Chapter 2: Memories from the past

Peter took a deep breath, 'Is the name of the school Hogwarts by any chance and is it located in a castle in the far North of Britain close to a wizard village called Hogsmeade? Does one get there by riding a purple train that leaves Charring Cross Station on platform 9 ¾? Are there four houses in that school called Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin and do the children really play rugby on broomsticks?', he asked quietly.

Now it was Dumbledore's turn to be dumbfounded and a look of utter bewilderment crossed his face. 'The train leaves from King's Cross and the game is called Quidditch, not Rugby', he said in an almost toneless voice, trying to regain his composure, 'but no muggle is supposed to know the school even exists, let alone all the details you mentioned. I'm warning you Peter, you might be in great danger, if other wizards beside myself ever find out that you possess this knowledge, especially members of the current Ministry of Magic. You might easily find yourself waking up one morning with all your memory gone. The wizarding community abhors nothing more than muggles discovering their secrets. So tell me, how did you come by this information? I could make you tell me everything you know, believe me', he added quietly after a brief pause, 'but I'd rather you told me of your own free will....'

'Well, Peter Parkinson is only my adopted name, my real name is Lord...., well that name is really no concern of yours, Albus, so I will just leave it out. I was born in 1919 on our family estate in Devon. It was a huge place. We had a butler, two chauffeurs, several dozen staff, gamekeepers. You know, the whole lot that went with a now rapidly-disappearing lifestyle. Both my brothers, who were much older than me, got killed in the Great War, one went down with his ship at Jutland and the other was listed as missing in action somewhere near Ypres. I don't know, whether my parents had me to make up for the loss or for some other reason, but it proved too much for my mother. Died the night I was born, so I never knew her. My father was a strict but rather nice man and I did get along fairly well with him -when he was on the estate that is- but we never became really close. He was one of these people who essentially lived in the last century and never managed to cope with what had happened between 1914 and 1918 and the subsequent collapse of their accustomed world. He finally died in my first year at Cambridge, must have been in '38 right after this Austrian business. My pre-school education on the estate was entrusted to a constantly changing host of mostly foreign instructors who lived with us and whom I loathed to a man. My father stayed mostly at our London apartment at that time, idling away the days at his club and if I saw him ten days at Christmas out of the entire year, I considered myself fortunate. I became a loner and a roamer, made friends with the gamekeeper's children and went hiding in the woods for days in a row on several occasions. Had the entire staff frantically searching for me, which did not exactly increase my popularity with them....

To cut a long story short, those were very miserable years for me, I was very lonely and had no-one to trust. This went on until I was about 9 or 10 years old, must have been the summer of '29 or '30. The village's midwife had retired the previous winter and one day a young woman in her late twenties showed up and applied for the job. After the parson and the village teacher had pronounced her capable to fill the vacancy, she went up to the big house one day, when my father was there. He could not have cared less who was village midwife but that was what tradition required and so he endorsed the parson's recommendation, glad that at least this problem was taken off his back.

Her name was Jenny Jameson and after a couple of weeks, she had acquired quite a reputation in the parish. Infant mortality dropped to exactly zero from the day she started and people from our parish and even neighbouring ones soon came to her with all kinds of ailments. I discovered later that she must have performed medical miracles, which would have astonished the very best physicians in Harley Street. She was mending broken bones within two hours and had cured at least forty people from tuberculosis and ten from cancer. True, some things about her were a bit odd, she kept a large toad for a pet, for instance, and if the villagers wondered how she managed to assist at one birth in a distant corner of the parish and turn up on the opposite end for a new one only seconds later, they kept it to themselves. They were quite satisfied to have her, at least the common people were, and I suppose the only one a bit disgruntled was the old parish doctor Lindsey who kept losing patients to her with the exception of all the 'educated' people of course....

As a lonely boy of 10, I didn't care about these things, however. What I did care about was the fact that I had found a true friend for the first time in my life. She could not have been there for more than a week, when I walked down the village street past her cottage where she was working in the garden. She had a slim built, blonde hair and brown eyes and I thought her exceedingly pretty. Looking up at me, she smiled and invited me in for the first time. Jenny fed me tea and cookies and let me play with her toad while she bustled around the house, which gleamed and blinked from tidiness. While working, she was telling me an interesting story about a dragon, a Common Welsh Green she called it, that had some centuries ago refused to fight the knights sent against it but tried to make friends with them instead.

I soon found out that she knew more stories about witches, wizards, elves, fairies, goblins, ghosts and dragons than I dared imagine and she shared them with me on every occasion. Every once in a while, I would pest her on where she had learnt all this, but she only laughed and replied that before her training in nursing at St. Mungo's, she had been the best student in History of Magic at Hogwarts. Hearing this answer, I thought she was pulling my leg and got angry, even walked out on her once, but I kept coming back before long, of course, because I had grown very fond of her.

In the beginning, she was very careful not to give herself away. She did all things nice and proper like washing the dishes the normal way and the same was true for her cooking. Still, I could not help but notice that sometimes she had been busy plucking a chicken or pheasant, when I walked out to fetch some wood for the stove and when I came back in after two minutes or so, the bird was already in the oven about ready to be eaten. After dinner, we would sit next to the fireplace and roast marshmallows while she told me one of her fascinating stories and often I got so scared that I did not dare walk back to the manor alone, especially when she had been telling me about giants, dragons or dark wizards. Then, she would fetch a lantern, wrap her hand around my shoulder and walk me through the village and up to the gates. Those were the happiest moments of my life up till then - actually the happiest ones ever', he added after a pause. 'I adored her clean, healthy smell and would have given a limb for these walks to go on forever.

Some weeks later, I asked her, whether I could not stay with her for good, since nobody up at the hall seemed to care for me anyway. I at once knew I had touched a nerve there, because she looked up from the fire and two big tears were rolling down her cheeks. At first, she would have none of it, but finally she gave in and asked Caruthers the butler, whether I could sleep over occasionally. Caruthers was glad for every hour, I did not interfere with his smooth running of the household and gave his permission most gladly. I went into my savings and bribed him with two guineas not to mention the whole affair to Monsieur d'Alembert, my French teacher at that time. Since all d'Alembert cared about was being paid regularly in addition to myself showing up for classes on time (so he could write flattering letters to my father in London exaggerating my academic progress), I did what was necessary to keep him happy and I don't think he ever found out.

So she prepared a little downstairs bedroom for me with blue-chequered blankets on a comfortable old bed. She still told me stories mostly, but sometimes we would now talk about others things, too, for I was a very sensitive boy and soon found out that there was a sadness about her, though she never mentioned the reason for it. One afternoon, she was unusually silent, and her red eyes gave away that she had been crying before I had come down to her cottage after my lessons. Nothing I could say or do seemed to cheer her up, so I finally simply walked up to her, hugged her and told her in clumsy children words how much she meant to me. At first, I thought I had done something wrong, for she broke down completely and sobbed for what appeared at least to me a very long time. Finally she blew her nose into a big red handkerchief, dried her eyes and looked up to me from where she sat.

'You know, Peter, my dead sister had a little boy called Tom and today is his birthday and I don't even know where he is right now, nor whether he is even alive!' and she cried again. I was too shocked to answer and just kept staring at her, when she continued. 'She fell in love with a mu...-, a gentlemen from her village and they had a son. They were quite happy, but when he found out something about her, he left her and went back to his parents. She gave birth to Tom in some wretched hospital, quite alone and without any friends, and died the same night. Don't ask me what it was that made the man leave her, for I cannot tell you', she said after she saw my curious stare. 'Later I heard that the people in the hospital had sent the boy straight to an orphanage. The thought of him being unhappy there is more than I can bear, and often I can't sleep and stay awake thinking of him, for I am his only living relative on his mother's side and he can expect nothing from his father's'

'He could stay here with you', I suggested naively, 'after all I am staying with you, we could become friends and play together.' (Of course I hoped, this would not happen, since I did not want to share her with anybody, on the other hand, I did not want to see her so sad, either.).

'Well, for once, you would find him a bit dull', she said, a forced smile crossing her face for the first time, 'because today is only his third birthday. Besides, there are other much more complicated problems, you are much too young to understand. I would love to bring him here and raise him myself, but the people at the orphanage would definitely not give him to me', she sighed. 'There is a letter written by his grandfather…….', her voice trailed off.

She could see that these words had hurt my feelings, so she got up and suggested a long walk in the woods to find us some mushrooms for dinner. We had just gotten ready to leave, when an old man  knocked on the door, telling her of a woman in labour in the next village and she had to leave in a hurry. This had happened several times before and on these occasions, I would prepare some sandwiches and tea and wait for her return, reading a book in front of the fireplace.

She was back around midnight and very grateful for the little meal, I had prepared. Said she was sorry for our walk and promised to get up very early the next morning, so we could go for it before I had to return to the manor for my classes. I expect, she still thought about her nephew that night and could not go to sleep and the same happened to me because I lay awake wondering what the thing was, she would not tell me anything about. Finally, I must have dozed off... Waking up several hours later, I realized immediately that something was gravely wrong. Yawning and still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I looked at the clock on the wall of my room and saw that it was 10 o'clock in the morning! My teacher would skin me alive! I jumped out of bed, rushed up the stairs and frantically knocked on Jenny's door, shouting "Jenny UP, UP Jenny, we overslept, oh please do get UP!". Up to this day, I don't know what exactly happened, but I heard a swishing sound and incredulously watched Jenny's broom shoot from his accustomed place in the broom cupboard, fly up the stairs and right into my outstretched hand. I looked at it for a few seconds, then dropped the broom as if it were made of red-hot iron and began to scream at the top of my voice.

Several seconds later, Jenny, still in her nightgown and yawning, opened the door and looked at me terror-struck, obviously thinking someone was roasting me alive. It took her several moments to take in the scene, then she started to laugh. This reaction struck me as so odd that I immediately stopped hollering and looked at her dumbfounded. She laughed so hard that her entire body seemed to shake and she was gasping for breath. 'Oh, Peter, and I tried so hard to hide it from you....., and look what happens! You have so much magic in you that a broom locked in a broom cupboard on the ground floor will fly right into your hand! Are you aware that you would normally need a very strong summoning charm to do that? Usually, a wizard or witch needs to stand right above the broom for the simple "Up" command to work.'

Exultingly, she picked up the broom, rushed down the stairs, opened the front door and placed the broom on the front porch. 'Let's try it once more', she said excitedly, 'Oh, this is just wonderful! Now, hold your hand out, think of the broom and shout 'Up!''. I was still too puzzled to argue, did as I was told and yelled "Up!". The result was even more striking than before. The broom did not bother with opening the door this time, it crashed right through the window, sped up the stairs and was in my hand before I could blink an eye.

'Unbelievable!', muttered Jenny. Let's try something else!' She reached into her nightgown, produced what was undoubtedly a wizard's wand and handed it to me. 'It might not work too well for you, since it is my wand, but we will give it a try. Now, listen, one of the first things young wizards learn is to make objects fly. The spell is 'Wingardium Leviosa', you point your wand at the thing you want to make fly like this, swish it like that and say the words. Try that bowl of apples on the table first.'

We descended the stairs and stopped in front of the old wooden table. I had grown so excited, I couldn't wait. Pointing the wand at the table, I shouted "Wingardium Leviosa" at the top of my voice. I had not aimed too well, but the result was even more impressive than I had hoped for, since the heavy oak table, which must have weighed at least 500 pounds, slowly started to rise into the air and stopped hovering at about 4 feet above the ground. 'You can control it with your wand', said Jenny excitedly, and I managed to make the table do a half somersault in the air with the wand. The fruit bowl fell to the ground of course, causing me to lose control of the table as well and it crashed upside down to the floor with a deafening thud.

Taking the wand from me, Jenny made it hover again and turned it back up. After this, she repaired the broken window by another flick of her wand. 'That's quite enough', she said, 'strictly speaking you are not supposed to do that and I am not supposed to let you, since no unqualified young wizard is allowed to do magic outside the Hogwarts grounds, besides we need to talk! But first, I will tidy up and cook us some breakfast. You wait here!' She was back in an instant and took her usual seat at the table opposite to mine. 'Peter, you have got powerful magic in you, even though both your parents are apparently muggles, which is what we call people without magical powers', she added. Then, she went on to tell me about Hogwarts and her own days at the school, while I listened fascinated with only one thought in my mind -to attend this school myself....

Peter has stopped, his lower lip was trembling now and there was a strange glitter in his eyes. Dumbledore looked kindly on him. 'Well, you know, the end was rather sad' , Peter almost choked. 'We agreed that she would talk to my father about Hogwarts, since it was time to think of a boarding school for me anyway. True to her word, she went up to the hall next time he was there and believe it or not, the old man heard her out. He was big on family history, you know, even told her that one of my ancestors in the Tudor era had supposedly been a wizard. He agreed to think the matter over and let her know.

But then things turned sour. He went back to London and met a chap at his club named Riddle, a most unpleasant fellow, who had made his money as a war profiteer. Though father detested him, this Riddle put it in his head that wizards and magic were dangerous for normal humans, hinted darkly that he knew what he was talking about and that Jenny, in particular, was a very bad influence on me, though he would not elaborate on that point. He urged my father to see to it that I stopped having anything to do with her. Well, the old fox did exactly that and very clever he went about it, too. He sent me a cable and I took a train to visit him in London the next day. Meanwhile, he had instructed Caruthers to give Jenny a 24 hours notice on the lease of her cottage and threaten her with the police and the name "Riddle", if she made trouble. Kicking and screaming, he then took me on a trip to France and Germany and in the fall I was shipped off to Harrow instead of Hogwarts. When I returned to the manor after my first term, she was gone and I never saw her again and that's the end of it. The new life at school took all my attention, I had friends my own age for the first time, did very well in my studies and later went on to Cambridge. Then, the war started and I have been in the thick of things ever since 1940! In fact, I had almost forgotten this whole affair, when these inexplicable things started happening in France and Belgium last year.'

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. 'I will have to think very long and carefully about what you just told me, Jenny Jameson was her name, you said? I don't remember her as a student, but somehow the name "Jameson" rings a bell.' He was deep in thought for several seconds.

'Oh yes', he sighed sadly, 'I am very sorry to tell you this, but a witch named Jenny Jameson was found dead about a year ago in Essex and the Ministry is still clueless as to what happened to her. All we know is that she was killed by a curse that has been outlawed in the wizard world ever since 1840!'

Peter suddenly looked very upset and clenched the handle of his chair so tightly that his hands turned white. To distract him, Dumbledore asked kindly: 'Just out of curiosity, do you think you could still do it, I mean magic?', he added quietly. 'Why not?', replied Peter, glad for a change of subject, 'but I don't have a wand.' 'That can be mended', replied Dumbledore smiling, handing him his own. To his own astonishment, Peter made Dumbledore's Whisky tumbler hover off the table with such ease that Dumbledore gave him a surprised look. 'You know, Peter, you would have made a great and powerful wizard, if you had been able to attend Hogwarts. Your case appears actually quite unique. I bet, there hasn't been a wizard of your potential in the past 500 years, who has escaped Hogwarts' attention. I will definitely have to see, whether we can do something about that, but alas, it must wait for now. Since you have been so frank with me, I will be as frank with you, but it is rather a long tale because I must take you through almost a 1000 years of wizard history'. Glad for the distraction, Peter did not mind that in the least and listened attentively as Dumbledore began his story.