Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed and read the prologue! Here is the first chapter. I hope you'll enjoy it. I have to say, I really am having a blast writing this. The next update should be on Tuesday or Wednesday. I'm currently trying to work out a sort of schedule. I'd like to update at least twice a week. Onto the story!
Dumbledore (Part I – The Phoenix)
Chapter I – The Girl and the Bird
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Bodmin Moor was a good place to go if you were seeking solitude. The Dumbledores' house in Cornwall was situated at the bottom of it, and the only settlement nearby was a little village up on the moor called Godric's Hollow. It was toward Godric's Hollow that Percival Dumbledore was walking one fine day in the summer of 1825. He had no particular business there, but he thought that having a set destination in mind was better than aimlessly wandering the moor, and he had not seen the village in many years.
Godric's Hollow was a picturesque sort of place. Goats and sheep grazed outside the village's crumbling, ancient stone walls. Inside the walls, there were a few houses, and a few shops, and a little stone church. On the eastern edge of the village, there was a gap in the wall that a beaten path passed through, and in the centre of this path, right outside the gap, was one large standing stone. A little ways down the path rested a large stone cottage, now quite overgrown and in a state of significant disrepair.
Percival strolled through the village, glancing into the windows of the shops he passed. Most were filled with very ugly hats and furniture that had been fashionable ten years ago. As he reached the outskirts of the village and went by the standing stone, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye by the cottage – it had appeared to be a small burst of flame – or had it just been a trick of the light?
He approached the house with a giddy feeling in his stomach, though he knew not why. Surely fire did not simply erupt in the air and then disappear. He must have imagined it. But still, he wondered... When he came to the door, he found it slightly awry. He peered inside and found himself looking into a wide, dusty corridor. A square of sunlight was shining onto the bare floor from a paneless window on the wall opposite to him. He knocked on the door and then, feeling stupid, went inside.
The cottage seemed to be completely forsaken, and he wondered if what he had seen really had been only a trick of the late afternoon sunlight, when suddenly he heard a voice to his right say, "Who are you?"
Percival was so startled that he let out a little shout, stumbled, and caught himself against the wall just in time. The person who had spoken was a little girl with reddish brown hair and an odd scar across one side of her nose – she could not have been more than ten or eleven – and he tried to make his breathing normal, and slow his racing heart, feeling stupider by the minute. "Sorry," he said. "Who are you? Do you live here?"
"No," the girl replied. "Nobody lives here anymore." She had a Scottish accent, and Percival wondered what an eleven-year-old Scottish girl was doing in an empty cottage in the middle of a moor in Cornwall.
"What are you doing here, then?" He asked.
"Come to see," she said simply. "My brother and I. It's our house."
Percival stared at her for a moment. "But you... you don't live here?"
Suddenly, they heard footsteps approaching from an adjacent room. "Cathy?" a male voice called, and then a young man stepped out into the corridor. He was quite tall, and had the same colour hair as the girl, so Percival assumed that this must be her brother. He regarded Percival suspiciously for a moment. "Who are you?" He asked.
"It's – I'm from – I'm Percival, Percival Dumbledore," Percival replied, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. "And you are - ?"
"Alistair Ollivander," the young man introduced himself. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. This is my little sister, Catherine. Are you from the village?"
"Oh, no," said Percival. "I'm from down... my family has a house down at the bottom of the moor, we – we stay there for the summer." He did not know why he was stammering. Something about these people – even the little girl – was slightly intimidating.
"Well – " Alistair began, but he was cut off by a sudden burst of flame in the middle of the corridor.
"Aha!" Percival exclaimed – he knew he had not been seeing things – but then he fell silent, for what had appeared in the corridor was very strange indeed.
It was a bird, but it was not a normal bird. It was about the size of a swan, and had crimson feathers and a gold tail and beak. It regarded Percival placidly with shining black eyes.
"Err," said Alistair.
Percival supposed that he must have looked rather disconcerted, because Catherine said, "Oh, don't worry, it's only our phoenix. Phoenixes are very gentle creatures, you know. His name is Fawkes."
"Cathy!" Alistair hissed. "What if he's a Muggle?"
"Mug-what?" Percival said. He could not take his eyes off the bird – he had never seen anything like it. It almost seemed to radiate warmth, and something else, something that Percival could not identify.
"You are a Muggle!" Alistair groaned.
"I beg your pardon!" Percival exclaimed. Whatever a Muggle was, it did not sound particularly complimentary.
"Now what are we going to do?" Alistair was looking accusingly at his little sister.
"It's not my fault!" She said defensively. "He didn't seem like a Muggle. Just do a charm or something. Take his memory away. Have they taught you to do that yet?"
"Even if they had," Alistair replied, "I can't do any magic outside of school, remember? I'm not seventeen yet, it's illegal."
Percival watched this exchange with mounting confusion. The phoenix seemed to have grown bored of it and fallen asleep on the floor near his feet. "I haven't a clue what you're talking about," he said finally.
Alistair rounded on him. "Where do you live?" He demanded.
Percival let out a short laugh. "I'm not telling you where I live," he said. "How do I know you won't come murder us all in our beds? If you're worried I'm going to tell someone about your bird – well – I won't. Are you happy?"
Alistair glanced down at Cathy, then back up at Percival. "Swear that you won't tell anyone anything that happened in this cottage today."
Percival glanced out the window. The sun was setting, and he needed to get going if he was going to arrive home before dark. He did not fancy finding himself alone at night on the moor. "Fine," he said, "I swear, I won't tell anyone anything. Can I go now, or do I need to sign it in blood as well?" He did not wait for an answer, but turned and started walking toward the door.
"You're really a joker!" Alistair called after him, and then he was out of the cottage and walking briskly off down the moor in the direction of his house.
He thought a great deal all the way there as the sun set in front of him. He wondered if perhaps he was going mad, if the girl and her brother and the phoenix had all been some sort of elaborate illusion. But the imagery did not fade as time progressed like a dream would, and the whole event was still fresh in his mind as he entered the house.
It stayed fresh in his mind all through supper, and for the rest of the night as well. He could hardly sleep. Something significant had happened in that cottage on the moor, something that was going to have a profound impact on his life, and he knew it. He wanted to tell someone – anyone – but he had sworn not to, and a Dumbledore always kept his word, unless there was some urgent reason not to.
Over the next few days, Percival grew increasingly restless, and finally formed the resolution to go back to the cottage and see if Catherine and Alistair were still there; and if they were, to question them about mugthings and magic and phoenixes, and what the meaning of it all was.
Unfortunately for Percival, as soon as he formed this resolution, it began to rain, and did not let up for three days. He could hardly venture out onto the moor in such weather. He sat dejectedly staring out the window for hours until his mother wondered if he was ill. By the time it let up raining, he supposed there was no hope of their still being there.
The day before the Dumbledores were set to leave Cornwall and return to Bath, Mrs Dumbledore sent Percival into her sitting room to check that she had not forgotten one of her rings in the desk drawer.
Percival opened the drawer and felt around inside. He could not perceive anything like a ring. He dug around in the bottom of the drawer, but came up with nothing, and he was just about to close it and inform his mother that her ring was not there, when something caught his eye.
It was a letter, addressed to him, and dated 1820. He regarded it strangely, thinking that it must have been buried somewhere in the bottom of the drawer and resurfaced as he was trying to find the ring. Wondering who on earth could have been writing to him in 1820, and why his mother had troubled to conceal it from him, he picked up the letter and opened it.
Written neatly in emerald green ink was this:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRYHeadmaster: Phineas Nigellus Black
Dear Mr Dumbledore,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 15.
Yours &c.,
Ignatius Lovegood
Deputy Headmaster
Percival's hands shook a bit as he read it over again. It was all coming together now, but it was all coming together in a terribly confusing manner. At least this partially explained the strange conversation in the cottage – apparently there was a school for learning magic. Presumably things like phoenixes were not out of the ordinary there. As he was contemplating this, the door opened, and his mother came in.
He turned around and held out the letter. "Care to explain this?" he asked.
Her mouth fell open, and she stared in wide-eyed, almost comical horror at the parchment in his hand. "Where did you find that?" she managed to choke out.
"In your desk," he said coolly. "It was addressed to me. 1820, it said. Why did you hide it from me?"
Mrs Dumbledore had gone very pale and she was wringing her hands. She glanced out into the corridor and then closed the door. "Percival, dear," she said, her voice high-pitched and pleading, "it was obviously someone playing a joke – "
"I don't think so," Percival interrupted. "I know for a fact that I met people who go to this school, this Hogwarts." He was not actually entirely certain of this, but he thought it would be good to sound decisive. "Did you hide letters like this from Rosamund and Terrence and Maria too?"
"No," she said simply, sitting down and putting her hand to her forehead. "No, it was just you."
"And you're telling me," Percival continued angrily, "that I could have gone to school to learn magic, and instead you sent me to Eton?"
"I thought it was a joke!" His mother wailed. "It is a joke! Percival, dear, do think about it – it is a joke, that's all it is. Put it away and think no more of it. Please, for my sake. I'll burn it – "
"No," he said, folding it neatly and placing it in his pocket. "I'm going to keep it." But he did not say anything else on the subject. He wanted to think things over for himself first.
And Percival did think a great deal. All the way back to Bath, his mother glanced nervously at him, as if worried that he would tell the rest of the family. She looked at his pocket several times, perhaps thinking that the letter might burst out and sing its contents to the whole coach – but Percival had hidden the letter in his shoe.
When they arrived home, Percival went directly to his room, and took out his books. He stayed there for three days, only emerging for meals, or to look for something in the library. He was searching for something, anything that would give him more information about Hogwarts, or magic, or phoenixes; a clue, or an allusion, even a word would suffice. He read the letter over several times, but could glean no new information from it. It did not even give the location of the school. Finally, when everything made sense, when there was a reason for the upside-down sister, and the burning ice, and the disappearing teeth and mouth, and all the other odd things that had happened throughout the years, he seemed to have hit a brick wall. It was incredibly frustrating.
Mrs Dumbledore, on the other hand, was extremely nervous. As she sat down to supper on the third night with her husband, Rosamund, and Percival (Terrence was at university and Maria was at school), she finally felt that it was imperative to say something. "Percival, dear, are you going to come out of your room at all tomorrow? We do miss seeing you during the day."
Percival mumbled something about research, and poked at his food. He was in abominably bad spirits. Mr Dumbledore looked from his son, who was scowling, to his wife, who was pale and drawn, and wondered what on earth was going on.
Percival returned to his room that night, and sat in the middle of the floor, and thought. There were books scattered all around him, and none of them had proved useful at all. He felt betrayed. Books had always held the answers to all of his problems, but now they just stared at him blankly. Then there was his mother – he knew that he was upsetting her, and he did not like to be the cause of her distress. Anyway, what could be done? The books were leading him nowhere. He would simply have to think of something else.
The next morning, Percival joined the family downstairs. His mother, though still on edge, seemed genuinely pleased, perhaps thinking that he had given up on the letter and its contents. As it were, Mrs Dumbledore had a very different letter in mind that morning. "Your aunt and uncle have invited us all to London for the winter," she said. "But I would really rather stay in Bath." She had been so persuasive about hating London, that she had even managed to convince herself of it.
"I am certainly not going to London," Mr Dumbledore said, flipping open the newspaper and frowning at it as if it were suggesting the trip. "Especially if it is only to visit your brother and you will not be there."
"Well!" Rosamund exclaimed, looking very well pleased, "I should love to go to London! I do so wish to see my aunt and uncle again, and my cousins, of course." The rest of the family knew very well that Rosamund hated her cousins and found her aunt and uncle exceedingly dull. They also knew that London was an excellent place for young ladies to find husbands.
"Well, wonderful," Mrs Dumbledore said. "Rosamund shall go to London for the winter. I think it is an excellent scheme, really, a change of society and – "
"I should like to go to London as well," Percival said suddenly.
Everyone stared at him. "I thought you hated London," his father said.
"I changed my mind," Percival replied. "When do we leave, then?"
"They expect you at the beginning of December, I believe," answered his mother.
"Mama," Rosamund spoke up, looking not so well pleased now, "Mama, I do not think that Percival should come to London. He might catch cold like he did the last time we were there."
"I won't catch cold," Percival insisted.
"Well..." Mrs Dumbledore regarded him for a moment, and then seemed to relax. "No, no, I think it would be a very good thing for Percival to go to London. He is so little out of the house – yes, Percival really ought to go to London."
"Excellent," said Percival. He knew what is mother was thinking – that he would go to London and forget about schools of witchcraft and wizardry. In fact, Percival's idea was quite the opposite. For, he reasoned, if he were to find out anything about any of this, what better place to do it in than London?