AN: I'm not really one for ANs, but here's what you need to know: This story will updated about once a week, and although I'm not 100% sure how many, there will probably be about 25 chapters, if not more. If this story goes well, there will be sequels. If you look up Morag MacDougal, you will find that she's a real character that we know very little about. This, plus Dumbledore's everlasting knowledge beyond reason, triggered my imagination. Enjoy!
And then she gave in to the ringing in her ears. Visions more vivid than ever invaded her mind. Horrified, she could do nothing but witness them. An old diary, students being frozen in place at the sight of a giant snake, a snake with burning eyes and foot-long teeth. A savage-looking man turning into a massive, black dog as he fought a great wolf. Harry Potter almost being torched by a dragon, Cedric lifeless on the ground, his blank eyes as seen through a veil.
With a piercing scream, she came to and found that her legs had given in. Her whole body was shaking with the images, and she tried to block it out for now. Too exhausted to feel ashamed, she let Dumbledore help her up. She looked him dead in the eyes. "Headmaster, I fear our work is far from done."
Morag MacDougal had long since accepted the fact that she was different. To be frank, it was not as much acceptance as total disinterest. As Mrs Moore said: "Just because you can't explain it, don't mean there's no explanation at all!" For the most part, she tried to block it out, as it had never done her any good. Her powers had never kept her from ending up in an orphanage, nor had they been helpful the day Kenny had pushed her in the mud and called her names, although she knew it was coming. Truthfully, it had been amusing when he had next found his tongue missing, but she knew it was wrong.
Morag took pride in all the chores and responsibility Mrs Moore trusted her with, and tried to live up to her expectations. She bathed the youngest orphans, sang them lullabies and read them stories. Her favourite chore was helping out the cook, Mr Gareth, in the kitchen. He let her experiment with spices and stir the soup. So you see why she didn't have time to play around with making things fly or reading people's minds.
One day, while Morag was trying to convince Jane, a particularly feisty toddler, to make her bed, Mrs Moore suddenly tapped her shoulder. "Morag, there's a visitor for you. And Jane, make your bed properly, or you'll get four minutes in the corner!"
Morag watched as Jane frantically started smoothing out her sheets, and looked up at Mrs Moore. "Is it… family?" She had long since stopped researching the MacDougals, figuring whoever put her there had simply invented her name, but she never quite gave up hope that someone might someday come back for her. She loved the other children, and she knew Mrs Moore needed her, but she still hoped. Hope was always a good thing, and she knew that Mrs Moore agreed. From time to time, Morag would sit and stare out the window, and Mrs Moore would come over to her. "You're stubborn, child. Hope is your foundation, and we all need a foundation."
But now, Mrs Moore shook her head. "He called himself Professor something. It might be… You'll just have to see him about it, won't you?" Morag had seen this. A man who could help her, who knew what her powers were, someone who accepted her. She couldn't help it, a bright light suddenly appeared directly in front of her, and as her stomach started frizzing and bubbling, the light started jumping. "For the love of God, Morag, put that out and follow me to my office!"
Whatever Morag was expecting this professor to be like, this was not it. He was very peculiar. He wore a dark-blue cloak with a glittery pattern, mostly covered up by his long, white hair and beard. His eyes twinkled behind half-moon glasses, and he smiled friendly as he gestured for Morag to sit down. She did, and waved faintly at Mrs Moore as she shut the door behind her. Quickly, Morag shut her mouth as she realized she had let it hang open.
"Ah, yes, I am afraid my clothing could have been less… eye-catching. However, I am by far the least interesting person in the room." Morag let her eyes search the room, before realizing the man meant her. "Excuse me sir, but who are you?" The blue eyes twinkled as the man let out a small laugh. "Yes, perhaps we should open with that. It might make this easier. My name is Professor Dumbledore." He ignored her brows furrowing at the strange name, and went on. "I am the Headmaster at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Morag sighed slightly. "Witchcraft? You mean to say that I'm not the only one?"
"That's right, there are others like you," he chuckled, as if enjoying a private joke. "Sorry, Sir, but what's so funny?" Morag had over the years become one you would rather avoid laughing at, and though she had a feeling this was a man she could trust, she still didn't like being laughed at.
"Most students do not accept it as fast as you. Some seem to think I'm insane." Privately, Morag thought this was a fair assumption. "The only other student I've met to be so aware of his own abilities, was also raised in an orphanage. Though, I daresay that's as far as your similarities go." Morag would never admit this, but her head was spinning. Not from learning that she was a witch, but rather that others were as well, apparently including this strange man right in front of her. Also, he was speaking in riddles, and that confused her. "ell me more about this school, sir."
"Students begin at age eleven, and the term starts September 1st. You will learn to use a wand properly, brew potions, and the rules of magic. You will need to do some shopping, but I will come with you, and it will be paid for by the school, as we would rather not bother Mrs Moore with the expenses," he said before she could get in a single word about how she had no money. "I can come with you to help you with your shopping if you'd like, although I realize you seem to be able to take care of it yourself."
"I'd like you to come with me sir, thank you." One question was pressing in the back of her mind, though, and it seemed the Headmaster could tell, as he raised his eyebrows as a sign for her to word her concerns. "What of the rest?" At this he looked puzzled, but she went on. "The visions we get, sir, will we be taught in those as well?" A strange look grazed the old man's face, but it was gone as fast as it came. "Tell me more about your visions, Morag."