking her reverie. Mistake Number Two. Her head
swung down, eyes open, to stare upon a greasy-haired figure, thin, but wearing the black robes
of a Hogwarts professor. His sudden appearance made her try and step back; instead, her wet head
thudded against the door which stood directly behind her, and she let out a small gasp. Her mind
quickly built walls that time and effort had taught her to do instinctively, closing her expression.
His eyes stared sharply at her, like a mastiff a friend had owned who seemed like he would only
tolerate so many slip-ups before biting your hand off.
Regaining control, she took a deep breath, and put on her best diplomat face-the one Kevin joked
could launch a thousand treaties. "I have an appointment with Professor Dumbledore. If you could
point me towards his office, I'd greatly appreciate it."
The man looked at her with his eyebrows arched widely, and for a fleeting instant, she worried
that he wouldn't help her. Suddenly, he flung on his heel, and walked up the stairs. Christine
couldn't stop comparing him to her first advisor at the Academy, who made it a habit to do
whatever possible to throw freshmen off-balance. However, her time as the wife of an officer
had removed all possibility of intimidation by superiors, and the same concept would apply here
as well. She bounded the stairs two at a time till she found herself walking alongside him.
After a time of silence, Christine found herself in front of a gargoyle, to which the man turned
and said, "Chocolate Frogs." A door opened up to yet another staircase, which Christine took to
eagerly. A skeletal hand held her back. "Wait," the man said, and left her at the foot of the
staircase. Christine watched him depart, trying to think of exactly who he reminded her of.
It was only a few seconds later before a door at the top of the steps opened again, and
Dumbledore's form was outlined by the light behind him. His blue eyes twinkled as he spotted
her, and she impulsively ran up the stairs, throwing her arms about his neck. The other man
produced a snort of disbelief behind her.
"Professor Snape, if you would excuse us?" Dumbledore requested, guiding Christine into his
office.
Eyeing her with equal amounts of suspicion and dislike, Professor. . .Snape, was it? Glared
again at her and strode down the stairs. 'Friendly, isn't he. . .' she thought, when Dumbledore
interrupted.
"You'll find Professor Snape to be an invaluable resource for you, Ms. Fields. He is one of the
most superior potion makers on our side." Christine blushed, glanced down at Dumbledore's shoes,
noticed they were shocking green, and looks quickly back up again. Mentally kicking herself, she
remembered. Mistake Number Three-she had forgotten that Dumbledore's abilities paralleled hers
in many ways. Through years of training, both magically with Geral and by observation in class,
Christine prided herself on her ability to discern the thoughts of others. It wasn't telepathy,
or any ability to predict the future-she'd leave that to the better-qualified. No, this was far
more instinctive, an ability which had existed long before she'd met Dumbledore, or even Geral,
one which enabled her both mentally and by observation to discern emotions of others and thereby
appear, sometimes, to read minds. Or, she mused, he could just use some sort of magical telepathy.
She wouldn't know. She could only-
"Ms. Fields."
Mistake Number Four. This had to be some sort of record. "Sorry, sir."
"Understandable. If I may begin?"
She nodded.
keep reading!
***
Christine banged the enormous doors shut behind her, whipping off her scarf and pressing her
palms to her cheeks, in a futile effort to restore some warmth. How strange that she had
forgotten about Scottish winters in so short a time! Her bags-a trunk, large piece of issued
luggage, and two long cases of different shapes, lay on the floor at her feet, dripping water
onto the stone floors which formed the entry way. She stared up at the vaulted ceiling, then
across from her at one of many doors, staircases, and hallways she could choose. Having no
idea which to take, she leaned back against the huge doors and tried to decide how to find
the one individual here whom she knew.
Despite her years of experience with the impossible, meeting Albus Dumbledore had not been
what she had expected. It hadn't been the first time they had met, of course, but she had
been so young the first time that she only remembered bits and pieces. She recalled the look
on Geral's face more clearly than anyone else-an expression of both surprise and resolute
determination.
"I can train her," he had said. "It's what her father would have wanted."
That's when she had first started to pay attention.
"Perhaps. However, our first concern must be to keep her safe. Hogwarts is really the best
place for her-I assure you, she'll be under my personal protection."
"No. Absolutely not. We haven't avoided other wizards for all this time for no reason,
Dumbledore. Besides, attending Hogwarts didn't save her parents."
The other man-older, with a wild beard, blinked slowly, but didn't break his gaze.
"Unfortunately, no. As you well know, training alone is not enough in certain. . .situations.
However, her enrollment at Hogwarts would provide her with a wider range of. . . ."
"Opportunities?? She doesn't need opportunities. She needs to be able to survive!"
Dumbledore's face hardened slightly. "She does...or you do? Is this a conversation about
her future, or your past?"
Geral sank back into his chair. "I've come to terms with my past-which is what she'll need
to do. What happens when she starts asking questions? Will you answer those for her? What
about the fact that she'll be the youngest one there? How will you explain that to her?"
"Admittedly, her youth is unusual. However, she would not start coursework until she met the
required age. You know as well as I that Hogwarts has certain protections that. . . ."
"That may hinder her own abilities. I'm sorry. No."
The problem, she thought, was that he never did get around to those explanations.
The second time she had seen Dumbledore had been three months ago. This time, it had been she
seeking him. After Geral's death, when she had been searching through his belongings for
something, anything, she had found the letter...the one she, true to form, had received shortly
after her eleventh birthday. She had read it, of course; Geral would never lie to her. He just
didn't always tell the whole truth. He had even asked her if she had wanted to attend.
"You could join them, you know," he had proposed. Of course, by that point, she knew she
couldn't. He had dropped hints, over the years, that there were more like them out there,
somewhere, but yet. . .they were different. They suspected people with her abilities. Their
power rested in objects outside themselves-the wands that were intricately linked to the fairy
tales of her childhood. They had lost certain. . .elements. Certain controls. Only the most
advanced had the concentration, the focus, to maintain their natural abilities without material
aids. . .of course, he had been right, she thought wryly. He had also been extremely manipulative.
She had run directly into his arms. "No," she said, "I couldn't."
With that, the matter was settled, and they had led a reasonably normal life. Christine had
attended Muggle schools, a Muggle university, even joined the Muggle military. The whole time,
she and Geral were careful to keep their secret, and her training, their own. No one suspected
anything-if she had an uncanny ability to read people's emotions, well, it was a result of her
degree in psychology. If she had a knack for escaping unscathed in dogfight after dogfight-well,
it was because she had a natural talent for the cockpit.
But then Geral had died, and Kevin shortly after, she pondered, and when someone loses both the
only parent they've really known and their husband so close to one another, it leads to a certain
period of seeking. . . .
So she had sought, and the letter was the most concrete pointer she found. She had read it,
re-read it, and wondered if, somewhere along the line, someone had a made a mistake that her
years of learning both Muggle and magical defenses couldn't fix. To her surprise, however,
Dumbledore had found her, even before she had decided to-
"Can I help you?" a scathing voice snapped, breaking her reverie. Mistake Number Two. Her head
swung down, eyes open, to stare upon a greasy-haired figure, thin, but wearing the black robes
of a Hogwarts professor. His sudden appearance made her try and step back; instead, her wet head
thudded against the door which stood directly behind her, and she let out a small gasp. Her mind
quickly built walls that time and effort had taught her to do instinctively, closing her expression.
His eyes stared sharply at her, like a mastiff a friend had owned who seemed like he would only
tolerate so many slip-ups before biting your hand off.
Regaining control, she took a deep breath, and put on her best diplomat face-the one Kevin joked
could launch a thousand treaties. "I have an appointment with Professor Dumbledore. If you could
point me towards his office, I'd greatly appreciate it."
The man looked at her with his eyebrows arched widely, and for a fleeting instant, she worried
that he wouldn't help her. Suddenly, he flung on his heel, and walked up the stairs. Christine
couldn't stop comparing him to her first advisor at the Academy, who made it a habit to do
whatever possible to throw freshmen off-balance. However, her time as the wife of an officer
had removed all possibility of intimidation by superiors, and the same concept would apply here
as well. She bounded the stairs two at a time till she found herself walking alongside him.
After a time of silence, Christine found herself in front of a gargoyle, to which the man turned
and said, "Chocolate Frogs." A door opened up to yet another staircase, which Christine took to
eagerly. A skeletal hand held her back. "Wait," the man said, and left her at the foot of the
staircase. Christine watched him depart, trying to think of exactly who he reminded her of.
It was only a few seconds later before a door at the top of the steps opened again, and
Dumbledore's form was outlined by the light behind him. His blue eyes twinkled as he spotted
her, and she impulsively ran up the stairs, throwing her arms about his neck. The other man
produced a snort of disbelief behind her.
"Professor Snape, if you would excuse us?" Dumbledore requested, guiding Christine into his
office.
Eyeing her with equal amounts of suspicion and dislike, Professor. . .Snape, was it? Glared
again at her and strode down the stairs. 'Friendly, isn't he. . .' she thought, when Dumbledore
interrupted.
"You'll find Professor Snape to be an invaluable resource for you, Ms. Fields. He is one of the
most superior potion makers on our side." Christine blushed, glanced down at Dumbledore's shoes,
noticed they were shocking green, and looks quickly back up again. Mentally kicking herself, she
remembered. Mistake Number Three-she had forgotten that Dumbledore's abilities paralleled hers
in many ways. Through years of training, both magically with Geral and by observation in class,
Christine prided herself on her ability to discern the thoughts of others. It wasn't telepathy,
or any ability to predict the future-she'd leave that to the better-qualified. No, this was far
more instinctive, an ability which had existed long before she'd met Dumbledore, or even Geral,
one which enabled her both mentally and by observation to discern emotions of others and thereby
appear, sometimes, to read minds. Or, she mused, he could just use some sort of magical telepathy.
She wouldn't know. She could only-
"Ms. Fields."
Mistake Number Four. This had to be some sort of record. "Sorry, sir."
"Understandable. If I may begin?"
She nodded.