Author's Note: Back again, and it is indeed Friday! I think I can safely say now that Friday will be Update Day, unless something happens to delay my posting.
I'm also going to start posting the chapters in my livejournal. That way it's all backed up somewhere else as well, and people have two different places to read it. All of the chapters will be in my livejournal memories, and I'll update my livejournal on the same day I update here. The address of my livejournal can be found in my profile.
Once again, thank you to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. I'm shocked at the reception my story has got, really, and just thrilled. It's had over two hundred hits now, and I know that's not much compared to a lot of fan fictions, but I honestly expected to get maybe two or three reviews on the whole thing. Thank you!
Dumbledore (Part I – The Phoenix)
Chapter IX - Hogsmeade
-
The next day, Saturday, was clear and bright. Percival met Professor Lovegood in the entrance hall after breakfast that morning. The professor greeted him cheerfully, and then they started off across the grounds toward the village of Hogsmeade.
"It is cold," Professor Lovegood remarked, rubbing his hands together, "but the village isn't far away. You'll have to get used to Scottish winters now that you're a Hogwarts student!"
Percival, who had noticed the teacher had a slight accent, asked, "Are you from Scotland, sir?"
"No, Ireland," he replied, "though my accent's so weak now I'm not surprised you couldn't tell the difference. I've been a teacher at Hogwarts for nearly forty years now – since I was thirty – and owing to that, I've been almost entirely surrounded by the English."
Percival did the maths in his head and exclaimed, "Forty years since you were thirty? But that would make you - "
"Seventy, in October."
"But you don't look seventy at all," said Percival, bewildered. Admittedly, Professor Lovegood did not look young, but Percival had thought him to be not much older than fifty.
"You flatter me," Lovegood smiled amusedly. "But you are still thinking like a Muggle. I look quite normal for seventy as wizards go, I assure you. Wizards, you must understand, live a great deal longer than Muggles. A few wizards have lived to the age of nearly two hundred."
Percival could not quite wrap his mind around this. They were passing the Quidditch pitch, which Alistair had showed him through the window the day before. "I've read about Quidditch," Percival said. "Is it really played on broomstick, up in the air?"
"It is indeed," Professor Lovegood told him. "I believe you must now be acquainted with a Mr Potter, in your year? He is the captain of the Gryffindor team. There is a game coming up near the end of the month, so you'll get to see Quidditch played then."
"Are Gryffindor playing?" Percival inquired.
"No," said Lovegood, "it's Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. Gryffindor's next game is in February, but they're playing Hufflepuff, and Hufflepuff are nearly unbeatable..."
They reached Hogsmeade in what seemed like no time at all. It was a quaint sort of village, and reminded Percival a bit of a more magical Godric's Hollow. He was glad to step out of the frigid cold into a shop called Gladrags that sold wizarding apparel.
As Percival was being fitted for his new school robes, Professor Lovegood sat on a stool nearby and inquired as to how he liked Hogwarts so far.
"I like it a great deal," Percival told him, "only it's very confusing. I can't count the number of times I've become lost since Thursday. And, well, to own the truth, I'm still a bit mystified by all of this. I met a poltergeist yesterday. I didn't even know poltergeists existed a month ago. I didn't know Gryffindors existed, come to that, and now I am one. And then there are hexes, and charms, and potions, and flying broomsticks, and moving portraits – I feel like I'll never be a proper wizard."
"You'll catch on," Lovegood assured him. "You seem bright. I daresay it won't take you long. You're not the only Muggleborn to ever come to Hogwarts – though Muggleborn students are, admittedly, rather scarce right now..."
"Why is that, sir?" Percival asked, spreading his arms so the man taking his measurements could measure around his waist.
Professor Lovegood seemed to be considering what to say. "Well," he began, "the recruitment policy concerning such students is, err, less than adequate."
"But you're the Deputy Headmaster," Percival pressed on, "you write the letters. I saw your name on mine. Can't you change the recruitment policy?"
Professor Lovegood simply shook his head. "I am afraid that such powers lie mostly with the Headmaster."
"Then maybe the Headmaster should be sacked," Percival said without thinking.
He had expected Lovegood to chastise him for this, but the professor simply smiled. "There are many who share that opinion, Mr Dumbledore. But the Headmaster has, shall we say, friends in high places."
They went up to the counter to pay for Percival's robes. "I would suggest paying a visit to the book shop," said Professor Lovegood, "if I thought there was any chance of finding a copy of a wonderful book called 'A Muggleborn's Guide to Magic'. But unfortunately, I think the chances of that are slim."
"Oh," said Percival, surprised, "but I already have a copy of that book!"
"You do!" Lovegood exclaimed, looking shocked.
"Yes," Percival continued, "I bought it in Diagon Alley last month. The shopkeeper told me that it was the last one in stock, that someone had been buying them all." They walked out into the sharp winter air. "But if there are hardly any Muggleborns who know about the wizarding world, then... whoever's buying them must be doing so because they don't want anyone to read it, right?"
"A deduction I am inclined to agree with," Professor Lovegood frowned. "I am very glad you managed to get your hands on a copy. It is, of course, an invaluable resource."
"Have you read it?"
"Of course. I helped to edit it."
Percival stared at him in disbelief. "But your name isn't listed anywhere in it!" he exclaimed.
"No," said Lovegood, "and for good reason. I'd appreciate it if you would keep that knowledge to yourself, Mr Dumbledore. There are those among my superiors who would be none too pleased to learn of it."
Percival understood. "Sir," he said, "I – why is it that so many wizards seem to dislike Muggleborns? I met a boy called Gaunt yesterday - "
"Ah," said Lovegood.
"- and he called me a 'mudblood'. Well, it sounded rather self-explanatory, and not at all complimentary."
Lovegood sighed. "'Mudblood,'" he said, "is a very nasty term of derision for a Muggleborn or half-blood wizard or witch. It is generally considered to be extremely offensive, but I can't say I'm surprised..."
"But why, Professor?" Percival implored. "Why do so many people hate us?"
"It's all about blood purity," Lovegood explained. "There's no justification for it. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. There are those who are of the opinion that pureblooded wizards are more talented, or brighter, or simply better than Muggleborns and half-bloods. There's not a shred of evidence to support this, but it makes them feel good about themselves to think that way, I suppose."
"Well, that's just brilliant," Percival said gloomily.
"Now, don't worry," the professor replied. "A good majority of the wizarding population does not think like that at all. Some, however, are simply prejudiced. Some take it too far... much too far... there are those, of course, who are dangerous. The chances of anyone hurting you are very slight, but I think you should know that there are people who wish to harm Muggleborns and those who sympathise with them. Mostly - "
" – Slytherins?" Percival finished. He remembered the Gaunt boy and Elmira Malfoy. Both were in Slytherin. "Alistair Ollivander said that Slytherins were evil. Is that true?"
Professor Lovegood chuckled a bit. "No, that's not true. Not all Slytherins are bad. Gryffindors – and, I think, especially Ollivanders – sometimes have the tendency to exaggerate the evils of Slytherin. But it is true that most of those who prize purity of blood above all else were in Slytherin."
"So why Slytherin?" Percival asked. "What is it about that particular house?" They passed through the gates leading into the school grounds.
"You really ought to read about the founding of the school," Lovegood said. "We have an excellent library here, and it's an entertaining story. But in short, Salazar Slytherin was one of the founders of Hogwarts, and believed that only pureblooded students should be allowed into the school. He certainly made sure that no Muggleborns would be placed in his House. Eventually he became fanatic to the point of urging violence against the people he termed 'mudbloods', and he feuded with Godric Gryffindor, another of the school's founders, and left Hogwarts forever."
"Ahh," said Percival. "So that's why Gaunt was so proud of being the heir of Slytherin. And that's why he hates Muggleborns. But why does he hate Alistair and Catherine so much? They're pureblood, aren't they?"
"Yes," Professor Lovegood replied, "their families have been fighting for centuries. But this is neither the time nor the place to get into that."
Percival sighed inwardly, but the professor's tone had been firm. He reached into his pocket and jingled his remaining coins absently. "I suppose I'll have to change some of my Muggle money into wizarding money soon," he said, "but I have no idea how to go about doing that."
Lovegood looked at him curiously. "But how did you come by the money you already have?"
Percival told him about the Irishman at his aunt's house.
"An Irishman, you say?" Lovegood appeared to be thinking. "What was his name?"
"I don't know," Percival replied. "He told me I could pay him back later, but he never told me his name or where he lived or anything. He had just married one of the girls from next-door, though, and her name was... oh... Mary, I think. Mary Kember."
"Ha!" Lovegood exclaimed, looking very well pleased. "Yes, I thought as much. I'm certain that Irishman was my brother, Matthew Lovegood. If you really felt the need to pay him back, you could do it through me, but I'm sure he won't miss twenty galleons."
Percival laughed at this. "I knew you looked familiar, but I just couldn't place it," he admitted.
As they entered the school again, Professor Lovegood said, "I trust you have written to your parents to assure them of your safe arrival?"
"Err," said Percival sheepishly. "I was actually going to – do that – soon."
"Mmhmm," Lovegood smiled. "And you've explained owl post to your mother, of course?"
Percival cleared his throat nervously. "I never, ah, exactly got around to that..."
"Well," said Lovegood cheerfully, "she's in for a bit of a surprise then, isn't she? I'd suggest you write your letter now, Mr Dumbledore, before Mr Ollivander is finished with his detention for the day."
"All right," said Percival, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Oh, but sir!"
"Yes?" the professor turned back to look at him.
"If Muggleborns never get put into Slytherin, why did the Headmaster think I'd be sorted in there?"
"Oh, Professor Black knew very well there was no chance of you being sorted into Slytherin," Lovegood replied. "He was only saying that to frustrate Alistair and Catherine."
-
Saturday January 7, 1826Scotland
Dear Mother,
I am writing to tell you that I have arrived safely in Scotland. I hope that the owl did not startle you. You will have to use it if you want to send letters to me. Oh yes, and you have to send them to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, because that is where I am.
I hope that you are all well. Have you heard from Rosamund and Edgar Stephenson? And are Louisa and the other Mr Stephenson going to be married or not? I am not sure if I can get away from school for the wedding, if they are having it. I believe that I will have a great deal of studying to do.
Yours &c.,
Percival Dumbledore
"There," said Percival, setting down his quill. He read the letter over, and then handed it to Catherine. "What do you think?"
"Well..." she said speculatively, scanning it, "it is rather short."
"But I haven't anything else to say," Percival insisted. "I don't see what the point of filling up a letter with trifles like 'and give my regards to Mr and Mrs so-and-so', and 'how is such-and-such a person, I heard they caught cold' is when you don't really care one way or another."
"You could relate an amusing anecdote," Catherine suggested.
"I don't have an amusing anecdote to relate," Percival replied. "And anyway, even if I did, she wouldn't want to hear it. She'll probably have a fit just knowing that I've come to Hogwarts."
The portrait hole opened, and Alistair entered the room, followed closely by Michael Potter. They both came and sat down by Percival and Catherine. Michael propped his feet up on the table in front of him and took a paper bag out of his pocket. "Mother sent me biscuits," he said, peering into the bag.
Percival suddenly realised that this was the perfect opportunity to tell Alistair and Catherine what he had been wanting to tell them for days. The only other people in the common room were off on the other side, and involved in a gruelling game of wizard's chess. Now was the time. The only problem was –
"Want a biscuit, anyone?" Michael asked.
Percival thought quickly, and made his decision. Michael Potter seemed like a decent sort of person. "I have to tell you all something," he said, lowering his voice, and they leaned in confidentially. "But you have to swear not to tell anyone else, all right? Because if this gets out, and it's traced back to me, I don't want to think about the consequences."
Percival told them what had happened on the 27th of December. He left in the bits with Terrence and his lady friend, and Rosamund eloping with Mr Stephenson's brother. He thought that if he was going to tell the story, he might as well make it as entertaining as possible.
"Your family's mad," Alistair informed him.
"I know," said Percival. "But this is the interesting part: Mr Stephenson wasn't the father of my cousin's baby after all. My cousin said that it was Phineas Nigellus Black."
"NO!" Catherine shouted in wide-eyed disbelief, startling everyone in the room.
"Yes," said Percival grimly, "and that's why I don't want you to tell anyone. If everyone started talking about it, and Black found out, I'd probably be expelled. And anyway, what I don't understand is how none of us knew that she was with child. Do you think he – I don't know – magically concealed it or something?"
"Oh no," Catherine said lightly, "some women, it just doesn't show. When Mother went into her confinement for me, the healer thought she had indigestion."
"I can't believe Black seduced a Muggle girl," Michael said, shaking his head. "Black hates Muggles."
"Obviously he doesn't hate them as much as we thought," Alistair put in sarcastically. "But why didn't you confront him about it, Percival? When we were in his office the other day?"
Percival shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know," he replied. "I didn't know what to do. And I wanted to come to Hogwarts. It seemed like my only chance to – well – Black might be sacked soon anyway, right? Doesn't everyone hate him?"
"Well, everyone who's smart," said Michael. "I hope he does get sacked – then Lovegood would be Headmaster. Lovegood doesn't go round seducing Muggle girls. At least, not that I've heard of."
"But if Lovegood became Headmaster, they would have to find someone else to teach History of Magic," Catherine frowned, "and no one can do it like Professor Lovegood does. He's amazing."
"I think Cathy's in love," Alistair grinned.
Catherine went red and glared at him. "You're an idiot," she countered. "I'm not in love with him. He's old. Besides, I'm only eleven. What sort of person falls in love at the age of eleven? I've never heard of something so ridiculous."
"Cassandra Trelawney," Michael put it, between taking bites of a biscuit. "They say Cassandra Trelawney fell in love at eleven, and had her heart broken by the time she was thirteen, and never loved again. And that's why she's such a brilliant seer."
Alistair laughed outright at this. "What does being a seer have to do with having your heart broken? I don't believe a word of it. She probably made it up herself, so that she'd sound more – mysterious, or something."
"I don't believe in Divination," Catherine sniffed. "I could sit around and make predictions, and I'm sure some of them would come true as well. It's all luck. She's probably just a drunk."
Percival now could not help wondering what this Cassandra Trelawney was like. Was she a fraud? Was she mad? Was she a drunk? Divination, from what he knew, was all about predicting the future. So she was a fortune teller, wasn't she? He supposed that she would be old and bent, then, probably with blackened teeth and eyes that looked in different directions. She would clothe herself in dozens of shawls and bangles and strange talismans. She would reek of perfume and incense and have long, yellow fingernails like claws.
Whatever she was like, Percival was sure that he would meet her soon. After all, classes began for everyone on Monday, and that meant Percival would be beginning his studies as well. He had already located the library, and picked out some choice books. The one thing he had not done yet was try to cast a spell. He supposed he would have to soon enough, but he wanted to be alone when he did it. If he failed, he did not want anyone else to see.