Gillian stood outside the house, confused as to what to do next. It was only now that she realized that she had never really believed that she would get this far. She kept expecting someone to turn up and ask her what she was doing, to send her back home. But here she was, successful and scared.

Taking a deep breath, she started walking towards the house.

"I don't think you want to do that," said a voice from behind her.

Gillian froze, her heart beating so hard she thought it might break out of her chest. "Harry is a very special boy…there's more protection on that house that I could fully relay to you in a weeks time. Also, if I told you everything about that house, I'm quite sure the Ministry would be angry with me."
Gillian found her feet again and turned around slowly. Behind her was standing a tall, elderly man, wearing some odd leather boots and some very purple robes.

Gill had no idea what to say. Even after the shock of being unexpectedly, and so bluntly, addressed had worn off, she was still taken aback by the man himself. He was so…magical. He radiated the stuff. How he could stand right there, in the middle of the street in what was basically rural Southern England and not be noticed was beyond her comprehension. He stuck out far too much to be seen anywhere without particular notice.

"Miss Polkiss…come walk with me."
Gillian didn't reply, but didn't need to. He had said "walk" and something in her caused her to immediately start walking, without any pause or contemplation.

"It's very strange, you know," said the fantastic man. "Arabella, that's Miss Figg to you, told me all about you. It's very strange that you know as much as you do. Why the Ministry hasn't swooped in and put a stop to it I cannot pretend to know for certain. Although I am rather sure that the Ministry is quite…distracted at the moment."
The man stopped suddenly and turned to look down at Gillian, eyes twinkling. "Miss Polkiss…Gillian, if I may. I assume you have made acquaintance with Harry?"

Gillian nodded.

"He has told you much, then?"
Gillian wasn't sure how to answer this question. She was sure Harry had opened up to her quite a bit, but there was no telling how much he still kept inside. "Well, he told me about Hogwarts, and Ron and Hermione, and Sirius, and a bit about the Ministry, and the prophecy, and about Voldemort. Quite a bit about him," she shivered. "And, of course, about Albus Dumbledore. He said almost quite as much about him."

The man smiled. "Well, you do seem well-informed."
They started walking again, silently. "Sir?" Gillian ventured. He looked down at her. "Sir, if I may…you seem to know who I am, but I haven't the slightest who you are. If I may ask." She blushed a little. It seemed inappropriate to be so direct with an old and obviously powerful man.

"Oh my manners. Please, do call me Albus. Albus Dumbledore."

Gillian gaped. She didn't mean to, and she felt quite embarrassed when she reflected on the moment, but she simply couldn't believe it. This was Albus Dumbledore! This was the most powerful wizard in the world, the only person of whom Voldemort was afraid. It was surreal to be meeting him, to say the least.

"Now, Gillian, allow me to ask you a question." He stopped and rounded on her again. "Why, my dear, are you here?"
Gillian stared. She had no idea, anymore. She didn't know what she expected to do, how she could possibly help…especially when Harry had people like this protecting him. "I—I…Harry told me that, um…he'd be coming here. And I just wanted…well, I wanted to…" Gillian looked down at her feet, blushing, "help," She finished in a voice as big as an ant's.

To her surprise, Dumbledore did not laugh at her. Instead he smiled in a serious way. "Yes, Harry does have a way of inspiring people to help him, even if he doesn't mean to.

So, my dear, you want to help. There is a terrible war brewing, you know. I am sure that we can find a way for you to help…a way in which the rest of us would not be able to."
Gillian looked at him in surprise. "My dear," Dumbledore chuckled, "there are some talents and ways of life which wizards are no good at. Some things take the ingenuity and finesse of a Muggle."

Gillian caught herself gaping again and quickly closed her mouth. "Or, as it were, a Squib."

Here she gasped. A Squib? Did he know something for sure, then? About her parents? Gillian made to ask when Dumbledore raised a hand and caught her off.

"Another time and place, Gillian. Right now it is approaching supper time, and I am quite hungry. There's a darling little pub just down the road that serves the best fish and chips," he said, gesturing down the road.

Gillian gasped. His hand was blackened and shriveled. Dumbledore followed her gaze to his hand. "Oh," he said, shaking down his sleeve and smiling. "Not to worry. Just a bit of a war wound, if you will. Come, we have much to discuss."
And, as they walked down the road toward the pub, Gillian realized for the first time just how big this whole thing was that she had gotten herself into.

A war…