Chapter 1) Almost Anastasia

Selected Listening: The Promise- James Newton Howard

***Author's Note: Hello readers! It's great to be back. Hoping to update once a week through the summer. If you're new to this series, then welcome. Check out my author page for Books 0-3. Make sure to favorite and follow me and this story for updates. I appreciate reviews too! Story playlists are available on Youtube. Search for user (at symbol)anastasiadumbledore. With that, please enjoy The Headmaster's Daughter Book 4***

It was during the summer of her fourteenth year that Anastasia Dumbledore became very concerned with her almost-ness.

She lounged on a rock by the shore of the Black Lake, peering into the water. The sun cast a glow on the surface, making it difficult to see past the surface into the depths below. She was supposed to be looking for mermaids. At least, that's what her father told her to do.

Learn mermish. She heard his voice in her head. It'll be fun.

Albus didn't actually say "it'll be fun." He said that it was important that she knew how to converse with all the beings surrounding the castle in case of an emergency. But that's what Anastasia imagined his reasoning was whenever he set her out on learning some ridiculous new skill that only select wizards—or only he—could perform.

So far, she found the whole process quite silly. Speaking mermish required making a lot of odd noises with one's throat and tongue that didn't sound like words at all. So far, she learned "hello" and "thank-you," but she knew they weren't coming out quite right, because when mermaids did emerge and she said these words, they looked at her funny and swam away. She simply hoped she wasn't insulting them.

Luckily, Anastasia discovered the backdoor of the kitchen let out onto an inlet of the lake that proved much quieter and more secluded than the large open area where teachers on holiday sometimes roamed. With stone castle walls wrapping three sides, it provided a safer landscape for making a fool of herself.

But today, she stared down at the prismatic surface of the water, not seeing anything but an unclear version of herself.

Her frizzy ginger hair almost lay where she wanted it across her shoulders. Her old clothing, which hadn't changed except for its size in over thirteen years, almost looked stylish. And her body had almost developed into that of a young woman rather than a girl. Almost, but not quite.

She didn't really know what possessed her to spend so much time looking at her reflection. Perhaps it was the lack of friends to talk to in the castle during the summer. Perhaps it was the siren call of procrastination beckoning her from doing her summer homework, or perhaps for the first time, it was because she had someone she really wanted to impress.

Or maybe she almost wanted to impress him…but she hadn't yet decided if that was a good idea.

Anastasia couldn't stop thinking about how he kissed her, not for days, and not for weeks. At the same time, she couldn't help but ask the question in her head—why would he bother if he knows his father won't allow him to see me? But to answer that question would mean admitting he had feelings for her…and maybe she felt something too.

She hadn't told anyone besides Crenshaw because owls couldn't tell anyone anything. She would have told Fawkes, but she had her suspicions about how the phoenix and her father communicated. She tried to drown out her thoughts in muggle books. She had gotten on a Hans Christian Anderson kick and started binging a large volume of his works that she'd bought during her vacation at Shell Cottage.

Besides reading, the other tactic she resorted to was music, lots of music.

"Look what I got for you," Charity told her one afternoon when she stopped in the castle after a long holiday. She handed Anastasia a CD album with an odd picture of a baby swimming in front of a dollar bill. Anastasia gave Charity a questioning look.

"Just listen," she waved off the artistic sensibilities of muggle rockstars and they listened through most of the album together while Charity told her all about the music festival she had been to and all the bands that had played. At the end of their listening session, Charity gave her an ecru shirt marked by faded black print, the tour dates on the back, and the band's name printed in large, serifed letters across the front.

It was certainly enough to distract her until Charity asked,

"So dear, anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

"No, not at all," Anastasia replied. "Boring really, with no one around."

It wasn't a lie. Technically, Charity had left on vacation the day after the term ended. She used to tell Charity everything when she was younger. Charity was not as strict as Minerva, so Anastasia felt she could tell her the little things that Minerva might disapprove of…like sneaking out of her room and exploring the castle under an invisibility cloak…but she knew for certain that the muggle-born Charity Burbage would highly disapprove of her having a romantic encounter with someone with a blood purist family like Draco Malfoy.

So, having no one else to talk to about what was on her mind, Anastasia spent a lot of time wandering around the empty castle and finding more things to distract herself with: swimming in the prefects bath with its silky rose, cerulean, and violet concoctions; wandering around a quiet and ancient wing of the castle that no one seemed to use; and visiting a pair of birds, one white and one black, kept in a cage on the seventh floor, that she found interesting to observe as they flitted around one another.

But when she stared off into space for too long, she stopped thinking about her physical almostness and remembered her prophesied almostness.

She almost stopped Pettigrew from running off that night…

Who knew where that creep of a man was now? Maybe they had already been lucky, and a vampire made a meal out of him, or a centaur trampled his rattish body on a hunt through the forest.

But a horrid leering in her gut told her she was wrong…

The door behind her creaked open. She jumped. A little house elf wandered onto the grassy shore.

"Miss Dumbledore, the headmaster wants to see you, something about a letter from your godmother."

Anastasia remembered Narcissa's words when they had parted at the Ministry only months before.

Watch for my owl.

"I'll be right there," Anastasia responded wistfully and glanced back at her once-reflection, now rippled too completely by the wind on the water.