Chapter 6

McGonagall and Allen stopped at the end of a corridor where the statue of a large griffon stood, wings spread. The stone figure glared down at Allen and he glanced nervously at McGonagall.

"Licorice snaps," she said in a clear voice, and Allen frowned at her in question before the stone in front of him moved. Jumping, Allen couldn't help but stare as a staircase appeared before him. McGonagall stepped forward and turned back to Allen.

"Are you coming, Mr. Walker?"

"Oh, yes," Allen said, and hobbled onto the steps. The stone beneath his feet groaned and a spinning escalator took them to the top of the staircase and stopped in front of a wooden door.

McGonagall knocked and a voice from within called, "Come in." McGonagall opened the door and Allen followed, hobbling inside and then stopping to take it all in. McGonagall shut the door behind him and let him gape.

It was a round room, with portraits all over the walls. Various instruments, of the like Allen had never seen, were set here and there among the office. Bookshelves stuffed with tomes took up the rest of the wall space, and despite all the stuff, the space was laid out in a kind of orderly chaos. At the edge of the desk in the center of the room, a bird in blazing reds and oranges sat atop a perch, cooing at him.

"You must be Mr. Walker," a kind voice said, and Allen looked over to see an ancient man with the longest white beard smiling down at him, bright, intelligent blue eyes looking at him from behind half-moon glasses. He wore a long robe and a funny pointed hat. Allen bowed slightly, which got a surprised look from McGonagall and a small, curious smile from the old man.

"Allen Walker, sir," Allen introduced.

"And I am Professor Albus Dumbledore. Would you like some tea? Biscuits?" A stern warning glance from McGonagall had Allen stammering out a quick no, and Dumbledore motioned toward a chair. "Then let's sit and talk about your situation, Mr. Walker. I would have liked to visit you earlier, but circumstances prevented this."

Allen hobbled over, perched the crutches against the back of his chair, and sat, still staring around the office. Several of the portraits stared back, whispering amongst themselves. Dumbledore looked up at them and said, "Please quiet down." They did, which surprised Allen even more. It was almost as if the paintings and their subjects had a life of their own.

"I gather from your expression that you are not familiar with magic, Mr. Walker."

Pulling away from the décor and back to the conversation, Allen sighed and admitted, "No, sir. I never imaged a place like this existed." He didn't see McGonagall's surprise from behind him, as well as the dawning realization as confusing aspects of their earlier conversations suddenly made a lot more sense to her.

Dumbledore settled into his chair behind the desk and considered Allen, his full attention on the boy. "How did you come to Hogwarts?"

Allen didn't reply immediately, because he didn't know what to say to this man. Certainly not the truth. "I was traveling through the area."

"Madame Pomfrey reported the status of your injuries to me this morning." Allen said nothing. "Where are you from, Mr. Walker?"

"England, sir. I've traveled most of my life, though."

"Oh?" Dumbledore said, seemingly truly interested. "Where?"

Allen figured it was okay to answer. "India, Italy, Romania, all around Europe, China, Japan…everywhere," he ended in a shrug. McGonagall raised her eyebrows at the list, though Allen couldn't see. Dumbledore's gaze didn't move from Allen as he too looked intrigued.

"You must have been separated from your family, then, if you ended up here."

Allen's mouth felt dry and he had to swallow a couple times. "I don't have a family," he said, his voice quiet, and Dumbledore regarded him silently, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

He watched the white-haired boy sitting in front of him, with his strange scar. His eyes were those of an older man, though the boy himself couldn't have been more than sixteen—Harry's age.

Albus was curious, admittedly; one look at the scar down Walker's face told him it was cursed, and his eyes flicked toward the boy's left arm, which he was nursing with the other, probably unconsciously. His left hand was pitch black and strangely textured, but not the right, and he considered the next question carefully before speaking.

"Mr. Walker, I hope I'm not prying too much, but how did you receive that curse over your eye?"

Allen straightened up suddenly, eyes wide in shock as he stared at Dumbledore. Dumbledore realized he must have stepped on a land mine because the boy's eyes were defensive and fierce as he regarded the headmaster.

"I am sorry," he replied calmly. "That was insensitive."

Allen slowly forced himself to relax, though his gaze remained wary as he regarded Dumbledore. "How can you tell?" he asked cautiously.

Dumbledore lowered his hands into his lap and simply replied, "I am a very old and experienced wizard, and I have seen my fair share of curses in that time. I know the signs." He lifted his left arm and the robe covering it fell back; Allen's eyes widened as he took in the charred skin that made up the remains of the old man's hand. "As you can see, I am not unfamiliar with curses and their marks."

Allen nodded, slowly, and Dumbledore covered his hand once again. A lull fell over the conversation then, where Dumbledore studied the boy as Allen looked anywhere except at him. The ticking of a clock filled the air, and Dumbledore waited.

"I was ten," Allen said quietly. Dumbledore nodded in encouragement, though Allen was looking away and didn't see. He wasn't sure why the words were there, why he was telling this to a stranger. But there was something about Dumbledore that inspired confidence. And the more he talked, the more Allen realized that telling Dumbledore might be the right move. "My father had just died and I was alone. I…I tried to bring him back to life and it failed. Because of that, I was cursed." Dumbledore stilled and McGonagall looked over at the boy, horrified.

"How did you do this?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"A man who came to the grave told me he could do it. I was desperate and I agreed. And for a little while it seemed like it was true; Mana was back." Allen swallowed as he remembered, and Dumbledore sensed there was much more to the story, but said nothing as the boy continued. "Mana cursed me before he died the second time."

Allen reached over and rolled up his sleeve to reveal not just a blackened hand, but a blackened arm, and as Dumbledore got a better look he saw that the boy's hand had scales like a Chinese rooftop at the joints and knuckles of his fingers and a glowing green cross embedded into the back of his hand.

"I was born with a deformed arm, and that green cross has been there all my life. That night I learned what it was and why I was born that way. I possess something called Innocence, and with it I killed my father." Softly he finished, "I had to, because he tried to kill me." I had to free his soul from that hell, was what he didn't say.

Silence followed the tale. Ticking and metallic clinks could be heard. McGonagall's hand was at her mouth, and Dumbledore regarded the boy in front of him, his face not showing what he was feeling or thinking except for sympathy.

"It wasn't really him, either. I should have known better; the dead are supposed to remain dead. What that man brought back is something called an Akuma, a weapon made of a soul and a machine. When someone loses a loved one, this man comes to them with the promise of a second chance, but when the soul is called it is trapped in the Akuma's skeleton, and the Akuma is made to kill the one who called it. Afterward it takes on the skin of its loved one, and hides among other humans, killing as it's ordered. Innocence is the only thing that can kill these Akuma. And that's why I travel, to destroy Akuma wherever they appear."

Dumbledore stared at the boy. He knew the intimacies of magic, its laws and rules and quite a bit of its dark side. He had never heard of such a thing, or such a person. "I am sorry," he said, because it was the right thing to say. The only thing, really. Allen just nodded, pulled his sleeve down, thinking. At last, he looked up at Dumbledore, and the determination in his eyes was bright and clear.

"What can magic do?"

Dumbledore considered this, before replying diplomatically, "That depends on what you need it to do."

"I…" Allen stalled again, thoughts racing. He'd told this man about Akuma and his Innocence, but now came to the tough part. "I have a…condition, due to my circumstances." He rubbed at his temple, as if fighting a headache. Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, and some of the pressure seemed to ease off. "Normal things haven't worked for me, but perhaps with magic, I can cure myself."

"And what is this condition?"

Allen willed himself to summon his mastery of poker faces and said calmly, "Some symptoms include a…uh, discoloration of the skin and eyes, and sometimes wounds will appear on the body, at random. It's rare; only a few people in the world are known to have ever had it, and it will definitely kill me if I don't find a cure."

It was the truth, in a manner of speaking. Allen had thought of ways to describe turning into a Noah without actually telling anyone he was turning into a Noah since his capture at headquarters. He hadn't known then if he would escape or not, but he'd certainly been thinking about it. The otherwise wordy explanation was something he'd pulled from a book before the Alma Karma incident. He'd been looking things up as secretly as he could—trying to find something to keep the Fourteenth back, to slow the change.

Dumbledore remained silent as he considered the boy before him. Legilimency, subtly cast, told him that the child was telling the truth, if nothing more; common sense and experience told him that he was leaving a lot out. Whatever the boy's secret, he seemed determined to keep it.

"Have you ever used magic, Mr. Walker? Done something that you couldn't explain, that had no explanation other than perhaps magic?"

Allen thought for a little while and then shook his head. "Anything I've ever come across can be explained as a hoax, a trick of the hand, or Innocence."

"If you cannot use magic, I do not know how we could help you."

"I have to try."

Dumbledore regarded him. Allen sat straight in his seat, waiting, determined, and cautious. While the old man did not look outright suspicious, there was a perceptiveness to him that warned Allen. He had to play his cards right here—and it wasn't like cheating was going to help him. Even after only a few minutes Allen realized that this was a man who was not easily fooled. He definitely knew Allen was keeping things out—he just had to wonder if the old man would push for the remaining information.

"Mr. Walker, if there is something you are not telling me that could possibly endanger my students and Hogwarts, I wish you would be candid. I will not allow for anything to threaten the well-being of my charges here."

Allen swallowed. Well, that hadn't taken long. "It's…it's sensitive, sir."

"Mr. Walker, if you cannot perform magic of any kind, I am not sure how we can help you, or how anything here can help you, with your 'condition'. If there is another reason you wish to remain at the castle, I would ask to know what it is."

Allen swallowed again and decided this was another truth better told. "I'm being chased by some people, and they're threatening my life. It's…uh…it's related to my condition. They're the ones responsible, and they want me back." Mostly true.

"Who are these people?"

"…They call themselves the Noah." There was no spark of recognition in Dumbledore's eye; he was just as clueless on this as he had been about Akuma. That was good.

"Are the Noah a threat to my students?"

"No. They would be only after me; they wouldn't bother anyone else," he lied. "I was talking to a girl earlier who said that Hogwarts is protected by magic, and if that's the case they may not be able to find you." I hope they can't find you, Allen added in his head. After all, he'd found Hogwarts, hadn't he? Using the Ark, no less. What was to say the Noah wouldn't? He shut those thoughts down as soon as they surfaced, needing to believe that they couldn't touch him here.

Dumbledore continued to regard Allen critically. "Which brings me back to the question: how did you arrive at Hogsmeade, Mr. Walker?"

"I don't know." And he wasn't about to tell the truth, even after everything he had revealed. Akuma were one thing; the Ark was something altogether different. Talking about the Ark would lead to having to explain what it was, where it came from—which would lead to who the Noah actually were, what he was becoming. Explaining the Ark would lead to explaining everything he was leaving out.

Dumbledore exchanged a glance with McGonagall, and gave a small shake of the head. Allen wondered but said nothing, waiting for Dumbledore's verdict.

"It will comfort you to know that Hogwarts is very well protected. Included in those protections are enchantments meant to keep Muggles like yourself from finding or remembering the castle for what it is. Though I do not know why you are immune, I will be happy to house you until you are fully recovered from your injuries. Afterward, we can discuss your situation." Dumbledore rose, and Allen also climbed to his feet, holding onto the chair until the crutches were situated under his arms. Holding out his hand, Dumbledore shook Allen's hand and said, "It was certainly interesting to meet you Mr. Walker. Until next time."

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore."

"You will stay in our guest quarters after your release from the hospital wing, and I ask that you limit yourself to the hospital wing, the Great Hall, and your room, for now."

Allen nodded after a minute. At least they weren't locking him up. "Thank you." Allen turned away to leave when an idea struck him.

"Professor?"

Dumbledore nodded. "What is it?"

"I had a friend with me. He's a little golden golem, about this big or so," Allen motioned with his hands, "and he's got wings. He was with me when I got hurt, but I haven't seen him since. He's called Timcanpy."

Dumbledore nodded. "If I see him I'll let you know." Allen released a heavy sigh of relief and flashed the first genuine smile the old wizard had seen him give.

After that Allen and McGonagall left, McGonagall leading him back to the hospital wing where Madame Pomfrey gave him a round of potions.

xox

It was another two days before Allen was deemed healthy enough to move to a guest room. He was now able to stand, at least, though his legs were shaky and he still needed the crutches.

Madame Pomfrey, while surprised at Allen's speedy recovery, reiterated the instructions for doses, and a stern warning to not overexert himself. She allowed his release on the condition that he report to the hospital wing every afternoon until his legs healed completely.

McGonagall took him downstairs to another small wing and lead him to a two-room suite, bedroom and bathroom, which were small but comfortable, and then left him alone with a reminder that dinner began serving at seven.

Allen surveyed his new quarters. The bedroom had a large window taking up most of one wall, golden autumn light streaming through. The coat of arms of the school was worked as a stained glass addition in the center of the window and on the doors of the rooms. A lush blue-and-gold patterned carpet covered the floor, and the four-poster bed had thick black curtains where no light could peak through. There was even a fireplace, though the grate was empty.

When he checked out the bathroom he found that the coat of arms was embroidered into the towels as well—also black, and very fluffy. The room itself was well-equipped with shampoo, soap, shaving equipment and even an assortment of bubble bath potions. All in all, it was a nice space, warm and comfortable and a thousand times better than just about anything he'd ever lived in.

Allen had no doubts that magic had ways of keeping an eye on people, and no doubts that Dumbledore was doing just that by giving him his own room.

He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes, releasing a deep breath. It had been a strange few days. On the upside, the Fourteenth had remained silent. It was almost as if he wasn't there. Allen couldn't fathom why—and honestly, he could care less at the moment.

Relief, exhaustion, and overstimulation put him fast to sleep, and he didn't wake up again until dinnertime.

A/N: No, Allen will not become a wizard. But he just got an open invitation to explore a whole new world (Aladdin plays in the background).

Note on Allen's reaction to Dumbledore seeing the curse on his eye: considering everything that has happened prior to this meeting, Allen's reaction shouldn't be all that surprising: the curse that Mana put over him is the source of a lot of Allen's pain and—headcanon time—I believe that Neah was awoken in Allen when the curse was "cast" by Mana, and Allen seeing Akuma souls is actually a first sign of him becoming a Noah. (Just my thoughts, though. No evidence.) That curse is no longer something Allen just accepts; it is the source of all his troubles and secrets. Most people just see the scar over his eye, leaving Allen to explain that he's cursed only if he wants to, or when he has to, as was the case when he first arrived at the Order. That Dumbledore can see it for what it is without Allen explaining is really shocking—just one of the many things about the wizarding world that are going to surprise the kid.