The parchment was heavy in the young boy's hand as he struggled to unwrap
the letter confined within. Carelessly breaking apart the wax seal, he let
the thick volume fall heavily onto his lap.
This was the moment he had been waiting for, for almost his entirety. He was eleven-years-old, and already with a lifelong dream. Albus Dumbledore wanted to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
His small, pale hands shook as he struggled to unfold the heavy letter, on which his name was inscribed in luminous emerald ink.
Albus was small, and skinny for his age, but what he lacked in size, he made up for in knowledge and strength. With wand, or potion, the boy could work wonders, and he never though twice about helping someone in need. His hair spanned to his waist, long and white-blond, usually left to hang by its own accord, though sometimes tied back, when Albus was working. His brother, Aberforth, was exactly the opposite.
Tall, dark, and self-obsessed, Aberforth, now fourteen-years-old, was admired by all. His dark, black hair flowed to his shoulders, where, usually, it was tied back with a blue ribboning or a simple strip of twine.
His face was long and tan, his skin equally dark, and his muscles evenly distributed. Though the boy was ambidextrous, he wouldn't have known, for all that he never picked up a quill if he could help it. Pride and joy of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, Aberforth got away with slacking, quite unfairly, in Albus' opinion.
The letter was tearstained and the ink was running just a few hours later. "I'm so proud of you, Albus!" the boy's weeping mother exclaimed, hugging her son to her chest. Aberforth, who's robes the boys' mother was tailoring, stood aloofly to the side, a lopsided grin on his face.
Mary Lillith Dumbledore was usually a quiet woman, never vain, nor conceded. Her hair was grayed, and her bright, blue eyes shone like sapphires to illuminate her careworn features. A widow, and a muggle-born, Mary cherished her sons like no one has ever cherished their children. Because they reminded her of their late father, because all of her wrongs were made right in them, or both, no one would ever know.
"You're a born Ravenclaw, you know," Aberforth said later that day, as Albus rooted through the list of things that he needed to buy for school.
"What makes you say that?" Albus demanded with a sigh, placing the list down on his bed. "I was rather hoping to be a Gryffindor, like you."
"Because you're practically a budding genius, Albus." Aberforth replied with a shrug. "And even if you have a speck of a chance at getting into Gryffindor, you wouldn't even begin to compare to me."
"Nor would I want to," Albus grumbled, watching his brother tie his fine hair back with a glorious blue ribbon. "What does being smart have to do with getting into Ravenclaw?" the boy asked, peering down at his acceptance letter through his small, reading spectacles.
"Simple," Aberforth said with a half-smile. "All of the smart ones were Ravenclaw. It's said that it was Rowena Ravenclaw herself who thought up the idea of founding Hogwarts, you know."
"Actually, it was Slytherin and Gryffindor's idea.I read it in Hogwarts, a History." Albus said brightly, reaching down under his bed and returning with a large, leather-bound book.
"Yes, yes.you're definatley going to be a Ravenclaw, my dear brother." Aberforth said with a laugh. "Anyone your age who reads books like that is bound to get somewhere.even if people resent you for it."
Albus looked up sharply, his spectacles slipping off the bridge of his nose and landing with a tinkering sound on the hard, wooden floor. The sound of the door closing with a snap alerted him of his brother's leave.
"Aberforth, wait!" He cried, tripping on his bed coverings as he struggled to reach the door. "What do you mean they'll resent me for it? Aberforth!" Reaching the door, the boy wrenched it open, only to face an empty hallway. His brother had gone. "I don't understand." Albus muttered to the nothingness of the hall.
This was the moment he had been waiting for, for almost his entirety. He was eleven-years-old, and already with a lifelong dream. Albus Dumbledore wanted to go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
His small, pale hands shook as he struggled to unfold the heavy letter, on which his name was inscribed in luminous emerald ink.
Albus was small, and skinny for his age, but what he lacked in size, he made up for in knowledge and strength. With wand, or potion, the boy could work wonders, and he never though twice about helping someone in need. His hair spanned to his waist, long and white-blond, usually left to hang by its own accord, though sometimes tied back, when Albus was working. His brother, Aberforth, was exactly the opposite.
Tall, dark, and self-obsessed, Aberforth, now fourteen-years-old, was admired by all. His dark, black hair flowed to his shoulders, where, usually, it was tied back with a blue ribboning or a simple strip of twine.
His face was long and tan, his skin equally dark, and his muscles evenly distributed. Though the boy was ambidextrous, he wouldn't have known, for all that he never picked up a quill if he could help it. Pride and joy of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, Aberforth got away with slacking, quite unfairly, in Albus' opinion.
The letter was tearstained and the ink was running just a few hours later. "I'm so proud of you, Albus!" the boy's weeping mother exclaimed, hugging her son to her chest. Aberforth, who's robes the boys' mother was tailoring, stood aloofly to the side, a lopsided grin on his face.
Mary Lillith Dumbledore was usually a quiet woman, never vain, nor conceded. Her hair was grayed, and her bright, blue eyes shone like sapphires to illuminate her careworn features. A widow, and a muggle-born, Mary cherished her sons like no one has ever cherished their children. Because they reminded her of their late father, because all of her wrongs were made right in them, or both, no one would ever know.
"You're a born Ravenclaw, you know," Aberforth said later that day, as Albus rooted through the list of things that he needed to buy for school.
"What makes you say that?" Albus demanded with a sigh, placing the list down on his bed. "I was rather hoping to be a Gryffindor, like you."
"Because you're practically a budding genius, Albus." Aberforth replied with a shrug. "And even if you have a speck of a chance at getting into Gryffindor, you wouldn't even begin to compare to me."
"Nor would I want to," Albus grumbled, watching his brother tie his fine hair back with a glorious blue ribbon. "What does being smart have to do with getting into Ravenclaw?" the boy asked, peering down at his acceptance letter through his small, reading spectacles.
"Simple," Aberforth said with a half-smile. "All of the smart ones were Ravenclaw. It's said that it was Rowena Ravenclaw herself who thought up the idea of founding Hogwarts, you know."
"Actually, it was Slytherin and Gryffindor's idea.I read it in Hogwarts, a History." Albus said brightly, reaching down under his bed and returning with a large, leather-bound book.
"Yes, yes.you're definatley going to be a Ravenclaw, my dear brother." Aberforth said with a laugh. "Anyone your age who reads books like that is bound to get somewhere.even if people resent you for it."
Albus looked up sharply, his spectacles slipping off the bridge of his nose and landing with a tinkering sound on the hard, wooden floor. The sound of the door closing with a snap alerted him of his brother's leave.
"Aberforth, wait!" He cried, tripping on his bed coverings as he struggled to reach the door. "What do you mean they'll resent me for it? Aberforth!" Reaching the door, the boy wrenched it open, only to face an empty hallway. His brother had gone. "I don't understand." Albus muttered to the nothingness of the hall.
