Author's Note: Hello again! Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and reviewing this story. I honestly thought I'd get maybe one or two reviews. I'm so glad that people seem to be enjoying it.
So did the last chapter leave you suitably confused? I hope I didn't lose anyone there – I needed things to be a bit chaotic. And, well, there's not much else to say right now... enjoy this next chapter!
Dumbledore (Part I – The Phoenix)
Chapter VI
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Catherine and Alistair weren't completely unaccustomed to dressing like Muggles, that much was clear. Percival thought that they had done rather well. Their clothes were out of fashion by about ten years, but it wasn't terribly noticeable.
They were seated in the drawing room of the Clarkends' house, and Mr and Mrs Dumbledore were seated across from them. Both looked a little disgruntled. Percival was sitting in a chair by Catherine, praying silently that they were making a good impression.
"So you live in Scotland," Mrs Dumbledore was saying.
"Yes, ma'am," Alistair replied. "In Edinburgh."
"Hmm," said Mr Dumbledore, glancing out the window. He looked as though he would have rather been anywhere else than where he was. He always said that visiting was the dullest thing on earth, but then, there weren't many things that Mr Dumbledore did not find dull. "I could never abide Edinburgh. It rains too much." Percival thought this statement a bit rich coming from someone who chose to reside in Bath for the better part of the year.
"Percival tells us you met him at Eton," Mrs Dumbledore continued.
"That's right," Alistair said, glancing nervously at Percival. They had discussed the Eton story beforehand. It seemed more respectable than, 'We met in an abandoned cottage in the middle of a moor'. "Um, Eton. Yes. Horrid place."
Mrs Dumbledore seemed to relax a bit at this. She was quite ready to believe that Percival could become friends with someone who hated Eton as much as he did. She was also pleased to see that Alistair's little sister was far too young to trick her son into marrying her. "It is very kind of you to invite Percival to come and stay with you. He has never been to Scotland."
"Really!" Catherine exclaimed.
"It's true," Percival admitted. "I've never been further north than Oxford."
"Well," said Mrs Dumbledore, standing. "It was lovely to meet you both, but we are expecting visitors... Percival will show you to the door."
Alistair, Catherine, and Percival got up and left the room. Mrs Dumbledore sighed. They were not actually expecting visitors, but she thought that the less time a wizard and a witch spent in the same room as her, the better. She was still not quite ready to admit to herself that her own son was a wizard, even in the face of considerable evidence.
Out in the corridor, Percival was saying goodbye to his friends. "I think it went rather well," he told them. "I can't see how she would find anything to say against you."
"Was I all right as a Muggle, then?" Catherine asked, concern etched across her face. "I stayed up all last night practicing."
Percival did not know what to make of this, but assured her that she had been superb as a Muggle. He left out the fact that her clothing was just a bit odd, and her manner was just a bit odd, and, well, everything about her was just a bit odd. That could not be helped. Witches, even if they had stayed up all night practicing to be Muggles, would always inevitably seem just a bit odd to everybody else.
"Write to us and tell us if you can come or not," Alistair said, pulling on his coat. "And if you can, we will be here to pick you up on the fifth. Don't worry about the Headmaster letting you in – he'll have to. You got a letter, after all, you were just a bit... delayed."
"I hope you can come! Oh, it will be so much fun!" Catherine said merrily. Alistair rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly.
"I hope I can come too," Percival replied. "You should see what's going on in this house – well, it's too long of a story to tell now."
"You'll explain it all to us on the fifth!" Catherine called as she went out the door after her brother. "Goodbye!"
Percival walked back into the drawing room, and found Maria, Rachel, and Jane in the midst of a heated, tearful argument. He did not even bother to find out what it was about. Such things had become common in the past few days, now that everyone in the house was in such abominable spirits. His uncle was sitting by the window with a glass of brandy in his hand, and his aunt was sitting rigid on the sofa, looking uncharacteristically ashen-faced. His mother was holding the newspaper.
"Any news today?" Percival asked. The baby started crying upstairs.
"It's all over the papers," Mrs Dumbledore said, her forehead creased. "They're calling it the Clarkend-Stephenson Scandal. I'm only glad they haven't put our name in it."
"Well, 'the Clarkend-Stephenson-Dumbledore Scandal' would take up too much room," Percival reasoned.
"Percival, why must you have a contemptuous response to everything any of us say?" Mrs Dumbledore asked, exasperated.
"I don't!" Percival said defensively. "It's true, it would take up too much room! What's contemptuous about that? And can I go to Scotland or not?"
"Yes!" Mrs Dumbledore cried. "Yes, Percival! For God's sake, go to Scotland!"
Percival left the room, grinning victoriously.
On the fifth of January, a carriage pulled up in front of the Clarkends' house. It was a very normal-looking carriage, shining a dull black against the greying, slushy snow that comes with January in London. Nothing about the carriage betrayed the fact that its occupants were a wizard and a witch. Only Percival and his mother were sensible of this.
All of Percival's luggage (which mostly consisted of books) was loaded into the carriage, and then Percival climbed in as well. He bid farewell to his mother, who was the only one who had found the time to come and see him off (and did not seem terribly sad to see him go), and then the carriage rattled off down the street.
This was, of course, a bit disconcerting, given that the carriage had no driver or horses. It moved entirely on its own, by magic. Percival had read about these so-called horseless carriages in 'A Muggleborn's Guide to Magic'; apparently to Muggles the carriage looked like every other carriage in London, and they did not spare it a second glance.
The problem with the horseless carriage, though, was that it was rather unreliable. It kept wanting to veer off in contrary directions, and Alistair was constantly shouting instructions at it. Percival knew better than to attempt to converse with a angry, shouting Scot, and turned his attention to Catherine. "How long will it take us to get to Hogwarts, do you think?"
"Oh!" said Catherine. "Not long at all."
Percival looked puzzled. "But it is in Scotland, is it not? And the roads are horrible in the winter. It must take days."
"The other way!" Alistair shouted at the carriage.
"Days?" Catherine laughed, ignoring her brother. "We're not going the Muggle way."
"Ahh," said Percival. He wondered if the horseless carriage was capable of reaching immense speeds.
"Grandpa would have liked to see us off," said Catherine, "but he couldn't leave the shop."
"What about Fawkes?" Percival asked.
"We aren't allowed to bring him to school." Catherine made a face. "He's back at my aunt's house in Edinburgh."
"No!" Alistair roared at the carriage. "Away from the river, away!"
"I hope you're right about them letting me into Hogwarts," Percival continued, relatively unfazed. "I've got the letter." He took it out of his pocket, and glanced down at it, then froze. He swallowed thickly.
"What's the matter?" Catherine asked, concerned.
"We're here!" Alistair shouted, looking very irate. The carriage had come to an abrupt stop in front of a large tree.
"We're – at the school?" Percival wondered, momentarily forgetting the letter. "But I thought it was in Scotland."
Catherine laughed. "No, this isn't the school! This is how we're getting to the school. It's the Ministry of Magic. Come on." They all stepped out of the carriage. They managed to get their luggage unloaded, and as soon as the last bag had been taken out, the carriage disappeared.
"Was – was that supposed to happen?" Percival asked, feeling stupid again.
"Of course," said Alistair, "it was only on loan from the Ministry. Now hurry up, you two." And then he walked straight into the tree and disappeared.
Percival blinked. "Err," he said, "Catherine..."
Sensing his bafflement, Catherine said, "This is how we get into the Ministry of Magic." She took his hand, heaving her trunk in the other, and pulled him toward the tree. "Don't worry, but walk a bit faster, Alistair's waiting." And before he knew quite what was happening, Catherine had led him straight into the tree. Percival stared around him. They were standing in a small, panelled, circular room. The polished interior of the tree.
"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," a woman's voice said out of nowhere.
"Gah!" said Percival.
"Please state your name and business," the voice continued calmly.
"Alistair Ollivander, Catherine Ollivander, and Percival Dumbledore," Alistair replied abruptly, still looking rather cross after his ordeal with the horseless carriage. "Returning to Hogwarts."
"Admitted," the voice said. "Though there's no need to be so unpleasant about it." They began to descend. Percival felt his stomach lurch. He hated not knowing what was going on. Alistair and Catherine seemed unfazed, though, so he assumed that this was normal. "The Atrium," said the voice, and then the panel in front of them slid open like a door. They stepped out.
The Atrium was a huge hall, with rich wood panelling, highly polished floors, and gilded fireplaces lining the walls. Percival watched in wonder as people appeared and disappeared in and out of the fireplaces in flashes of green flames. There were people in robes and attempts at Muggle clothing everywhere. A large sign on a pole nearby read, "HOGWARTS STUDENTS THIS WAY PLEASE" with an arrow pointing toward the centre of the hall.
Percival could make out a very disordered looking queue as they approached the centre of the room. A distracted looking man in official robes was standing next to a sign that said, "LUGGAGE".
"Do you have your name on all of your luggage?" Alistair asked Percival quickly.
"Yes," Percival replied. "But..." he trailed off. For once he was sick of asking questions. He made up his mind to simply observe. Catherine and Alistair set their trunks down in front of the man, so Percival did the same. The man waved his wand absently, and the luggage disappeared. Percival nearly choked – all of his favourite books were in that trunk.
"It's a twenty minute wait in the queue," the man informed them grumpily. "Move along, please."
They joined the back of the queue. Percival was tall, but still could not make out what was going on at the front of the line. "What exactly are we queuing up for?" he asked.
"The portkey," Alistair replied. "It's how we get to and from Hogwarts, mostly. There are more of them, there's one in Edinburgh, and one somewhere in Ireland... they're set up expressly for Hogwarts students at the beginning and end of holidays. I think the idea is to keep things efficient."
Percival glanced around at the jostling queue, and the luggage worker and his equally harassed fellow employees and thought that it did not seem very efficient. "But all of the fireplaces here, they're connected to the floo network, right? What about Hogwarts, is Hogwarts connected to the floo network as well?"
"Yes," said Catherine, "some of it is, but they don't want students popping out of fireplaces all over the place. This is nothing, though... you should see it at the end of summer holidays! Complete chaos. I'm only in first year, of course, but Alistair tells me it's like that every September."
"There must be a more efficient way of getting everyone to the school and back," Percival mused as they shuffled forward in the queue.
"None that they've thought up so far," Alistair replied. Ten more minutes passed. The queue moved diligently forward. Suddenly, Alistair seemed to catch sight of something. He raised his arm and waved. "Potter!" he called. "Potter! Come over here!"
A grinning, dark haired young man approached them. "Alistair," he said, "do you mind if I slip into line with you, then?" Alistair replied that he did not, and the boy seemed greatly relieved. "Thanks," he said. "I thought I'd never get rid of my mother. She's stuffed all my pockets with sweets." He made a face. "Oh, hullo, Cathy."
"Hullo," she replied, eyeing his pockets.
Percival was not entirely sure what he was complaining about, and raised his eyebrows. The boy seemed to notice him and said, "Who's this, then?"
"Oh," said Alistair, "this is Percival, Percival Dumbledore. He's coming to Hogwarts. He... err... well he got his letter when he was eleven, but his mother hid it from him, and... he's Muggleborn, you see."
"Ah," said the boy, giving Percival a sympathetic look. "One of those." He stuck out his hand and Percival shook it. "Pleased to make your acquaintance – I'm Michael Potter, by the way. Are they going to sort you?"
"I don't know," Percival replied. He had not thought about what kind of living arrangements they would make for him, if they even let him stay. Suddenly he felt a bit nervous. "How do they sort you, anyway?"
"There's a hat," Michael explained, "and they put it on your head – "
But he was cut off by a thin, severe-looking Ministry official calling, "NEXT! Step forward, please!" They were at the front of the queue. The portkey appeared to simply be a wooden poll. "Only three more," the official declared, stopping Michael Potter in his tracks. "Come on, hurry up now, there are others waiting."
"See you at the school, then," Alistair said to Michael with a shrug.
"No time for pleasantries!" the official barked. "Hands on the pole!" They grasped the pole. "Off you go, then!"
It was one of the most physically unpleasant things that Percival had ever experienced. He felt something in his stomach twist, as if someone had hooked him and were yanking him forward, and felt air rushing all around him, pressing into him, saw colours spinning in a blur around him, and then abruptly he was on the ground again, still clutching the pole, head reeling.
"We're here!" Catherine said pleasantly.
Percival took a deep, shuddering breath. He glanced down. There was a pile of discarded poles which had evidently been used as portkeys at his feet. "It took us ten seconds to get to Scotland," he murmured. "That's... that's..."
"We have to get out of the way," Alistair said, breaking into Percival's astonishment. "Other people are going to be coming." The three of them began to walk away. "Yes, so... this is Hogwarts," Alistair waved his hand out in front of him.
They were walking through thick snow up the grounds toward a castle. Percival had never seen anything like it. It was massive, sprawling, with what seemed like thousands of windows, towers, and turrets. On one side of the castle, the ground broke away abruptly to form a high cliff, and beneath it lay a wide, frozen lake. A little ways behind the school, he could make out the dark edge of a forest, black branches stark against the soft grey sky. When Percival managed to tear his eyes away from this scene, he saw that the grounds were filled with students having just arrived back from the Holidays.
They went through the doors of the castle, into a large entrance hall. There were puddles of melted snow everywhere, and it seemed as though almost as many students were inside as were out in the grounds.
"What do we do now?" asked Percival, feeling rather out of place. He wondered how long it would take everyone to realise that he did not belong here.
"We have to go speak with the Headmaster," Alistair replied. "Best do that now. Follow me."
Alistair led them up staircases, through corridors, behind tapestries, and around corners. By the time they reached their destination, Percival felt a bit dizzy, and wondered how on earth he would ever find his way around the place.
Alistair knocked on a large oak door, and it immediately swung open to reveal a tall, kindly-looking man in spectacles. Percival thought that he looked a bit familiar, but could not place him. Perhaps he simply had one of those faces. "Yes?" the man inquired.
"Professor Lovegood," said Alistair. "We need to speak with the Headmaster. It's quite important."
"I see," Professor Lovegood replied, glancing at Percival, but asking no questions. "The Headmaster is in his office at the moment. I shall take you there."
And then they were off again, up stairwells, through doors, on and on until Percival gave up on trying to remember the route. Eventually they came to stand before a large stone gargoyle. "Password," said Professor Lovegood, and the gargoyle slid back to reveal a room, which they all went into.
They stepped onto a stone staircase, which immediately began rising upward in a circular motion. Percival found that he was already becoming accustomed to these strange occurrences. He supposed that this was a good thing. "The password to get into the office is 'password'?" he asked incredulously as they arrived at the top of the staircase and stood outside a polished oak door.
"Yes, well," said Professor Lovegood, rapping on the door, "I believe it is the Headmaster's idea of humour." He opened the door, and they walked into the office.
Percival stared at the man seated at the desk in front of him. He had pale skin, black hair, and a pointed beard, and was regarding them with raised eyebrows and a twisted sort of smile. Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black – this was the man who had ruined his cousin's reputation. Percival felt his stomach clench and his face grow hot.
"Well well," the Headmaster drawled as the door closed behind them, "the Ollivanders have brought something back from their holiday."