Author's Note: Just to let everyone know, this story is now officially AU, because of the bit of the Black family tree recently revealed by J. K. Rowling. Therefore, Phineas Nigellus being around in 1826 is uncanonical, and... that's it, surprisingly enough. But it does mean that the fic is now technically AU. What does that change? Well, nothing, but I thought I should point it out. :P I'm still going to be sticking to canon as much as I possibly can, and hopefully the only time something will be uncanonical will be in a situation like this, when previously unknown information comes out.

So! Now that we've got that out of the way, hello again! And thanks as always to all your brilliant people who are reading this. This week is shaping up to be extremely busy, so the next chapter may be a couple days late. Hopefully it won't, but I can't make any promises. Fingers crossed! And for now, enjoy this one. Just as a reminder, I'm now posting the chapters in my livejournal as well.

Dumbledore (Part I – The Phoenix)

Chapter X - Lumos

-

Monday morning was frigid, just as the morning before had been. This morning, though, the cold air was broken by hundreds of students rushing to prepare for their first day of classes.

Percival got ready and went down to breakfast with the rest of them. He was wearing his new school robes and feeling more conspicuous than ever, even though he now looked just like everybody else.

Aside from this, he was feeling very well. He was refreshed, and wide awake. He had been sleeping well, despite the fact that new places usually made him restless. He was not sure why Hogwarts was different. Perhaps it was the Scottish air.

After breakfast, Percival made his way to the library. By the time he arrived, the corridors were strangely still and silent, as most of the students were now in class. One of the school's many ghosts floated by him, and tipped his translucent hat politely.

Percival reached the library on the fourth floor, and was heartened by the fact that he had not lost his way once that morning. His spirits high, he greeted the librarian (a very old little witch called Madam Mills) cordially. She waved at him with her small, wrinkled hand, and smiled so that her whole face crinkled. "Good morning, my dear!" she said. "Just shout at me if you need anything!"

Percival liked Madam Mills very much. He had never known a librarian to suggest shouting, and he was quite impressed by this. She was also an exceedingly helpful woman, and very kind, and Percival had always liked kind people, partly because he admired that they were even capable of being so very nice.

In the following weeks, Percival rose in the mornings and ate breakfast with the other students, and then went up to the library and studied. It was generally quite deserted, except for the odd few students with free study time, and one ghost in particular, the Grey Lady, who seemed to be there almost every day.

Percival was feeling wonderful. The Scottish air, or whatever it was, had seeped through his skin and into his blood and given him a sort of vigour which he had forgot he could possess. He had written stacks of notes already, and broken two quills. Books stood in little towers on the table all around him. Sometimes he would pause to stretch and watch the dust swirl in a band of sunlight that crossed in front of him, and sometimes he would get up and have a chat with Madam Mills about what he had learnt that day. Sometimes he forgot to go to dinner.

Alistair and Catherine came and sat with him often. Catherine in particular was enthusiastic to help him. She let him try all of the questions that her teachers had assigned her, and soon he could answer nearly all of them correctly. She triumphantly declared that, at this rate, Percival would be at O.W.L. level in no time, and Phineas Nigellus Black would have no choice but to make good on their deal.

In the middle of the month, Percival finally received a reply from his mother. He opened the letter gingerly, half-expecting every inch of it to be taken up with a furious tirade and a demand that he return home immediately, but all it contained were stiff assurances of everyone's health, and Rosamund's marriage, and the fact that Louisa and Mr Stephenson had already been married in a small, private ceremony, and that the baby had been christened 'Guy'.

The end of the month came, and with it came Quidditch. The conditions, according to Michael Potter and Dominic Malfoy, who were both on the Gryffindor team, and were very sorry that their game was not till February, were ideal for playing in. It was unseasonably warm – almost all of the snow had melted, and there was only a slight breeze. The sky was clear, and everyone seemed eager for the first Quidditch game of the new year.

Percival, Catherine, Alistair, and Gilbert Prewett found a seat in the stands next to Professor Lovegood. He seemed to be in very high spirits. "It's always fun to watch a game when your team isn't playing," he said, rubbing his hands together to warm them. "Then you can just enjoy it without worrying about who will win – well, sort of."

"Yes, but even if your team isn't playing, every House has another House that they'd rather see do well than their opponent," Gilbert said.

"And who do Gryffindor usually support?" Percival asked.

"Anyone who isn't Slytherin!" Alistair grinned.

The players kicked off, and rose into the air. Percival, who had never actually seen anyone fly before, stared at them in amazement. The balls flew back and forth, and the players sped around the pitch with stunning agility, and Percival had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was, he thought he liked it.

"Oh look," said Catherine suddenly, about half-way through the game. She nodded her head toward the other side of the stands. "It's Dominic Malfoy's father. What on earth is he doing here?"

"Come to watch Slytherin play, maybe," Alistair mused. "But who's that dark man he's talking to, the one in all the furs and silks?"

"That is Erik Lestrange," Professor Lovegood informed them. "Bourgeoisie – new money. The Lestranges had nothing till some distant aunt died and left them a sizeable amount of gold, and they moved to England and bought themselves into high society."

"Why'd they move to England?" Cathy wondered.

"They had a bit of a reputation back in France," replied Lovegood. "It seems that they were all a bit roguish."

Their conversation was drowned out by the roar of cheers from the Slytherins, who had just scored for the eighth time in a row.

"Oh well," Gilbert said, "no one expected Ravenclaw to win anyway."

"They've still got a chance if they score twice and catch the snitch!" Catherine exclaimed earnestly.

"Three times," Alistair corrected her, "and I don't think they're going to catch anything." They all winced as one of the Ravenclaw chasers dropped the quaffle.

"Do you know..." Gilbert began, squinting across the pitch again. "Do you know... look who's sitting there talking to Malfoy and Lestrange."

They all turned their heads to see. It was clearly the Gaunt boy, looking as unpleasant as ever. Why two very wealthy men would want to have a conversation with a small, dirty boy was beyond Percival.

"Hmm," Professor Lovegood said.

"He's probably begging them for money or something," Catherine said dismissively. Percival glanced over her head at Alistair; he looked worried.

They watched the game in silence for some minutes. Slytherin scored again. Ravenclaw were growing visibly disheartened. Then Gilbert said, "I think they're looking at us."

"Who?" Cathy replied.

"Them," said Gilbert, nodding toward the other side of the pitch. By the time Percival had looked, though, they were watching the game again.

Not five minutes later, Catherine exclaimed, "You're right, Gilbert! They're looking at us! What do you think they want?"

"Nothing," Alistair grumbled. "They're probably only looking at us because we keep looking at them. Just ignore them, or else they'll probably go to Black and get him to expel us for looking at them the wrong way."

The game went to Slytherin. The onlookers filed slowly from the stands. It had begun to rain slightly, so slightly that it was really more like a slowly dripping faucet; still, the sky was becoming overcast, and everyone was going directly into the school.

"Oh, hold on!" Gilbert cried when they were about half-way there. "I've got something in my shoe." They all halted, except for Professor Lovegood who had to go and supervise a detention. Gilbert pulled his shoe off, turned it upside-down, and began shaking it violently.

Percival glanced past him, and started slightly. "Oh Lord," he said, "look who's coming." It was Mr Malfoy and Mr Lestrange. At least the Gaunt boy was not with them.

"What on earth can they want, now?" Gilbert asked exasperatedly, hopping about on one foot as he tried to tug his shoe back on. No sooner had he spoke, though, Malfoy turned and set off in the direction of Hogsmeade, and left Lestrange to carry on toward them alone.

"Maybe we could just... walk away..." Catherine said, eyeing the approaching man uncertainly.

Alistair shook his head. "He's coming straight for us," he replied. "He obviously means to talk to us. Besides, Gilbert hasn't got his shoe on properly yet."

Lestrange reached them in due time. He turned out to be very young – much younger than Percival had anticipated. He was twenty, or twenty-one at the most, and had curly dark hair, dark eyes, and a ruddy complexion. Percival supposed he must be handsome, because he looked a bit like something out of a novel. He frowned.

"Hello," Lestrange said in a pleasant tone, which instantly made Percival suspicious. "My name is Erik Lestrange." He extended his gloved hand toward Alistair, who was standing nearest to him.

Alistair shook hands with him warily. "Alistair Ollivander," he replied.

"Ah, of course," Lestrange smiled. He did not smirk. His lips did not twist into a sinister sneer. Percival was sure that he must be a villain, but, to his frustration, if he hadn't known anything about him, he would have thought him to be a perfect gentleman.

"And this must be your sister?" Lestrange continued, nodding at Cathy and giving her a most congenial smile.

"Yes," Alistair said shortly.

"Indeed, indeed, the resemblance is striking," Lestrange said. "And your name, miss?"

"Catherine," she answered. "Catherine Ollivander. And it is a pleasure to meet you, sir," she finished, shooting a look at her brother as though he were being extremely rude.

"Charming," Lestrange said, clearly pleased with her cordiality. Percival, on the other hand, was rather put out. "And your friends...?" He glanced up at Percival and Gilbert.

Catherine was about to respond, but was interrupted by her brother, who looked none too pleased. "This is Gilbert Prewett – "

"Hello," said Gilbert, shuffling nervously.

" – and Percival Dumbledore," Alistair finished.

Percival shook hands with Lestrange. Ah, now there was a failing! The man had a rather weak handshake. Percival smiled triumphantly to himself. He was on to him. He glanced up at the sky – it was beginning to actually rain now, the sort of drizzle that comes right before the downpour.

Seeming to sense this as well, Lestrange got to his point. "I have a meeting with the Headmaster, and I must confess, I have no idea where to find his office. Would one of you be willing to escort me?"

"I will!" Cathy volunteered.

"We all will," Alistair countered. "Well, come on, unless you all fancy being drenched."

They led him into the school and up to the Headmaster's office, where they parted. Then they headed back toward the Gryffindor common room.

"I thought he was very nice, didn't you?" Catherine remarked, skipping slightly.

"I thought he was a joke," Alistair replied testily. "Parading around in all those furs and silks like he's a king or something. I know richer people than him with more taste."

"Yes," said Percival, "I agree."

Cathy seemed none too pleased at this. "Well!" she huffed. "I don't know what's the matter with you two. I thought he was perfectly charming. What about you, Gilbert? What did you think of him?"

"Err..." said Gilbert. "He was... very... nice."

"You see!" Catherine exclaimed. "At least Gilbert's got some sense."

Gilbert shrugged apologetically at Percival and Alistair.

Some two weeks after this incident, Percival was besieged in the library by Michael Potter, who had decided to take it upon himself to help Percival with his studies that day, since Quidditch practice was cancelled. "Let's do Charms," Michael said eagerly. "I'm brilliant at Charms."

Percival, slightly amused at this assertion, agreed, and Michael set about explaining basic charms to him, most of which Percival had read about anyway.

"But let's try a few," Michael said finally. "Have you done any charms yet?"

"Err... not exactly, not... really... no," Percival conceded, embarrassed.

Michael looked at him strangely. "Why not? Charms are easy, really, very simple, especially the basic ones. I can show you how to do some if you want, right now."

"Oh," said Percival, struggling to think of some excuse, "oh, no, that's all right... I think I'm going to stop for the night anyway. Too much studying, you know... not good... ha ha."

"I know," Michael grinned, "right you are. Too much studying never did any good for anyone, that's what I always say, and I'm usually right. Well, what shall we do? Want to go to the kitchens?"

"Maybe some other time," Percival replied. "I've got to go back to the common room and... write a letter to my mother." In truth, Percival had not written to his mother since his first letter to her. He did not see the need. He simply wanted to escape Michael Potter, and anymore questioning about why he had not attempted any charms.

Upon exiting the library, they were met with Dominic Malfoy. "Oh, hello," Dominic said. "If you're going back to the common room, I'll come with you – I was just looking for Potter." They continued up the stairs together.

When they were nearly there, Professor Black stepped out of the shadows, startling them all. "Mr Malfoy," he said, addressing Dominic. "You will be attending to your prefect duties tonight, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," Dominic replied, "I hadn't forgotten."

"See that you don't," said Black, and he continued off down the corridor.

When he was out of earshot, Dominic made a sound of derision. "He's ridiculous," he said irritably. "Thinks he can do whatever he pleases, doesn't he? And Michael told me all about what happened with him and your cousin, Percival."

Percival did not say anything, but was quite perturbed. He had taken Michael into his confidence, trusting that he would not tell anybody, and here he had gone and told Dominic Malfoy 'all about' his cousin. He supposed that he ought to confront Michael about this, but he thought better of it – what was the use of starting trouble? Still, it bothered him for the rest of the day.

The next evening, Professor Lovegood happened upon Percival, and beckoned him into his (now empty for the day) classroom. Percival had never actually been in the room before, and rather liked the look of it. It wasn't stiff and formal like the classrooms at Eton – it looked more lived-in and comfortable.

Professor Lovegood sat atop a desk and gave Percival a discerning look. "Well, Mr Dumbledore," he said. "Mr Potter tells me that you have yet to try any charms – by which I take it to mean that you have yet to try any spells at all."

Percival sighed and crossed his arms. "Michael Potter has trouble keeping his mouth shut, doesn't he?"

Lovegood smiled. "Yes, well, that is not the point of our discussion, Mr Dumbledore. Why haven't you done any spells? You have been here since the beginning of January. It is now the beginning of February."

Percival was growing increasingly uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat, and stared out the window, rather than meet the teacher's eye. "I don't know," he mumbled finally. What was he supposed to say? He hadn't done any spells because he was terrified that he would not be able to work them? That he would wave his wand and be met with nothing? That everyone would find out what a fraud he was, and he would have to leave Hogwarts and go back to Bath and be a Muggle forever?

Professor Lovegood did not question him further, however. He simply nodded, rose, and said, "I think it is time that you tried a spell or two. Now."

"Now?" Percival repeated, feeling the blood drain from his face. He stood unsteadily.

"Yes, no better time," Lovegood smiled reassuringly. "Wand out – there you go. Now, let's see... I think we ought to start out with an easy one." He glanced toward the windows. The sun had already mostly set, and the classroom was quite dim. "You have come across Lumos in your studies, surely?"

"Yes," said Percival, feeling a bit ill.

"Well, let's give it a try!" Lovegood said. "Just hold your wand steady, out like that – good – and say, 'Lumos'."

Percival took a deep breath. He closed his eyes briefly. He was being ridiculous, he knew. Finally, with great effort, he said, "Lumos!"

Nothing happened.

Percival groaned and put his head in his hands. "You see!" he exclaimed. "I can't do it, I'm no good! I'm not a wizard at all!"

Lovegood laughed, not unkindly, and patted Percival's shoulder. "Mr Dumbledore, nobody does it on their first try. You are not a Muggle. If you were a Muggle, you could not have got a Hogwarts letter, you could not have got into Diagon Alley, you could not have got a wand, and you could not be standing in Hogwarts at this very moment. Really, you must have a little more confidence in your abilities. That's the key right there."

Percival, feeling slightly relieved, and very stupid, said, "Oh."

"Let's try it again," said Professor Lovegood.

Percival held out his wand. He tried to feel confident. He concentrated on what Lovegood had said about all of the things that he had managed to do, because he was a wizard. "Lumos!" he exclaimed. A little beam of light shot out of the end of his wand. He laughed incredulously.

"Well, Mr Dumbledore," Lovegood smiled, "it appears as though you've just cast your first spell." Percival grinned. "Say 'Nox'," Lovegood continued, "that will put it out."

"Nox," said Percival. The light went out.

"Congratulations," Lovegood raised his eyebrows. "Now apply that to other spells as well. I dare say your friends will be more than willing to help you. Come back on Friday and we will try some more."

"All right," Percival grinned. He had never felt more accomplished in his life.