Author's Note: Still reading? Huzzah! Yes, we're back again now, with the second chapter! I think this is the longest of all the chapters I've written yet, except maybe the fifth one. Yes, I'm writing ahead. This won't be one of those fan fictions that the author abandons part way through. That's always frustrating, isn't it? Of course, I can't make any promises - if I get decapitated, for example, I can't see how I'd continue to write. But I'd certainly try.
I haven't yet worked out a solid schedule for updating, but the next chapter should appear either on Thursday or Friday. I meant to wait till Wednesday with this one, but I couldn't resist. Chapter IV will probably appear on Saturday or Sunday, because it takes place on Christmas Eve and Christmas, and, well, why not?
Anyway, this note has been too long as it is. If you have any comments, questions, criticisms, or inane babble you'd like to throw my way, review! I won't pretend I don't love reviews. You can also e-mail me or comment in my livejournal if you like.
Dumbledore (Part I – The Phoenix)
Chapter II – The Irishman
-
Percival had never hated Bath so much as he did in the two months leading up to his departure for London. The ornate buildings and gardens now seemed trite and boring. The girls next-door whom he used to think very pretty now annoyed him. It rained too much. The hills around the city seemed to hold everyone in like stagnant water in a bowl. He could not imagine why anyone came to Bath for their health.
When it was not raining, Percival went often for walks through the city. His father remarked that it was good to see him taking exercise. He said that the only thing excessive reading ever did for anyone was to make them stupid and fat. Percival was inclined to disagree. He could have pointed out a good many people who were stupid and fat without ever having looked at a book. But getting out of the house made the days go by faster.
On a chilly day in the middle of November, Percival stood looking out over the River Avon, and leaning slightly on the stone wall of the bridge. Brown leaves swirled along the river and the wind made ripples across its surface. A discarded newspaper floated by, and before it was lost under the bridge, Percival caught the headline:
BLACK CRITICISED IN MUGGLEBORN RECRUITMENT SCANDALThere was that word again – 'Muggle'. Percival ran to the other side of the bridge, but the paper was already out of sight. He contemplated jumping in after it, but the water looked cold, and it was moving fast, and he did not fancy being swept off to wherever the River Avon led (he thought it might be Wales – he had never been good with geography). He swore under his breath.
But after this, Percival was in a good mood for the remainder of his time in Bath. The newspaper had renewed some of his hope. It had served as further proof that there were wizards and witches out there, and he knew that if he just looked hard enough, he would find them. He clung to the letter, and the memory of the phoenix and the newspaper headline as a child clings to a favourite doll or blanket for reassurance.
Finally the day arrived when he and Rosamund were to depart for London. Their mother and father bid them farewell, told them to write often, and to not give their aunt and uncle too much trouble, and then they were off.
The journey to London went very well. Both Rosamund and Percival were in high spirits all the way there. The weather was very fine for the first of December, and the passing English countryside still clung to some of the faded beauty of Autumn.
Rosamund chatted throughout the whole first half of the trip, and Percival was in such an unnaturally good mood that he indulged her. Rosamund fell asleep during the second half of the trip, and Percival amused himself by staring out the window and thinking. He could never read on coaches as it made him feel sea-sick. As night fell, there was nothing to see from the window of the coach, and Percival tried to sleep as well, but he was far too excited, well aware that every turn in the road brought them closer to London.
As the night wore on, Percival felt as though they had been travelling forever. Rosamund woke up as they entered the city, berated Percival for allowing her to fall asleep, and spent the next ten minutes making sure her hair had not been ruined. At long last, they reached their aunt and uncle's house, and were hardly in the front door when their aunt descended upon them.
Mrs Clarkend was a formidable woman. If Percival had had to describe her, he would have called her round and cushiony. She had pink cheeks, light hair, and bright eyes. "Oh, my dears!" She exclaimed, kissing both Rosamund and Percival on the cheek in turn. "We are so happy you've come to stay with us for the winter! Oh, London can be so dull sometimes – and how is your mother?" She did not allow them time to answer this, however, and continued, "Come, come, we've kept supper waiting till now. Oh, your uncle and cousins will be so pleased to see you..." And she led them off down the corridor toward the dining room.
Upon entering the room, Percival and Rosamund were greeted in a slightly more subdued manner by their uncle, a very ordinary sort of man with grey hair and kind eyes, and two of their cousins, Louisa and Jane Clarkend.
"Rachel will be home from school for Christmas," Mrs Clarkend informed them as they all sat down to eat. "I dare say she will want to bring Maria with her. It really is such a good thing that they attend school together... just like Louisa and Rosamund."
Rosamund gave a forced smile. She had hated her cousin Louisa since they were thirteen years old, when it had become apparent that Louisa was the more handsome of the two.
"Indeed," said Mr Clarkend, "I hope that all of your family will join us for Christmas. I can't bear to think of your mother and father all alone in Bath for the holidays. Well, I suppose Terrence will be there. Terrence does come home for Christmas, does he not?"
Percival acknowledged that he did, but expressed uncertainty as to whether his parents could be persuaded to come to London at all, as his mother disliked it so much.
"Nonsense!" Mr Clarkend laughed. "How could anyone hate London? Anyway, what is there to do in Bath? Nothing. They really ought to come here for Christmas, don't you think, Mrs Clarkend?"
Mrs Clarkend agreed enthusiastically and declared that she would write to Mr and Mrs Dumbledore the next morning with the invitation. Supper did not last much longer after this, as Mrs Clarkend was positive that Percival and Rosamund were exhausted. After berating them for making the journey in one day, but acknowledging the many failings of coaching inns, she finally led them off to their bedrooms, just as the clock was striking eleven.
Sleep eluded Percival. He lay in bed, staring up at a band of light that the streetlamp outside cast across the ceiling. Every now and again he heard a carriage or a person go by the house. The clock struck twelve, and he heard the next-door neighbours coming home. He pulled his blankets up over his ears and closed his eyes, but his mind would not stop tossing and turning. He was contemplating in what way to go about finding wizards and witches – surely he could not go door to door asking for them, so what was he to do? The clock struck one.
His eyes, indeed, all of his limbs were heavy now. He could still feel the jolting of the carriage beneath him, but soon it turned into the gentle rocking of a boat. He was in the middle of Loch Ness, but it was really the River Avon in Bath.
"You really ought to just keep your eyes and ears open," the girl from the cottage was saying in her Scottish accent, except it wasn't really the girl from the cottage, it was him. "And then the newspaper will just float by."
And then the newspaper did float by. He tried to grab it, but the water was too swift. The River, or the Loch, or whatever it was was carrying him straight across Great Britain, and the girl was left far behind. He went through London, Bath, Edinburgh, and Newcastle (the order of which did not seem entirely right to him, even though he was awful with geography and this was, after all, a dream) at an alarming rate, and then he was out to sea, and heading toward America.
The coast was approaching. He could see a colossal woman standing there, and realised it was his aunt. "BREAKFAST!" her voice boomed, and then Percival awoke with a start.
The only thing that Percival remembered of the dream was the sensation of moving very fast, an unpleasant thought that he was moving very fast toward America, and someone with a Scottish accent advising him to keep his eyes and ears open. This seemed like sage advice, so he took it.
For two weeks, Percival kept his eyes and ears open, and he learnt a great many things. The man next-door was a drunk, and his daughter was marrying an Irishman whom everyone hated. As far as his own residence went, he found that Louisa was in love with a man called Mr Stephenson, and there was some attempt underway to make Mr Stephenson's brother fall in love with Jane, but it was not turning out as hoped for. Apparently he was promised to a girl who was, if Jane's description was anything to go by, the most disagreeable creature in the world. Percival could not even remember all of the things which he learnt by listening to the servants, and he was rather glad of it.
As fascinating as all of this new information was, it was not the sort of information Percival had been hoping to acquire. As the middle of the month went by, he would not allow himself to feel disappointed. He had come to London for answers, and he would be damned if he left without any.
He knew what the problem was – he hardly went out at all. What was a sixteen-year-old boy to do in London? By all rights he should be in school, or with a tutor, but he was not. He tried to study, but found himself constantly glancing out the window instead, wishing fervently that something unusual, something magical would happen. But nothing ever did.
On the morning of the eighteenth of December, two days before Mr and Mrs Dumbledore (for they had agreed to come) and Terrence and Maria and their cousin Rachel were set to arrive, Jane Clarkend declared that she would very much like to go for a walk, if there was anyone willing to go with her.
No one else wanted to go for a walk at all. It was very cold, and looked like it might begin to snow at any moment. Louisa said that she might have liked to go, but she was feeling ill and thought she would take a nap instead. Percival, however, was very keen for a walk, so he and Jane set out from the house together.
They walked for some time, Jane chatting to Percival about all of the latest fashions, and Percival only half-listening. He scanned the sky for phoenixes, but mostly scanned the ground for discarded newspapers. He did this whenever he went outside, but today he actually saw something. Unfortunately, it was stuck to the bottom of a lady's shoe.
"Madam!" he cried, running after her. She stopped, turned, and gave him a quizzical look. "If you please," he said breathlessly, "I'm terribly sorry, but – " and he bent down and snatched the bit of newspaper off the bottom of her shoe. "It was – stuck," he finished stupidly.
The woman's companions giggled. She stared at him bemusedly, and then said, "Err... thank you very much, sir." And continued on her way.
Percival could not stop grinning. "I think we should go home now," he told Jane, who was looking at him strangely. "I really do think that it might snow at any moment, and I am positive that snow would do a great deal of harm to your hat."
Jane was convinced, and they set off back the way they had come. She was talking about fashions again. "What do you think of this newer style of sleeve?" she was saying.
"Hmm?" said Percival, regarding her for a moment before realising what she had asked. "Oh," he said. "Sleeves. Well, I think they're abominable, really. Far too puffy, if you ask me. What happened to those elegant, flowing sort of things you girls used to wear? It all looks awfully uncomfortable now."
Jane was quite annoyed by these comments, and did not say another word to him all the way back to the house, which suited Percival perfectly well. Once they were inside, he went straight up to his room, sat down at his little table, and admired his acquisition. It very small and smudged, and said:
DIAGON ALLEY
FOR ALL YOUR MAGICAL NEEDS
And that was it, but it was something, and something tangible at that. He finally had a real goal to move toward – finding this Diagon Alley, as it apparently housed all of his magical needs. He did not know exactly how he was to go about finding it – he supposed that he would simply have to ask people. Surely one of them would know.
That day, he managed to catch some servants, and ask them if they knew where Diagon Alley was, but none of them had ever heard of such a place. Not disheartened, the next day, he cornered a couple of Louisa's friends and asked them, but they hadn't any idea what he was talking about. His inquiries were interrupted on the twentieth when his parents and Terrence, and Maria and Rachel arrived at the house. There were many stories to be exchanged, of what had been happening in London, and what had been happening in Bath, and what had been happening at school, and Percival could hardly utter a word in between, let alone ask anyone if they had ever heard of a place called Diagon Alley.
On the twenty-first, Louisa and Mr Stephenson announced their engagement. Once again, the house was all in a flutter, and Percival was reduced to sitting sullenly by the fire and wondering how there could possibly be so much to talk about as to take all afternoon and evening, and well into the night.
And then there was the party. It was, according to Mrs Clarkend, to be an intimate social gathering of fifty or so people. They all came together in the Clarkends' drawing room on the night of the twenty-second. Percival had never been one for parties, and London parties were, in his opinion, the very worst. Everyone was there, including the girl from next-door, and she had brought along her new husband, the Irishman that her whole family hated.
Near to the end of the night, the Irishman's wife was engaged in conversation with her friends, and he, having been shunned by her family, came over to the fire to talk to Percival. "Hello," he said, resting his drink on the mantle, and glancing around the room with a casual air. "Lovely little party, isn't it?"
"Inspiring," Percival replied, failing to suppress a frown.
"It's your aunt's house, is that right?" the Irishman inquired, either not noticing or not caring about Percival's sarcastic remark.
"Yes," said Percival. "I am staying here over Christmas. Are you staying in London for Christmas as well?"
"No no," said the Irishman, with what Percival fancied was a relieved expression. "No, my wife and I are leaving the city tomorrow morning and going to stay with some of my sister's family in the country."
"Ah," said Percival.
The Irishman glanced across the room. "My wife seems to be signalling that it is time to depart," he remarked. "Have a happy Christmas."
He was about to walk away, when Percival suddenly burst out with, "I don't suppose you know where Diagon Alley is."
The Irishman gave him a surprised look. "Of course," he said, "you've never been? Wherever do you get your things for school?"
Percival was rendered speechless for a moment, and then was slowly filled with a feeling of triumph. "I don't go to school," he told him, and then, with a mounting sense of relief and a lowered voice, related the history of the letter, and his mother's concealing it, and his finally finding it, and seeing the discarded newspaper, and then the discarded bit of a newspaper advertising Diagon Alley. He left out the part with the girl and her brother and their phoenix. He had, after all, sworn that he would not tell a soul about it.
After hearing all of this, the man seemed pitying, but not surprised. "It is a terrible thing, really..." he mused, and then took a bit of paper and pencil out of his pocket (Percival thought this very convenient, and decided that he ought to carry a pencil and paper around with him as well) and began writing on it. After a moment, he handed it to Percival. "Those are directions to Diagon Alley," he said. "But you won't have any proper money, will you?" he pondered. He dug around in his pocket, and then pressed a fistful of what Percival knew must be coins into his hand.
"Oh, sir," said Percival, shocked, "no, I could not – "
"Nonsense," the Irishman cut him off, "you may pay me back later. My wife is calling me – away I go! Do take care not to leave those directions where Muggles can see them!" And then he was lost in the crowd.
Percival went immediately to his room, as he never liked to experience extreme emotion in the midst of company. He sat on his bed and stared at the directions the Irishman had written out for him, and then stared at the little heap of strange gold coins which he had placed on his table. It was all too much to comprehend at first, and just as after the phoenix incident, he began to wonder if he had not dreamt it all. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, the paper and the coins, glinting slightly in the lamplight, were still there. They were real.
The Irishman, of course, must have been a wizard. Percival was suddenly struck with the thought that he should have questioned him more, should have asked him what a 'Muggle' was, and where Hogwarts was located, but now it was too late. The same thing had happened in the summer at Godric's Hollow. It was all his fault, he supposed. He had always been clumsy when dealing with people, always thought of just the right thing to say or ask after they were gone.
No matter – he knew what he was going to do. He was going to go directly to Diagon Alley the next day, where he was sure all of his questions would finally be answered. He went to sleep, satisfied with the knowledge that he would soon be fulfilling all of his magical needs.