Chapter 7: Ms. Annabelle Bentwing

Our stop was this charming English cottage. I had to gasp, because it looked like a postcard. There was a flower bed, a wooden fence, a separate rose garden, trailing vines, green grass, and butterflies everywhere. The shutters were painted red and so was the door. We walked on a stone path to the front door. Wind chimes hung above the porch and various potted herbs lined the edges of it. Proffy Dumbles rapped on the door and we heard someone say from the inside, "Coming!"

It sounded like such a cheerful, warm, motherly type of voice. There was a touch of English in it as well. I envisioned my would-be sponsor as a plump woman with bouncy golden brown hair and cheery blue eyes. She'd bake me her famous chocolate liqueur cake and dote on me like a beloved aunt. She was a widow, with all her children grown up. She lives on the pension (Do wizards have pension?) her late beloved husband left her. He was an explorer (like Phillip Pebblehead) and likes to make her laugh with his Gaplunky impressions (Gaplunky can be any weird, wacky, obscure magical animal) and she is the only one who'd laugh coz only the two of them had ever seen a Gaplunky. And when people stared at them they'd just laugh it off because they're all just silly confused people who have never seen a Gaplunky ever. She'd pity them though, and cry. He'd kissed her cheek and wiped away her tears with an exotic handkerchief woven from magic threads that would glow pink if it absorbed "happy tears" and blue if she shed "sad" ones. It glowed purple. He showed this to her and she'd laugh because it made her seem crazy. She'd cry laughing and when he wiped her cheeks once more they glowed crimson because she shed tears of "love".

I was pondering all this when the red door finally opened.

"I am so sorry to keep you both waiting! I was tending to my cake."

All the blood left my face. The woman was rail-thin and really tall. She had straggly black hair and was wearing a black scarf over her grey robes. She had a long, waxy face. Her eyes were huge and her eyebrows were like black leeches on her forehead. Her nose was so long and pointy and it had a large wart at the very tip. Her mouth was bright red and wide. She had a cleft chin but it was so bumpy it looked like an elbow. I fancied her house might look like a fairy tale house, but she looked like a fairy tale witch (and that is not good). If I was 6 and not known she was Dumbledore's friend, I would have run to the car and screamed to the driver, "DRIVE ME BAAACK! NOOOW!" But I just braced myself.

Gulp.

"Oh nooo. You weren't too long. Hehe."

She smiled a big smile, revealing two buckteeth. This made her seem funny, instead of scary. Her eyes, regardless of how huge they were, seemed kind when you look closer.

"Well, come in! Come in!"

We followed her inside and I saw that the inside was neat and not creepy at all. She had a hat and coat rack, a couch, flowers in vases, a fireplace, and even a piano. The walls were bedecked with picture frames (the people in them moving) and various paintings, most of them watercolors of dogs.

"Sit, sit. Oh Albus, you've been here often enough not to be all shy and modest on me. Put your feet up! Sit yourself down on that pink chair, pet. Oh, you look quite well! Yes you do! And aren't you a pretty one? You remind me of myself when I was a young lass."

I tried my best not to cringe.

"You should try my chocolate liqueur cake! Everyone loves my chocolate liqueur cakes. Don't they, Albus dear?" she asked, her eyes shining.

"Of course, Annabelle. By the way, Juls, this is Ms. Annabelle Bentwing. Annabelle, Juls Enicola," Dumbledore said cordially.

"Pleased to meet you," I said breathlessly and extended my hand. She shook it vigorously and looked me in the eyes.

"Likewise, dear."

She scurried into what seemed to be the kitchen and took out an enormous cake with thick, gooey chocolate frosting. It smelled warm and smelled a tinge bit like alcohol. My stomach rumbled.

"You must be famished! Dig in," she insisted, clapping her hands.

The cake sliced all by itself and each slice floated onto the small plates in front of us. So I grabbed a fork and took a huge bite.

"Oh my God!" I gasped with my mouth still full. The chocolate was melting in my mouth and then slithered down my throat. There was a nice hint of liqueur and it complemented the fudgy chocolate just perfectly. Martha Stewart would just die.

"Glad you like it! So Albus, I've been thinking about what you said in the fireplace," she began, "and I believe I should have a little talk with Ms. Enicola before I make my decision. So, if you please, would you enter the kitchen for just a second?"

"Oh, of course Annabelle," he smiled. He got up from his chair and walked to the kitchen.

Ms. Bentwing then sat on the spot on the sofa right in front of me. She cocked her head to the side and crossed her arms. She observed me as I stuffed myself with cake. I finally noticed and swallowed the contents of my mouth. I grabbed for a napkin and wiped the corners of my mouth.

"Yes, Ms. Bentwing?"

"Oh please, call me Ms. Annabelle."

"Are we going to talk now, Ms. Annabelle?"

"Juls," she crossed her legs, "what would you like to be in the future?"

I was so taken back by this that I knew I managed to look flustered like an unprepared idiot. She was smiling with her mouth closed; tapping her foot to some music only she seemed to be hearing.

"Umm... uhh… Maybe… An Auror? Yes, an Auror. Or maybe a Professor in Hogwarts," I stammered.

"Those are very nice choices. But, do you think you can achieve any those goals?" she queried, raising her eyebrow slightly.

"Yes. Of course," I answered, finally gaining my usual confidence, "I'm smart, and stubborn. So I won't stop till I become all that I ever wanted to be." Gawd, my face is thicker than concrete.

Ms. Annabelle just nodded. She looked into me in a way that made me really conscious. She unfolded her arms and let them rest on her lap.

"Do you have a family?"

"Yes."

"Where are they now?"

"Back home."

"And where is that?"

"Not here."

It was in that moment that I realized that I might not be able to go back home. I could be stuck here, having to strive to be an Auror or a Hogwarts faculty member. But my parent's wouldn't be there when I graduate. Ylla and Ysa wouldn't be there to make me laugh when projects start to pile up or when things just get real bad. That made me feel lonely. That made me feel sad. That made me cry.

"Oh, sweetheart," she reached over and patted me on the back.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed.

"It's all right."

She took out a handkerchief and wiped my tears. It didn't glow or anything. It was just an ordinary hanky. It was plain white linen, probably really old. It didn't say anything other than I merely cried.

But Ms. Annabelle's eyes glowed with love.