Prologue (Summer 1970)

"Thank Merlin, you've come!" The relieved voice was the first thing that Albus Dumbledore heard as he emerged from flames that were dancing merrily in the fireplace, floo powder billowing from his robes as he stepped out upon the hearth. "We didn't know what to do aynymore."

"Calm down, Horatio," Dumbledore urged with a smile, tugging his violet robes into place. "I'm sure we'll find a solution to the problem."

"Yes, yes of course." The younger man calmed visibly. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

"Would you have any tea?" The elderly wizard asked with a gentle smile, and added almost as an afterthought. "And perhaps some lemon drops?"

Dumbledore simply smiled as he followed his friend into the comfortably appointed living room wondering what on earth could have upset Horatio to such a degree.

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"You see," Horatio said as soon as Dumbledore was comfortably settled with a cup of tea, "We had hoped that there might still be room at Hogwarts. For a student, I mean."

"Horatio!" Albus Dumbledore exclaimed, a flash of delight appearing on his wizened face. "Is Emily finally expecting? Congratu..."

"No, no, nothing like that." Horatio protested shakily as he sat teacup on the table, meeting Dumbledore's sudden frown with a sad smile. "You remember the accident in Glastonbury this winter?"

"You mean the pack of renegade werewolves who attacked the train?"

Horatio nodded, staring out of the window with a distant expression in his eyes.

"What about it?" The older wizard prompted.

"Well, Emily lost family members during the attack."

"I am sorry, how is she?"

"She is as well as can be expected under the circumstances." The younger wizard explained as he began pacing nervously. "She didn't know them very well. However, it appears that they, her cousin and his wife, had a son and asked that we become his legal guardians in their will."

"And this son is how old?" Dumbledore asked.

"He will be eleven tomorrow."

"I see." Dumbledore gently set the teacup back onto the table, studying his friend closely. "And you wish for him to go to Hogwarts?"

"Yes, of course."

"Why?"

"Why?" Horatio repeated in a surprised voice.

"Yes, why. There are a number of good schools that are much closer and cheaper. Why go to the trouble of sending him to Hogwarts?"

"Well," he began as the chair creaked under his weight, "the boy is strange."

"Strange?" Dumbledore's eyebrows rose in surprise, "How so?"

"He is..." Horatio seemed to struggle for words, "...different." He finished lamely. "There are times when he seems to know things no boy his age should. He is always outside, running through the woods with Merlin only knows what sort of creatures."

"Granted, that's unusual, but certainly not what I would call strange."

"You haven't spoken to him yet," Horatio retorted dryly, "You'll see what I mean. Already his magic is strong. If we lived any closer to Muggle areas we'd probably have the Aurors over every day for illegal use of underage magic."

"Really? How interesting. What is it exactly he does?" The older wizard's interested peaked as he seemed to lean closer in anticipation.

"Many things. He makes things vanish, items will appear out of nowhere if he needs them. Just yesterday he was cold when he came in from playing outside and lit the logs in the fireplace with a simple touch."

"Are you certain? There are certain Muggle devices which..."

"No, Albus," Horatio grimaced, "We don't own such things."

"Have you asked him how he did it?"

"Yes, of course I did."

"And what did he say?" Dumbledore asked.

"He said that everything had the potential to change. He said that warmth and the potential to become fire had always been locked within the wood and that he simply encouraged that potential of becoming fire."

"That's not like any magic I know." The older man frowned.

"Nor I. I want him to go to Hogwarts because I know you, Albus. I know that you'll keep a close eye on him, if not because of his strange behavior, then at least for me out of friendship. Are you willing to take him?"

"May I meet him?"

"Certainly," Horatio rose clumsily to his feet, "Just follow me. He's outside, of course."

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Dumbledore could not help frowning as he saw the boy. "Are you certain that he'll be eleven tomorrow?"

"It's what his birth certificate says." Horatio smiled helplessly. "He says he's always been small for his age."

Slowly the two advanced upon the scrawny, black haired child, who was standing next to a tree, head bent and hands planted on the enormous trunk, his face a mask of concentration. He looked more like eight or nine than almost eleven.

"Hello," Dumbledore smiled gently as the boy looked up, "I'm Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts."

The boy simply raised an eyebrow, glancing thoughtfully at Horatio. Finally his black eyes settled on Dumbledore.
"So you are the one they've been talking about."

"Yes, I suppose I am and who are you?"

"I'm Raven."

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Surely that's not your name?"

"You didn't ask for my name, headmaster, you asked who I was." The boy pointed out.

"I see. And..."

"Do you really?" The boy interrupted him before he could finish his question. "Or do you think it would be easier if you pretended to?"

"Now," Horatio interrupted, "That's hardly the way to talk to..."

"I don't know what they told you about me," the boy cocked his head, ignoring his guardian, "but if they want me to go to that school of yours then I will."

"Horatio?" Dumbledore asked, "Would you grant me a favor?"

"Of course." The smile was pained.

"I'd like to speak to your...to Raven," his eyes twinkled, "Alone for a moment, if I may."

"Of course," Horatio seemed more than just a bit relieved, "Just come inside and let me know what you decide when you're finished. I'll go check on Emily." He said, excusing himself.

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"Why?"

Dumbledore frowned. "Why what child?"

"Why did you send him away? I already said that I would go to your school."

"Because I wanted you to be able to talk freely."

"I always speak my mind." The boy frowned as the headmaster smiled.

"You seem like one who does, child. Horatio told me that you lit a fire yesterday. How did you do it?"

"I'm sure he already told you," the boy said, crossing his arms over the torn remains of his black pullover.

"He did, of course, but couldn't really explain how you did it."

The boy shrugged, a gesture of simple elegance far too old for his young years.

"Who taught you to work such magic?"

The boy cocked his head again as the leaves of the beech tree he had been leaning against rustled. No branches moved, for not even a breath of wind stirred the forest.

Shuddering with apprehension Dumbledore repeated his question.

"The Dryads. They like you."

"What?"

"They say you smell friendly."

"I do?" The boy's response amused the older man, who smiled gently down at him.

"Yes, headmaster." The boy was grinning openly now, "Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

"No, no, I think not. I shall see you at the beginning of the term."

The boy inclined his head, his black eyes thoughtfully following the headmaster, who crossed the garden in a billow of violet robes. Branches quivered, sinking deep enough to caress the boy's hair with some whispering leaves.

"You're right," the boy whispered, giggling, "I think so, too."