J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter

Chapter Eight

Everything about his birthday party was remarkably ordinary, right up to the moment when it wasn't.

There had been a cake, he had received several excellent presents, his mother's parents had driven out from London, and Noah had come over for some party games. They were just finishing up when the doorbell rang, and Mark, who was nearest, answered.

He blinked in surprise. He had seen strange-looking people before, but the man at the door was something special. His knee-length white beard might have made him seem a Father Christmas, if not for his equally long hair. Anyway, Father Christmas was not tall and thin, nor did he dress in flowing robes of deep purple.

The stranger fixed Mark for a moment with a gaze that seemed to look through rather than at him. Then he smiled, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. "My name is Professor Dumbledore," he said, holding out his hand; the name sounded familiar, but Mark could not remember why. "And you, I presume, are Mark Evans. It is your birthday, is it not?"

Mark stood, flummoxed. Who was this exceedingly strange man, and how did he know his name, let alone his birthday?

Professor Dumbledore, however, pressed brightly on: "You will shake my hand and invite me inside, I hope. I might be left feeling quite foolish otherwise."

Mark gaped at him, completely lost for words.

"Ah, do excuse me," the man continued. "You are, of course, reluctant to speak with me or invite me in before consulting with your parents. I do understand; it is indeed very responsible of you." He promptly sat down on the chair on the front stoop, pulled a book out of his robes, and began to read.

Mark was about to take the hint and reenter the house - not that he needed much encouragement - when it suddenly clicked. "I know who you are!" he cried in a whisper, his blood running cold. "You the headmaster of the magic school, aren't you?"

Did it have to be today of all days, when everything was going so well, that the wizards came calling?

But why not? another voice in his head said quietly. Maybe this is the best birthday present of all.

"Did Angulus mention me, then? How very kind of him," he said happily, looking up from his book. "Yes, I am indeed headmaster of Hogwarts, and -"

"Who's at the - oh!" Mum called, cutting herself off as she came up behind Mark.

"He's from the -" Mark tried to explain.

He was interrupted by Dad asking from behind him, "What's going on?"

Turning around, Mark saw, to his great dismay, that his grandparents, David and Noah were there too.

"Oh, are we still in the middle of your birthday party?" Professor Dumbledore said brightly. "I would be glad to join in the festivities."

Mark's parents were looking quite alarmed.

"Excuse me, sir, but I -"

"Professor Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School," he added by way of introduction, seemingly oblivious to everyone's discomfiture.

Mum paled; Dad, clearly trying to keep his composure, said with a weak smile, "I suppose you should come in."

As they all headed back to the kitchen, Noah shot a curious glance at Mark, who could do nothing more than look away helplessly, knowing what was coming and that there was no way he could stop it.

"This sunset is most charming," the professor said as they entered the kitchen, indicating the painting on the wall. "Did you do it yourself?" he inquired, looking at Mum.

"Oh - oh, yes, I did," she said, appearing very flattered, and she gestured at her signature in the bottom corner, which Mark was somehow sure the professor had already noticed.

"Well," he said, as they all sat down at the table, "I am sure that, after the events of last summer, you are all aware that Mark is a wizard, so -"

"He's a what?" Granddad asked disbelievingly; Gran whipped her head around to look at Mark in wonder and Noah watched the professor in disdainful incredulity.

"Do you mean you haven't told your grandparents and best friend of your abilities?" the professor asked Mark with every appearance of sincere surprise. "Surely you didn't think that those closest to you would abandon you if they discovered the truth?"

Mark said nothing, but stared uncomfortably at the floor. That had been exactly what he had assumed, and he was still not sure that that would not be the case.

"Either way," Professor Dumbledore continued smoothly, "I am sure you will fill everyone in after I leave. Curiosity is the oldest of sins, after all. I am, however, somewhat of a busy man, so let us get on to business.

"The most important matter which concerns us this evening is, of course, your acceptance to Hogwarts." He reached into his robes, pulled out his wand, and waved it in an odd, squiggly motion.

A large, cream-colored envelope appeared in the air and fell onto the table in front of Mark; his grandfather gasped and Noah's expression instantly became one of delight. Watching it nervously, he saw it was addressed to Mr. M. Evans, The Boys' Room, 17 Wisteria Walk, Little Whinging, Surrey. He had never heard of a stranger way to address a letter.

"This contains your letter of acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well a list of various items you will require for school. It also contains a train ticket for your transportation. Term begins on September the first."

"Excuse me," Mum interjected, "but do you really expect us to send our son to a school we've never heard of, with no one else he's ever met, to learn magic for heaven's sake, just because you turned up and invited him? Where is it even located?"

Dad and Granddad were nodding along vigorously, David fidgeted, and Noah's eyes were impossibly wide. Gran opened her mouth to say something, but the professor was already replying.

"The school is located in the Scottish Highlands," he said courteously, "though the exact location is a secret. As for whether Mark will attend, obviously that is your choice, but I suspect he knows already that it is his destiny."

His eyes met Mark's again, and despite himself Mark knew that he was right.

"Destiny?" Dad inquired, cuttingly sarcastic. "All we've heard from you wizards so far is two people who show up to try to wipe our memories, then tell us that your world is at war, and oh, by the way, would you like to send your son to come to school with us? It's a wonderful, happy place! And it's his destiny, after all, so, well, I guess he'll be going! Wasn't that easy?"

The professor sighed deeply, and for the first time he appeared very old. Then he spoke, and his voice was commanding: "I cannot guarantee Mark's safety at school," he said, "any more than I can my own. Only there, however, can he learn the skills necessary for his and your defense, should this war last as many years as the last. Remaining in the Muggle world is no protection; I believe more than two thousand Muggles have been killed by Voldemort and his followers to date. Hiding from the unpleasant tends to make it more so," he finished into the horrified silence.

A few seconds passed; Mark avoided Noah's eye, which was not a simple feat while also trying not to look at the envelope on the table. He caught his grandmother's eye instead, and was surprised when she smiled faintly and threw him a trace of a wink. His parents looked at each other, conversing wordlessly.

"We - my wife and I -" Dad said stiffly, "will have to discuss this matter further. When must we inform you of our decision?"

"By the end of July," Professor Dumbledore replied. "I feel certain that you will make the choice with calm deliberation and with your son's future in mind. The school's contact information is enclosed with the acceptance letter."

He rose from his seat and said quietly to Mark, "Happy birthday." Then he spun on the spot, and, with a swish of robes, vanished.

Everyone started talking at once.

"What is the meaning -"
"We can't let -"
"Laura, I know -"
"That was incredible!"

This last came from Noah, whom Mark finally, reluctantly, turned to face.

"Do you - er - think so?" he asked timidly, ignoring the hubbub around him, a bit of hope peeking through years of restraint and fear.

"Um… seriously?" Noah said with an expression that suggested that Mark should see a doctor. "The guy just teleported! You better be going to this school if they'll teach you that!"

"Thank you, Noah," Mum cut him off, "but I don't think that is your decision. I think it's time for you to go home." She was reddening, Dad and Granddad were staring each other down, and Gran was pale and seemed oddly detached. "Mark, you can walk your friend to the door. David, don't you have a science test tomorrow to study for?"

She glared at them, challenging them to try her patience, which no one dared attempt. David fled upstairs about as fast as decency allowed, and even Mark, knowing there was no chance of his remaining present for the conversation-slash-argument clearly imminent, retreated from the room with Noah.