Chapter 2

As he put the kettle on to boil, the boy whose name was Albus Dumbledore watched Nicolas Flamel carefully. He sat back, seemingly at ease in their poor house, sitting on one of the hard chairs as if it was almost luxurious.

"Who are you?" Albus mused, not meaning to say it aloud.

Flamel looked amused at the question.

"I am the richest man in the world."

"Why are you in our house then? Sir."

"To see you."

"But I'm – poor…"

"And?"

Flamel regarded him with cool brown eyes. Something in his eyes was – affectionate, almost, as if he'd just found an old friend.

"Give a rich man time, Albus, and he'll discover that his riches are worth very little indeed."

"How much time?" That was a foolish question, he scolded himself. And not particularly respectful, even if he wasn't the richest man in the world. Flamel, however, gave a mischievious grin.

"About a hundred and fifty years should do it."

"No one could live that long."

"I have – and longer."

Another madman? But Flamel seemed, although odd, somehow sane. Maybe he was testing? Who was he?

Flamel seemed bored of waiting for a response. "Have you got a coin, young Albus?" Reluctantly, Albus felt around in his pockets, and reached for the smallest coin he could find. He held it out.

"Ah," Flamel said approvingly. "A farthing – worth only the quarter of a penny."

"I know my arithmetic, sir," Albus said, somewhat offended at this bland statement of the obvious.

"Aah, you may make an Arithmancer – but back to the farthing." Flamel reached into a pocket and produced a hand lens. He held it to the lamp and a shaft of light came through it.

"A single beam of light, do you see?" Albus nodded.

Flamel took a large jewel from another pocket, and placed it so the shaft of light shone through it.

"Place your farthing in the beam."

Light seemed to eat into the dulled metal of the coin, surprising Albus so much he dropped it. Flamel nudged it towards the beam again, and as he did so, Albus saw that part of the coin had turned yellow. In a few more seconds, the whole coin had turned the same, shining brown-yellow colour. Flamel handed the farthing back to him.

"That's the most expensive farthing you will ever own."

It was – gold?

"How…"

"The Philosopher's Stone…" Flamel tossed the jewel in his hand with a bizarre air of carelessness. "Gold from base metals, and immortality."

"That's impossible," Albus said flatly, having forgotten his manners entirely with the shock.

"Don't you believe in magic?"

"I…" Albus stopped. Flamel smiled again, this time the smile of one who knows he knows more than you do, and loves it. A rich man's smile – he had returned to the universe Albus knew, at least.

"My mama sent that letter to you, didn't she?"

"Ah, so you did read it."

Albus squirmed suddenly. To agree would be a lie as much as a denial would, yet he hardly felt predisposed to confess his shame to a stranger.

"I… glanced at it."

"Actually she did not send the letter to me – I was shown it by the true recipient. But we will discuss that later…"

The true what? Albus was unwilling to show his ignorance, but had to wonder if he'd missed something vital about whoever it was his mother had sent the letter to.

The kettle made its shrill whistle, and his mother made a few low groans as she began to awaken – he spooned extra tea into the teapot and collected the kettle from its place.

"Allie, why were you boiling the kettle?" she moaned, still half-awake.

She sat up, and saw Flamel sitting in the chair. Albus looked at him, and saw him to be wearing an expression of consternation.

"Hello Isabelle."

*

Isabelle Dumbledore had met Nicolas Flamel only once before, and that was a decade ago. Curiously enough, he was unchanged, even dressing in a similar archaic fashion.

She felt exposed and vulnerable, as dressed down as she was, wearing only a loose gown for sleeping in. He didn't even look uncomfortable. Hastily, she pulled a shawl around her.

"I…" She wasn't going to play the poor girl, not bow to his riches, and neither was she going to act ashamed for being a Muggle next to so great a wizard. Aurelius would only win that way.

"I expected Aurelius," she said.

"He didn't want to come." Abrupt, and obviously true. Aurelius didn't want to see riches to rags, like some perverse fairytale or reverse alchemy.

"Even now, he doesn't care?"

"He doesn't know whether to care."

Isabelle saw her son staring at them in mild disbelief. Bewilderment. Flamel hadn't explained, obviously.

"Albus, pour the tea," she murmured. She rarely used his full name – he had picked it, after all. She didn't know why she used it now.

Obediently, her son poured the tea into three cups. Isabelle almost hoped that Flamel would find it bitter, and be shocked by the poorness of it. He drank it as if it were nectar.

"Do you tire of being rich now?" she asked him snappily.

"Isabelle?" Confusion. She had never really spoken to him, and besides, things had been very different before. Because of his love for Aurelius, she was sure he hated her. Yet he appeared to care for her son, and that was a good thing.

"Why are you here?"

"To do what Aurelius won't. To meet this son of yours. He'll go to Hogwarts, you know, and in the mean time I'd like to invite you both to live with me."

Albus's jaw dropped – the boy tended to be a bit dreamy but he wasn't stupid, he knew what living with Flamel meant almost as well as Isabelle did. But he didn't know about Hogwarts.

"Allie," she began. "I had better explain. You're a wizard."

He swallowed, and nodded. "I know."

Flamel looked at him interestedly. "Accepted it so soon?"

"I – I'm not a proper wizard, I can't do spells and things, but sometimes…"

"Strange things happen," Flamel supplied. "Young wizards, especially when untrained, cannot control or focus their power. It just comes out. You will learn how to do spells, and brew potions, and other things as well. I should imagine that in a few months you will receive your letter from Hogwarts school, asking you to attend. Perhaps I had better explain from the beginning…"

*

Albus's head was swimming. He had been told his father was a wizard, but they had not been sure if he was one until he had told his mother about the incident with Bobby Green. He had been told that Hogwarts was a school for people like him, where they learned how to say spells, brew potions, and even ride broomsticks. However, details had been carefully glossed over. Why had his father left in the first place? Flamel had told him a little of the Dark Arts, and various dark wizards – Albus wondered if perhaps there was some secret reason to do with this why his father had gone and never returned. He felt uneasy.

Flamel produced a small pot. "I took the liberty of adding you to the Floo network before I arrived. I Apparated, naturally, but this is a method even Muggles can use." Albus's mother gave Flamel a curt nod. He tossed a little powder into the flames – Albus gasped as they changed colour.

"Would you like to go first, Isabelle? Northcote Manor."

She stepped into the fire, after only a moment's hesitation, and with not even the slightest glimpse of fear. She had done this before. Albus felt as if his mother had somehow turned into someone else, someone who navigated this strange and disturbing new world with ease. It was the world of the stories she had told him, and she was transformed.

He gasped when she vanished, suddenly anxious that Flamel had in fact played a horrible trick. But his mouth was dry, and when he opened it to voice his concerns, Nicolas Flamel was nudging him towards the flames. Caught in indecision, Albus allowed himself to be guided into the unnatural fire. "Say 'Northcote Manor' loud and clear," Flamel instructed, his tone inexorable. Albus took a deep breath.

"Northcote Manor."

*

He was alive. And more, he was standing in a palace, with tiny servants scuttling all over. The place seethed with riches, gold and silver, tapestries and drapes… He was standing in a massive hallway with impossibly shiny marble paving, over which was laid a rug woven out of a thousand colours - and for a moment he thought he was surrounded by people, and then he saw that the walls were covered with portraits that moved…

One of the servants was carefully brushing him down. The servant was smaller than him, and not a person at all, but a wide-eyed creature. His mother was, once again, taking it all in her stride; Albus was taken aback as she commanded at one of the creatures, ordering it to get clean clothes for the both of them. She was never so direct, not even to beggars who bothered her when she could barely spare a farthing. Then she saw her son's face, and her stony expression instantly melted.

"Oh Allie," she said. "We're safe."

Her tone was relieved. But he couldn't feel safe, and he felt infinitely better when her motherly instinct caused her to reach for his hand, even if he was too old for that now.

Nicolas Flamel appeared. One moment there had been a space, and there next there was Nicolas Flamel.

A slow gentle smile appeared on his face as he regarded Albus's awed expression. Then it transformed into a smirk, then a grin, and he was a rich man again.

"Welcome, friends, to my home." He paused. "One of my homes," he added. Albus's mouth dropped open, but Isabelle merely scowled. "Allow the House Elves to show you to your rooms."

The creatures led Albus and his mother up staircases and corridors, leading them to two rooms that were the size of houses. It appeared they were to be separated.

"This is your room, Mistress Isabelle," one of the creatures squeaked to his mother, whilst another tugged his sleeve.

His mother kissed him, now completely at ease and seemingly oblivious to his own bewilderment. "If you need anything Allie, you know where I am."

"But…"

She gave a gentle smile. "You're perfectly safe. I'll see you in the morning."

She deserted him. Albus was led into a room, with a mountainous looking bed, and a shiny table that had a knife and fork on it. The creature tapped the table, and a plate of steaming food appeared.

"Master Albus should make himself comfortable."

Then the creature vanished. He was alone. His mother said he was safe, but… Nothing here was right. It was all surreal make-believe, but this wasn't a dream, so what was it? Although the food on the table smelled delicious, he didn't believe that he could eat anything. Instead, he kicked off his shoes, scaled the massive bed, and crawled under the covers, hoping that the morning would bring some sort of reality.

*

Albus awoke, and was immediately scolded by one of the creatures - a House Elf? - for leaving his food and for sleeping in his clothes. He was rendered speechless by this small squealing thing, and could barely utter a syllable before it motioned to some clothes that had not been there the day before, and scurried away.

The clothes were obviously expensive, and after washing, Albus put them on very slowly and carefully to avoid so much as crinkling them. They fit him perfectly, and observing himself in a looking-glass, he was startled to see that they completely changed his appearance. The alley boys would never have recognised him, they would have offered to polish his shoes and begged him for a penny. The image made Albus chuckle, and although still uneasy, he felt a little better. After dressing, he went to go find his mother only to discover her room was empty, and clean as if it had never been occupied. Seized with panic, he stalked the labyrinthine corridors hoping to find her, only to get hopelessly lost. In his bewilderment the day before, he had failed to notice the route they had taken.

Luckily for him, he saw another House Elf, who swiftly directed him to follow it. He was lead into a massive dining hall, with a long table. At the end of it sat Nicolas Flamel and a stately lady, and Flamel smiled and called for him to sit down.

As he did so, breakfast appeared in front of him.

"Eat up," said Flamel magnanimously. Tentatively, Albus reach for the cutlery. Then he recalled the original objective of his search.

"Where's Mama?"

"She has been up many hours, so I allowed her to peruse the library. Your mother was a great scholar when I knew her, Albus, and it appears she would like to continue from where she had to abandon her studies."

Once again, he had made an uncomfortable reference to a version of his mother that Albus didn't know.

"May I see her?"

"After breakfast."

Albus paled a little at his firm tone, realising he was stuck until he at least finished eating the food in front of him, and seeing his expression, the lady laughed.

"Perhaps you should be a little kinder to our guest, Nicolas," she said.

Flamel smirked mischievously. "Perhaps so, but the boy needs to eat and he didn't eat his dinner last night." He turned to Albus. "Albus, this is my wife, Perenelle." At the introduction, Albus instinctively got to his feet. Flamel's wife extended her hand. "How do you do, young master Albus?" she said, as she shook his hand.

"I'm - fine…" he squeaked, and she laughed again, and motioned that he should sit down, dispensing with formalities. Master Albus? But he was little more than a ragged uchin. He continued eating.

*

Afterwards, a House Elf led him to the library, an imposing room full of great tomes. His mother - or someone who looked like her - was sitting in an armchair, immersed in one of the volumes. Her dress was of sable, flowing and rich. She looked beautiful.

"Mama," he murmured.

She looked up, saw him, and gave an expression of pure delight, not unlike a child who had discovered some secret treasure.

"Books, Allie! Real books!" His face did not reflect her enthusiasm. She sighed. "And you look so very handsome," she said, a wistful tone in her voice. "Nicolas and Perenelle…" she was on Christian name terms with them! "Nicolas and Perenelle are letting us stay until you go to Hogwarts. Just think, Allie, we'll live like royalty."

He sat down in another chair. "Mama… This morning you weren't in your room."

"I woke up early. I always do…" she seemed puzzled at the worried sound in his voice. She couldn't guess what was troubling him. It pained him to admit it. "Mama, I'm frightened."

"There is no need to be," she said softly. "You're safe and sound, and when you belong."

Where he belonged? But he was no royal child, no fairy-tale figure. How could he belong here?

***

A/N – Thank you to my reviewers of Chapter 1!

Zeynel!

Slytherin's Silver Snake!

Bettina!

Odd World – eek, I feel severely chastised *murmurs apologies*…  Yes, the Plot Bunnies are evil but I haven't abandoned the other fics, I promise!  I want to write another chapter of HFHE really soon but I'm so damn busy!!  Grrrr!

Admiral Albia! (thanks for reviewing Hermione goes back in time and falls in love :)

Gina Starr! (thank you for your multiple reviews too :D)