Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J. K. Rowling. I am just borrowing them. Please don't sue me.
Author's Note: In case there was any confusion, Artemis is Albus Dumbledore's niece.
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Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcs., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards), the headmaster of Hogwarts, was sifting through his junk mail when an owl landed on the perch beside Fawkes, the phoenix. Very few birds were that bold. This bird, though, had more right to intrude on Fawkes' space than most—it was, after all, the owl that Dumbledore himself had given to his niece on her first day at Hogwarts, all those years ago.
"Good evening, Master Howler," he greeted the big, tawny owl. He got from behind his desk and walked over to the bird perch. "I trust Artemis and the children are all right." If they weren't then most probably he would have been besieged by birds (all of the children's owls) instead of being graced by the presence of this distinguished fellow.
Howler cocked his head and dropped the envelope he carried in Dumbledore's out-stretched hand. In return, the headmaster gave him one of Fawkes' meat treats (and gave one to the phoenix for good measure). Taking a letter opener with a dragon bone hilt from his desk, he broke the green seal and removed the letter from its envelope. The missive was short and written in Artemis's favorite green ink.
Uncle Albus,
I trust this letter finds you in good spirits and good health. I have a favor to ask of you, and I would like to meet with you tonight at the Three Broomsticks to discuss it.
love,
Artemis
Dumbledore raised a bushy eyebrow at the message—he could not recall a time that Artemis had ever asked him for a favor…ever. The girl was startlingly self-efficient and knew her own mind. And, she was determined to make her own place in the wizarding world instead of clinging to the hem of his robes.
"Fawkes, I am going to Hogsmeade," the headmaster informed his friend the phoenix. "I shall return."
He took his dark blue traveling cape down from its peg behind the door and headed out of the office. It was, approximately, eight o'clock at night, and the school was slowly preparing to turn in. This was the hour for minor mischief when the first years went about pranking and the older students snuck in quick make-out sessions in the corners and crevices of the school. He made his way outside and then across the lawn to the gates leading outside of Hogwarts field of charms and spells that kept the school safe. Not being able to Apparate in the school could be an inconvenience at times, but he coped, knowing it was best for the children's safety. Once clear of the school's protections, he Apparated into the village of Hogsmeade. The Three Broomsticks was a large tavern that served very good butterbeer. He stepped inside (having to duck a little so the point of his hat would not scrape the doorframe) and looked around for Artemis. She was seated at a small table in the back, but she stood when he entered.
"Artemis, you are certainly looking fit," Dumbledore greeted his niece with a spine-cracking hug. She did indeed look fit, especially in those Muggle clothes she so favored. She wore a pair of khaki "cargo pants" that fit rather snuggly through the bottom but had a line of highly useful pockets down the side of each leg. Her wand, he noticed, was poking out of one on her right thigh. Her shoes were practical brown hiking boots, and her shirt was a dark green t-shirt with a golden talon on the chest—the logo and colors of her favorite Quidditch team, the Holyhead Harpies.
She laughed as they took their seats across from one another at the small table. "Sometimes, Uncle, I think chasing after children is harder work than chasing Death Eaters. I pretty sure I've lost weight since quitting my job."
"You do seem more cheerful these days. Are you eating?" His eyes fell on a brown paper sack next to his place at the table, "And what is this?"
"I've ordered some chicken wings—which you are more than welcome to share—and that's for you. It's nothing special, just Chocolate Frogs and some raspberry tarts Amelia made. The girl can cook."
"Unlike her foster mother," Dumbledore teased as he separated a squirming frog from its packaging and popped it in his mouth.
Artemis rolled her eyes but didn't have time to comment as Rosemerta set two mugs of butterbeer and a plate of chicken wings down in front of them. "If it weren't for Amelia, we'd starve…I don't know what I'd do without her, and I'm not just talking about the cooking." She shook her head in amazement, making her shoulder-length, light brown hair swing so its natural coppery highlights caught the light.
Dumbledore hid a smile behind his mug. Amelia had been the first child Artemis had adopted, a little over three years ago, and, in the beginning, the two of them had gotten along like cats and dogs. Amelia was very feminine—where as her "mother" obviously was not—and could spend hours in front of the mirror, primping. They had fought over curfews, chores, boyfriends (a particular sticky subject, since Artemis remembered her own boyfriends too well)—basically all the normal things kids and parents fight over, but the fights were made all that much worse since Artemis had still been unsure of her authority over her new daughter. It hadn't helped that his niece had no one to play "good cop" to her "bad" one. But, now, after three rocky years and the addition of quite a few siblings for Amelia, a truce apparently had been reached. "How is Amelia doing these days?" he asked, always curious to hear about his great-nieces and nephews.
"She's doing fine, I guess. Nervous about having to take her N.E.W.T.s this year and having a bit of trouble with her boyfriend." Artemis shrugged as if she didn't quite comprehend what all the fuss was about.
Dumbledore again hid a smile in his butterbeer—he was not going to be the person to bring up Artemis's rather…fiery former relationship with a certain young man. No, not unless he felt like being showered with butterbeer, which actually did not sound like a bad proposition, but he was sure Minerva would have something to say about the smell. "And the others?" he asked, steering the conversation away from Amelia and her boyfriend.
Artemis's lips quirked up in a bemused smile. "They're all going a bit batty from being home all summer—it's going to be a relief to dump them in your lap on the first of September."
"Surely you are exaggerating—my darling great-nieces and nephews have never been anything but perfect angels…" he teased.
She cut him off with a snort. "Are we talking about the same pack of clabberts? Because I happened to be the recipient of no less than forty-three letters home from their professors last year."
"Point taken."
"Well, Laurel wants a pet dragon, Owen's been sulking ever since his team got knocked out of the running for the World Cup—speaking of which, I cannot tell you, Uncle, how grateful I am that you managed to get us all tickets. I haven't told the kids yet, but they're going to love it. Anyway, somebody has been lettering garden gnomes into the house. Do you have any idea how hard it is to evict those buggers? Especially from the kids' rooms? You swing a gnome around in there, and you're bound to knock something off the walls."
"I can see how that would become a problem," Dumbledore sympathized as he recalled Artemis's home. After quitting her job at the ministry, she had used most of her savings to purchase a large, run-down house on the outskirts of the quiet village of Bowlershire. The house had five bedrooms (plus a tiny sewing closet with a low, sloping ceiling that Amelia had claimed as hers so she wouldn't have to share) and three and a half bathrooms (the half being a tiny closet under the stairs that had a toilet but no tub or shower). Despite the house's size, it was bursting at the seams with children, animals, and all the other trappings of a wizarding life.
"As I said, I can't wait for school to start," she finished. Picking a chicken wing up from the platter, she tore into it with relish.
Dumbledore watched her eat (and, to be honest, helped with the dispatching of the chicken) for a few minutes until there was nothing but bones on the platter in front of them. He dabbed a bit of grease off his lip and then set the napkin aside. "You mentioned wanting to ask a favor of me."
Artemis sighed. "It's about Benjamin," she said, naming the newest edition to her family.
"How is he adjusting?"
"Fine, except for I think he's been trained in magic before. Either that, or he has an incredible amount of natural talent," she replied. "Either of which would be fine except that he doesn't have very much control—especially in his sleep."
"A sleepwalker?"
Artemis nodded, "And talker. I woke up last night around two o'clock and found all the shoes normally in the mud room instead dancing down the hall towards his bedroom. He was levitating them in his sleep. This is the third night this week that he's done…something without even waking up. Never mind what happens when he gets really and truly angry…" She trailed off and sighed again. "I don't know what to do."
Dumbledore frowned, his bushy eyebrows knitting together over his beak of a nose. "How old do they think he is?"
"With the Memory Charm having obliterated almost all his memories, they can't tell for sure. They think around ten." Benjamin had been found wandering around the streets of London with magically-induced amnesia and the pieces of a broken wand sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans. His case had caused quite a big stir at the Ministry. It was quite obvious that he was meant to be a wizard, but there was no record of him at Hogwarts—or any of the other European schools either. In fact, he spoke the Queen's English perfectly, so it was doubtful that he was from anywhere but Britain.
"So, another year until he begins at Hogwarts."
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Uncle," she said, leaning forward. "Since they aren't quite sure of his birthday, couldn't it be possible to sort of…fudge his age and get him admitted to Hogwarts this year? He could very well be eleven and just small for his age. And, he had that wand in his pocket when they found him. He might have started school someplace else."
"You know as well as I do that none of the other wizarding schools have any record of him attending their institutions."
"Uncle Albus, he needs to learn control, and so far I haven't been able to teach it to him." She started down at her drink as she spoke. He knew how hard it was for her to admit failure, especially when she held herself to such exacting standards. Not for the first time, he wondered if this insistence on being the best wasn't some kind of reaction to being born in his shadow. While he was impressed by the things she was capable of via determination and endurance, he still wished she wouldn't be so bloody hard on herself all the time. "The teachers at Hogwarts will have a better chance at helping him than I will."
Dumbledore regarded her for a long time as he turned the idea around and around in his head. What she was asking was unprecedented, but there were plenty of extenuating circumstances. He understood her unspoken fear that Benjamin might be a danger to his siblings, even unconsciously. And, if the boy was having problems with his temper, then the situation could only get worse as he passed into the heady years of adolescence. Better then, if he was such a strong talent, to teach him control as soon as possible, before the hormones began to flow full-force and risk mucking everything up. "I will need to speak with the Ministry before I can make a final decision. Who is in charge of his case?"
"Fudge is taking a personal interest in it," Artemis said with a sneer for the Minister. "All the publicity, you know." She rolled her eyes.
"Then, I shall have a word with Cornelius on your and Benjamin's behaves."