HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster Professor E. Zephyra
Dear Mr. Dumbledore,
I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As one of a number of privileged scholars, you will be trained by teachers of worldwide renown in all the essential subjects for a young wizard.
Term will start on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,
Professor E. Zephyra, Headmaster.
Flamel read with a note of pride in his voice. Albus could not help but feel pleased, tickled by the idea of him receiving such an exclusive education, but then he looked at his mother and his pleasure faded.
She looked bleak. "Mama, what's wrong?"
"Nothing, Allie…"
His look said it all - liar.
"I'll just - miss you, that's all."
He was suddenly alarmed. Flamel laid a hand on his shoulder. "You'll see her again at Christmas."
Albus felt instantly foolish for his pride. How could he leave her behind? Instinctively, he clung to her, knowing that the act was childish but the impulse was stronger than his dignity. She held onto him, tears growing in her eyes. She blinked them back.
Albus stood back. He took a deep breath and turned to Flamel.
"Sir, I will not go."
Flamel actually laughed. Albus blushed, offended at this reaction to his decision.
"Albus, I understand why you don't want to go to Hogwarts. However, you must go; as a juvenile wizard, you could be dangerous to those around you. You need training."
He was subdued a little by Flamel's tone. Then an idea occurred to him. "Couldn't you teach me? Then I wouldn't have to leave Mama. Please - Nicolas…" Although it was the way Flamel had asked Albus to address him, he still felt dreadfully rude as he said Flamel's given name. But perhaps addressing him as a friend was the only way to get through to him.
Flamel shook his head sadly. "Hogwarts is the best place."
He looked at his mother. Though pale, she nodded. They would make him go.
*
Albus studied the letter in his room later on. His reading had definitely improved since he had arrived - his mother had been able to give him much more guidance. But he still had trouble interpreting many of the longer words. He felt troubled, having realised that he was going to Hogwarts almost totally unprepared. No doubt he would be the worst in the class.
He also, although he hated to admit it, felt dubious about leaving his mother with Flamel. It was plain Flamel liked him, but he addressed his mother with a strange, patronising tone. He didn't seem to like her.
A few days later, Flamel informed him they were going to go out and buy the things he needed for Hogwarts. They travelled by Floo to an inn in London - Albus had actually seen the inn before, and even noted that the most strangely dressed people went into it, but he had never been inside.
Now he was there, he saw an outlandish collection of folk, many in brightly coloured robes, and some with pointed hats that were rather like dunce's caps in a way. Some wore jewellery with strange symbols, some were merely peculiar. He saw a couple both dressed in violet coloured robes, whose small daughter wore a strange but pretty puce coloured dress that had golden stars embroidered on it. When he watched them, they seemed to twinkle…
Flamel took him through a door, and showed him not the London he knew but a long street filled with people like those in the inn - witches and wizards, he forced himself to remember. The wondrous street, and all its strange paraphernalia, seemed commonplace to them. Albus couldn't ever see himself being one of them. Flamel led him past a shop filled with strange and wonderful animals, an apothecary's with a glittering sign that changed colour and a broomstick shop where children his age pressed their noses to the glass as if it were a baker's - they whispered to each other excitedly.
"Most likely they've picked out their favourite broom for the next Quidditch season," Flamel said.
Of course - witches and wizards rode broomsticks. Flamel had said. But what was Quidditch? He supposed he'd find out soon enough…
Flamel led him into the bank - not a drab affair, filled with men in black suits, but an exotic and almost fear-inspiring magnificence, with gargoyles that appeared to glare at them as they walked in. The paving beneath their feet seemed to swirl as they walked. If Albus looked down to his feet for too long, he imagined they were floating precariously over an expanse of ocean that would swallow them into its deep abyss. More strange creatures were here, fearsome beady-eyed things.
"Goblins," Flamel murmured by way of explanation. He seemed unperturbed by their surroundings, and once again, Albus felt like a stranger.
Flamel stopped by one of the goblins, and handed it a large lump of gold.
"Give me about twenty Sickles, and make the rest Galleons."
"One moment, sir." The goblin's voice was an eerie sound from another world. In a few minutes, he had produced a large pile of beautifully shiny gold and silver coins.
"Wizard money," Flamel said. "None of this pounds, shillings and pence nonsense. Twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a silver Sickle, seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon. Simple."
Albus winced. "I don't know my twenty-nine times tables."
"Even so, a wizard would never introduce such complications as half-pence and guineas." Flamel put the coins in a seemingly bottomless purse, and then took him back out onto the street.
Albus had his school uniform fitted in a shop with a sign that read Malkin the Tailor. Mr. Malkin himself, was a thin man with a careful eye and a tape measure that appeared to be attached to his fingers. It was an experience for Albus, who as used to having his clothes bought cheaply or made by only his mother's needle – certainly not by magic.
Flamel looked grave as he led Albus to the place where he would buy his wand. "This is a moment you'll remember forever," he said.
Inside, it was a dark and cobwebby shop, all the walls covered in small boxes neatly stacked. A boy was sitting at the front desk, writing with a quill. He looked barely nineteen, but had an enigmatic look, and he arose from his seat with utmost refinement.
He looked at them both.
"Mr. Flamel – and Master Dumbledore, am I correct?"
"Correct indeed," Flamel responded. Albus felt queasy. How had he known who he was?
"The resemblance is not striking but none the less, it is there," the boy murmured. "I am Ollivander. I take it this is the occasion to buy a wand for Master Dumbledore?"
"I was expecting the elder Mr. Ollivander," Flamel said fastidiously. The boy gave an unreadable twitch of a smile.
"I am afraid he is not available. You may, of course, come back another time, however I am fully able to administer to the boy's wand myself."
Flamel looked uncomfortable at the boy's rather eerie, self-possessed tone. He swallowed.
"Very well. Albus, hold your hand out to Mr. Ollivander."
He did so. Ollivander took a tape, and carefully measured his fingers. His eyebrows raised and he murmured, "Interesting."
He reached for a box, and withdrew from it a smooth stick.
"Ash and unicorn tail-hair, twelve inches, good for charms. Try it."
Albus took the wand Ollivander proffered, feeling it to be a little warm.
"Not right?" Ollivander took it from him, pulled out another box, and said, "Rowan and dragon heart-string, ten and a half inches, slightly flexible."
What exactly is he looking for? Albus mused, as he was allowed to hold that wand too, for a fraction of a second.
This process was repeated thirty-fold. The last wand the young Mr. Ollivander placed into his hand was oak, with the heartstring of a Chinese Mountain Dragon. As soon as he touched it, a shower of yellow sparks was emitted. Albus dropped the wand hastily, and Ollivander tutted, picking it up and placing it back into his hand.
"It won't hurt you," he muttered irritatedly. "Try again."
He flicked the wand, and once again, a cascade of yellow, near-golden sparks flew out, like a tiny firework. Unexpectedly, he felt a wave of exhilaration. This was right. This was him. Inexplicably, he felt freedom well up inside him.
Flamel was smiling. "That's yours." He placed some money on the counter.
"Of course," Mr. Ollivander said. "The wand chooses the wizard. The Chinese Mountain Dragon – ah, sadly nearly extinct, but a proud race. I believe scholars consider this dragon to be the symbol of the Chinese Year of the Dragon… And of course, a wand fashioned of the heart of oak is quite formidable. I expect that we shall see great wisdom in you, Master Dumbledore."
At this apparently unlikely prediction, Albus could not help but stare at the boy-turned-man.
Flamel was looking at him too. "I see the habit of making trite observations runs in the family."
His tone was uncomfortably cool, but Ollivander seemed unaffected. "My ancestors have been selling wands to wizards for centuries, Mr. Flamel, and I consider that we have learned a little of how a wand identifies human character. As for yourself, I would say pine and heart-string of a Norwegian Ridgeback?"
The gradually growing smirk on Flamel's face vanished.
"You kept a record of me?" he asked, incredulously.
"Actually no," said Mr. Ollivander. "But from the knowledge I have of you, it seems an apt choice. I do, of course, remember every wand I have ever sold."
"And how many is that?"
"Precisely eleven," he said. He counted the money, and put it into a box under the counter. "Good day to you."
*
After that peculiar experience, they headed to the bookshop.
"Textbooks," Flamel said lightly. "I am surprised that you don't like reading as much as your mother."
Flamel could be surprising naïve sometimes, Albus mused. "I'd rather have a good pair of socks," he mumbled. Surely Flamel would have realised why he had asked him to read out the letter from Hogwarts, if nothing else. He handed him the book list.
"Some new additions this year," Flamel mused. "Too bad they haven't got rid of Goshawk's books, they're severely outdated. I hear his great granddaughter is working on a new edition – the sooner the better, I think." He scanned the paper further. "Ah, Versinia Pestis's tome on Defence Against the Dark Arts. I never studied that subject – but then I was at Hogwarts an exceptionally long time ago. And of course, we never had to bring a copy of the 1611 Authorised Version of the Bible."
"Didn't you study Religious Instruction?" Albus asked, curiously.
"Many witches and wizards are not particularly fond of the Christian faith," Flamel said. "It was particularly difficult to encourage them to learn a subject which apparently caused the persecution of many of our kind. Perhaps there are demons that give Muggles a sort of magic. I wouldn't know. But it seems to me that if there is a God, he gave us magic. Of course, people tend to assume that whatever they don't understand is wrong – and persecution comes from fear, rather than faith… Or so they say."
His frown gradually faded. "Nowadays," he continued conversationally, "the pendulum swings the other way. Muggleborns' parents would accept their gifts providing they get a good Christian education. So, it is included, to please the Muggleborns. The Friar at Hogwarts is a wizard himself, of course, old Hufflepuff boy."
This curious mix of religion and magic swam around Albus's head for a while. He had so much to learn.
"What's a Muggleborn?"
"A witch or wizard born of non-magical parents."
"Is that possible?"
Flamel looked at him. "You have red hair and blue eyes – neither of your parents do. Don't you think that's a little odd? It's a mystery of nature. Incidentally, when I was at Hogwarts, the 1611 Bible had not yet been printed."
He bought the books.
"I think it's time for some dinner."
*
Before they headed back to the inn, Flamel let him stop and look in the window of the magical menagerie. He marvelled at the juggling rats, the lively toads that jumped through hoops, and the slinky cats with their golden eyes. Flamel pointed out puffskeins, a box full of flobberworms, a great tank of magical fish. He had just been staring enthralled at a beautiful silver fish that frequently changed shape, when he was startled by a burst of flame in the corner of his eye.
He looked up. A small fire had started in a cage – it was dying out.
"What was that?" he wondered aloud.
"A phoenix, I should think," Flamel said. Albus stood on tiptoes to look. A tiny chick brushed the remaining embers off itself.
"What is it? A sort of dragon?"
"A bird," Flamel laughed. "When it becomes very old it bursts into flames, then it becomes a chick again in the ashes."
"That's… amazing."
"Incredibly loyal pets," Flamel elaborated. "And their tears have healing powers, you know."
"I'd like a loyal pet," Albus said, perhaps rather wistfully. He used to fantasise about having a dog, perhaps, or a horse with a shiny chestnut coat that was docile and speedy… Flamel had an owl, a great beautiful barn owl called Socrates. There was something very lovely about the thought of an animal who would be your friend. They weren't complex and confusing like people.
"Let's go inside," Flamel said unexpectedly. He pushed the door open.
Flamel went to point out a niffler. "It's used for finding gold – I wouldn't have much use for one, unless I'd forgotten where I put it…" Albus dutifully admired the small friendly creature, and likewise marvelled at the Golden Snidget, but eventually, overcome with fascination, he went to examine the phoenix more closely. A card on the cage showed a large bird with impressive plumage, however now this was not the case. Even so, there was something disturbingly intelligent about the wary glance the phoenix gave its surroundings. Involuntarily, he reached into the cage and tickled the phoenix beneath the chin. It looked at him with wide, pretty eyes, and although it seemed ludicrous to put an expression on that beaked face, he could have sworn it was smiling at him…
"Albus, come over here," Flamel called.
Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, and went to where Flamel was standing at the counter.
The shop proprietress, a blonde, middle-aged woman with dark blue robes, approached.
"May I help you, sir?" she asked.
Flamel broke into another one of his strange smiles. He put some money down.
"Please give this boy his phoenix."
***
A/N – Thank you to my reviewers.Landersh – Thanks, I'm glad you appreciate the POV, it's always been something central to how I write – probably because I used to make up stories with me in them and when I got older, I would seriously self-analyse ;)
Bettina – Thanks :) Strangely enough, I'm finding it easier to write a young Dumbledore than a young Snape (as I do in Hogwarts Friends, Hogwarts Enemies), in many ways he's less complicated. Also it's fun fitting in the little things Dumbledore says into the plot (you may notice a few of them in this chapter!).
AgiVega – Yay! As you know, I love the picture. I'm glad you like it. Heh, yeah it could have very easily been Albus instead of Nicolas.
Star Gazer – *giggles* good tip. Yes, in many ways, it's very fun writing Dumbledore's childhood – because we don't have very much idea of what he was like… Glad you like it.
Odd World – Hiya! This soon enough for you? :) I'm glad you like Nicolas, I read a wonderful essay on him in the Harry Potter Lexicon which inspired me. He's an interesting character.
Wood's secret lover – Heh, good for you. I'm glad you like it!
Gina Starr – Hmm… Maybe he is. Maybe he isn't. Who knows? :) Ooh, you like it more than ADI? *big grin* There's another quite Weasley-heavy chapter of that coming up, it prompted me to parody 'Gangsta's paradise' (see 'Prankster's Paradise' :) )
A/N2 – Could someone please go review the latest chapter of Hogwarts Friends, Hogwarts Enemies – no one has so far:(
A/N3 – Thanks to AgiVega for giving me her feedback on a little preview I gave her :)