Chapter Two: Diagon and Dumbledore

"Albus? Albus, can you hear me?"

Ron slowly opened his eyes, and then groaned in pain as every tiny movement made his head throb with agony. For a moment, the world felt tilted, then he realized he was lying on a bed in Hogwarts' hospital wing.

"Albus?"

The voice came again, and Ron flicked his eyes towards the source. A tall, imposing man with long black hair and a short beard loomed over his bedside.

'Why is he calling me Albus?' Ron thought, as he stared blearily up at the man.

The man peered back at him for a moment before looking across him to another man standing on the other side of his bed.

"Elias, is he awake enough to understand me?" the man demanded.

"I doubt that," Elias, drawled, "considering I told you he was incoherent when he first came to ten minutes ago."

"I thought he may have revived some since then," the man growled.

"He lapsed back into unconsciousness shortly after I sent Kent for you," Elias said, wry humor lacing his every word. "I would hardly call that reviving."

"Remind me again why I hired an impudent medi-wizard?" the man asked.

"Because I'm the best," Elias said, his tone now deadly serious.

"Ex-excuse me," Ron croaked, finally able to force words from his parched, burning throat.

Both men jumped, and looked down at him in surprise.

"You're awake," Elias stated.

"Water," Ron croaked again.

Elias nodded, and gestured briskly to someone standing behind him. There was a brief flurry of activity, and then a glass of water was pressed against Ron's lips. He drank greedily, but then the water disappeared.

"Your stomach cannot handle more than a bit at a time," Elias told him. "You may have more to drink in a few minutes."

Ron nodded in understanding and turned, questioningly, to the other man.

"Who are you?" he asked, able to speak easier now that the burning had been eased.

"I am Professor Phineas Nigellus Black," the man said, in the same imperious tone he'd used earlier. "I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That is Healer Elias Gantry, our medi-wizard."

'Headmaster Black?' Ron thought, incredulously, reminded of the portrait hanging in Sirius's-now Harry's-house. 'Something's not right, here.'

"Wh-what's the date?" he asked, hoping the men wouldn't notice the tremor in his voice.

"August 30, 1858," Elias told him. "You've been unconscious for the past three days. It's not really that long," he added, misinterpreting the look of horror that flew over Ron's face.

"Albus," Black said, startling Ron.

'Why does he keep calling me that?' he thought, irritated.

He let none of that show, however, as he turned to face the Headmaster.

"Yes, sir?" he said, as politely as he could manage.

"We need your last name, Albus" Black told him. "So that, perhaps, we can find out more about you."

'I must have told someone at some point that my name was Albus,' Ron realized.

"Your surname?" Black prompted, when he was silent for a long moment.

'I can't let them know who I really am,' he thought, frantically. 'Not if I have any chance of getting back to my time without anyone finding out the truth.'

"Percy," he blurted out, as his racing thoughts conjured an image of his brother. "My name is Albus Percy."

"Well, Mr. Percy," Black continued, "do you have an age you can give us?"

"Seventeen," Ron told them, seeing no reason to lie about this, at least.

"What do you remember?" Elias asked. "From before you woke up here?"

"I-I was attacked," Ron said hesitantly, trying to keep to the truth, even a little, so as not to mess up his story. "He stole my wand and used it to curse me, and then I woke up here."

"Curse you?" Black asked. "Do you remember what the curse was?"

"Avada Kedavra," Ron said softly, as the men exchanged serious looks.

"You survived the Killing Curse?" Elias demanded, incredulously.

"Not like you'd think," Ron said quickly. "Someone got-got in the way," he finished, choking on the tears that suddenly sprang to his eyes.

He scrubbed them away, harshly, trying not to dwell on Percy's death, and the life he'd been forced to leave behind.

'I have to get back there,' he thought, desperately. 'Malfoy's not going to get away with murdering my brother.'

"Well, whoever they were, you must have seemed dead enough, because they left you lying in the middle of Hogsmeade for us to find," Gantry informed him.

"Do you remember anything else?" Black asked, drawing Ron's attention back to the present.

"Not much, sir," Ron lied. "Mostly the attack."

"Well, that presents a problem," Black told him. "If you were younger, I would simply enroll you in Hogwarts, to ensure your safety while your memory returned. But, you have just told us that you are seventeen, and you cannot simply enter into NEWT level courses unprepared."

'I can't leave Hogwarts!' Ron thought, hysterically. 'It's my best chance at finding a way home.'

"I do remember magic," he interjected, hastily, as Black looked at him. "Surely I could try to catch up with the other seventh year students?"

"It would be difficult for you to catch up in only two days," Black said. "But, the idea does have its appeal. Especially since keeping you here would prove the best way to keep you safe from the one who attacked you."

"I know if I remain here, he won't be able to touch me," Ron said, honestly.

"Very well," Black said, the imperious tone returning. "In two days' time, you shall ride the Express as a student and be sorted into one of our four Houses. Until then, I am placing you under the supervision of Professor Flamel."

He gestured to a man who'd been hiding in the shadows, and Ron gasped to see a man with sandy brown hair step into the light. Granted, he was younger than in the picture Ron had seen in Magic Most Potente, but it was undeniably Nicholas Flamel.

"Professor Flamel teaches Potions," Black informed him. "After Healer Gantry is finished with you, Professor Flamel will escort you to Diagon Alley, to purchase a new wand and to replenish your school supplies."

"Yes, sir," Ron said, relieved at this stroke of luck. "Thank you."

Black nodded briskly, and strode to the exit. Pausing at the door, he spoke without turning around.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Mr. Percy."

XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX

Thirty minutes later, Ron stepped through the entranceway at the back of the Leaky Cauldron and entered Diagon Alley. Then he stopped suddenly, gaping, and Flamel ran into his back.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Flamel asked, chuckling softly.

"I've never seen anything like it," Ron said, awed.

And it was true. The Diagon Alley of his time was filled with frightened, anxious witches and wizards scurrying quickly from shop to shop, huddled in tight groups. People were always looking over their shoulders, fearing the worst at all times. But not here.

The Diagon Alley of this time had a light, carefree atmosphere about it. The people were bustling from shop to shop, laughing and talking cheerfully. Young children darted around; playing a game of wizard's tag, while their parents patiently stepped around them. Even the entrance to Knockturn Alley was less dark and foreboding.

"Ready to get your wand, Albus?" Flamel asked, breaking into Ron's reverie.

"All right," Ron said, absently as he followed Flamel, still staring at the sights surrounding him. Then, the professor's words sank in.

"Wait," he said quickly. "I don't have any money. How am I supposed to pay for my supplies?"

"Hogwarts' has a fund set aside to aid students who cannot pay for their own supplies," Flamel explained, patiently.

Ron felt his ears burning as he considered the implications.

'I thought it was bad, before,' he thought, miserably. 'But, I'd give anything to have even that little amount of money back.'

"You'll have to settle for secondhand supplies, like schoolbooks and robes," Flamel continued. "I hope that's not too big a disappointment."

"No, sir," Ron muttered, feeling heat creep beneath his collar. "I'm used to secondhand things."

"You will have one new thing," Flamel said, tactfully ignoring his humiliation. "Our first stop will be Ollivander's."

At Ron's incredulous look, he continued, smiling.

"A used wand will be no good," he explained. "You will be best served with a brand new wand."

Gesturing, he led the way to Ollivander's, and Ron followed him into the dark, musty shop.

"Thiron!" Flamel called, peering around the shop. "Thiron, you have a customer."

Ollivander, a bare wisp of a man, emerged from the back of the shop, smiling enigmatically.

"Thiron, meet Albus Percy," Flamel said. "He's one of Hogwarts' newest students. Albus, this is Thiron Ollivander, the finest wand maker in Europe."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Ron said, shaking the proffered hand.

"Surely you're not here for your first wand," Ollivander said, studying him closely.

"Replacement," Ron said, sheepishly. "My last one was stolen."

"By the person who gave you those, I presume?" Ollivander asked, and Ron traced the scars that marked his face.

"Very well," Ollivander continued, briskly. "Nicholas, step outside, please. I want nothing to interfere with this young man's choosing of his wand."

Flamel nodded and exited, leaving Ron alone with Ollivander.

"How many wands have preceded this one?" Ollivander asked, taking Ron's measurements.

"Two," Ron answered, eyeing the measuring tape as it flitted around.

"Both new?" Ollivander asked, making a notation on a scrap of paper.

"One used," Ron said. "The other was new; fourteen inches long, ebony and unicorn hair."

"A good wand," Ollivander observed. "Try this one."

Ron accepted the proffered wand and waved it. Ollivander studied him critically, and then snatched the wand away, replacing it quickly with another. He went through half a dozen wands this way, with no luck.

"You're quite the tricky customer," Ollivander said, smiling happily. "No matter. We'll find the perfect wand for you."

Humming to himself, he went into the back of the shop and emerged with three more boxes, all liberally covered in dust.

"Let's see if one of these suits you," he said, handing the first to Ron.

Ron tried the first two, to no success, and then eyed the last warily.

"Go ahead and give it a wave," Ollivander encouraged. "If it's not the right one, we'll simply try more."

"I feel like I've waved every wand in the shop," Ron muttered, picking it up, nonetheless.

He waved the wand, tentatively, and then gasped as a feeling of warmth suffused his being. Light filled the shop, casting long shadows on everything it touched.

"I've never failed yet in fitting a wand to a wizard," Ollivander said, cheerfully. "And you'll not be the first.

"What's it made of?" Ron asked curiously.

"Ash and phoenix feather," Ollivander told him. "Quite a powerful combination. That will be thirteen Galleons, please."

"Here you go," Flamel said, removing coins from a pouch as he entered the shop. "Next, Albus, you'll need to get some robes."

An hour later, Ron and Flamel sat at a table outside Fortescue's, which in this time was an eatery, rather than an ice cream parlor.

"Are you satisfied with your purchases?" Flamel asked, as he speared a forkful of his salad.

"Yes, sir," Ron said, honestly.

Secondhand, they may have been, but the supplies were in nearly new condition. For once, he didn't feel embarrassed by what he owned.

"I must say, though," Flamel continued. "Those are some interesting socks."

Ron blushed, thinking of the half-dozen pairs of maroon socks he'd purchased at Madame Malkin's.

"I like maroon," he muttered, thinking of all the maroon sweaters and socks his mother had given him over the years.

"Professor Flamel," he said, after they'd eaten in silence for several minutes, "if the school year hasn't started, why are there students at Hogwarts?"

"Those students are upcoming seventh years," Flamel answered. "They are apprenticed to various staff members. Kent Diggle, whom you may have seen, is apprenticed to Healer Gantry, for instance."

"Do all teachers take apprentices?" Ron asked.

"Not all," Flamel told him. "Although, Headmaster Black is strongly encouraging those of us who haven't to consider it. Why so curious, Albus? Are you considering an apprenticeship?"

"I don't think I could be anyone's apprentice," Ron said, honestly. "I'm just hoping to make it through my classes."

"You have chosen a hard load," Flamel observed. "Potions, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Herbology, and Astronomy would challenge any student."

"I like to keep busy," Ron said hastily.

Flamel nodded, and was about to say something more, when he spotted someone over Ron's shoulder.

"Aberforth!" he called out, gesturing, as Ron twisted in his seat to see who he was looking at.

A tall young man, with light brown hair and striking hazel eyes, waved and hurried over to their table.

"Hello, Professor Flamel," he said, smiling broadly. "Who's this?"

"Aberforth, I'd like you to meet Albus Percy," Flamel said, drawing up another chair with a wave of his wand. "Albus, this is Aberforth Dumbledore, one of my best students."

'This is Dumbledore's brother?' Ron thought, amazed. 'What happened to the illiterate goat-charmer he told us about?'

"Nice to meet you, Albus," Aberforth said, cheerfully, as he sat down. "Will you be attending Hogwarts, as well?"

"We just finished buying my supplies," Ron said, indicating the myriad of bags at his feet.

"What classes are you taking?" Aberforth asked, curiously.

"The same as you," Flamel told him, "with the exception of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

Hearing this, Ron was hard put to hide his smile behind his hand.

'Too bad Hermione didn't meet him,' he thought. 'They'd get along famously.'

Thinking of Hermione brought the faces of the rest of his friends and family floating through his mind, and he blinked back tears of grief and homesickness.

"He could stay with us," Aberforth said, suddenly, drawing Ron's attention.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"If you want to, that is," Aberforth said, turning to him. "I was just telling Professor Flamel that if you need a place to stay until the beginning of term, you could stay with me and my family."

"That sounds great," Ron said, grinning, feeling an instant kinship with Aberforth.

"Wonderful," Aberforth said, smiling at him in return. "My parents are always excited to meet my friends from school."

"Then, that's settled," Flamel said, heartily. "Now, if the two of you will excuse me for a few minutes, I have a few errands to run."

"We'll be at Quality Quidditch Supplies!" Aberforth called, as Flamel strode across Diagon Alley.

Turning back to Ron, his eyes twinkled mischievously.

"You do play Quidditch, don't you?" he asked.

"Of course I do," Ron said. "In fact, I'm offended that you even had to ask."

"In that case," Aberforth said, "I think this is going to be the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship."