Boris Yeltsin: I do accept ideas from readers. Can't promise I will use them, but yes, I do accept them. And no, I do not have everything planned out. I know where I want this to end but part of the journey is finding out how to get there. So no, not everything is planned out.
Chapter 4: The Key & The Potential
September 2, 1991 – Monday
Summers Home, Los Angeles, California – 10 am PDT
Dawn sat in her room, the silence around her amplifying her strained attempts to catch snippets of the conversation from downstairs. Her ears strained to pick up any familiar sounds or words, but the murmurs remained indistinct, though she could occasionally make out her name and Buffy's being mentioned. The house was steeped in an air of tension and mystery that seeped through the walls.
The elderly man who had arrived only recently, a figure who exuded an aura of quiet authority and wisdom, had introduced himself as the headmaster of Buffy and Harry's school. His presence had commanded immediate attention from her parents, Joyce and Hank. The urgency of his visit was palpable, as he had requested a private discussion with them about something of critical importance. Dawn had been instructed to retreat to her room, leaving her to ponder the significance of this unexpected meeting.
As the voices from downstairs gradually faded, replaced by the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs, Dawn's curiosity grew. She could discern multiple sets of footsteps—each one a reminder of the gravity of the situation unfolding just beyond her door. The sound of footsteps grew louder, more distinct, until her parents and Dumbledore appeared in the doorway. Dawn's heart raced, her anxiety and anticipation converging as she hastily rose from her chair and moved toward her bed, her hands trembling slightly.
"Is something wrong?" Dawn asked, her voice betraying her nervousness as she glanced up at her parents. Her gaze then shifted to Dumbledore, who was seated next to her with an expression of solemnity and regret.
"Dawn, I have something to tell you and it will come as quite a shock," Dumbledore began, his voice soft yet firm. He settled beside her with a gentle, regretful smile that seemed to carry the weight of the news he was about to deliver. "You are not the daughter of your parents, despite what you believe."
Dawn's mind reeled as she processed the statement, her eyes widening in disbelief. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice quivering slightly as she shook her head, trying to reconcile the enormity of the revelation with her sense of identity. "Am I adopted, Mom and Dad?"
Dumbledore's expression softened as he prepared to deliver a truth that was far more complex than adoption. "No, Dawn," he said carefully. "You are residing in a borrowed body. Whose exactly is unknown to us. The body you are in passed away sometime in the past and was revived. You are guarding something known only as the Key. From what we have learned, the Key is pure energy, and was probably forced into your body when you were revived to hide it from something, what we aren't precisely sure."
The words hung heavily in the air, and Dawn swallowed hard, her mind racing to grasp the implications of what she had just been told. She had always been fascinated by the magical world her mother had occasionally mentioned, but the depth and breadth of magic, it seemed, were far beyond her previous understanding. "So, does that mean I'm not well, me?" she asked, her voice filled with confusion and a hint of desperation.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with reassurance as he offered a comforting smile. "No dear, you are indeed you. No matter how you got to the Summers family and your cousins, you will always be Dawn Summers. You remember things from your past, don't you? Those experiences form who you are." He chose not to elaborate on the possibility that some of her recollections might be false, preferring to focus on her identity and sense of self.
Dawn looked at him with a mix of hope and apprehension. "So when did they do it, put this key thing in me?"
"We don't know, but it was likely after your body well..." Dumbledore began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words. His gaze softened with the weight of what he was about to say, his eyes reflecting both sympathy and the complexity of the situation.
Dawn, her expression a mixture of resolve and apprehension, interrupted gently, "You don't have to say it; I know where you're headed." Her acceptance of the reality was evident, but her curiosity and concern remained palpable. "So, what will happen to me then?"
Dumbledore's demeanor shifted to one of reassurance as he addressed her concerns. "We need to get your school supplies first," he said, his tone lifting with a note of enthusiasm. "Then we'll head to Hogwarts so you may take lessons with your cousins." His grin, warm and encouraging, was meant to provide a glimmer of excitement amidst the whirlwind of revelations.
Since Buffy and Harry had departed for Hogwarts, Dawn had longed for the day when she could join them. The anticipation of starting her own magical education had been a beacon of hope for her, even though Joyce had insisted she would have to wait until she turned 11 the following year. The news that she would now be able to attend Hogwarts sooner than expected filled her with elation.
"Professor, you'll need my key," Joyce remarked, her practical nature coming to the forefront as she prepared for the necessary arrangements.
Dumbledore's smile was gentle as he addressed Joyce's concern. "No need. Buffy has already taken care of that," he assured her. "She kindly gave us the key to her vault and is allowing us to take as much as we require. Then, if you like, we will convert Dawn's tuition to your vault for the following year." His offer was both practical and considerate, aiming to ease any additional burdens on Joyce and Hank.
Joyce's face brightened with a relieved smile, and she nodded appreciatively before turning her attention back to Dawn. "You'll be fine, honey, won't you?" Her voice was filled with maternal concern and encouragement.
Dawn nodded in response, though her mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions as she processed the implications of everything she had learned. Her heart raced with a mix of excitement, fear, and uncertainty about the new path that lay ahead.
Standing up, Dumbledore adjusted his robes with a practiced ease and said, "I will be back momentarily to take her to Diagon Alley and then Hogwarts. I need to talk to someone who I feel can protect Dawn when her cousins can't." His voice was firm yet reassuring, reflecting his commitment to ensuring Dawn's safety and well-being.
With that, Dumbledore exited the room, leaving Joyce and Hank to exchange nods of understanding and silent agreement.
1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California – 12 pm
Standing in front of the house, Dumbledore's face was lit up with a characteristic grin, his eyes twinkling with the anticipation of what was to come. The thought of involving the Slayer in protecting Dawn filled him with a sense of urgency and hope. He rang the doorbell with a firm, purposeful press and then waited eagerly, his thoughts racing through possible scenarios.
When the door finally swung open, it revealed a man whom Dumbledore recognized instantly—Wesley Wyndam-Price, a former student of his, now dressed in a meticulously tailored muggle suit. The air of authority and slight nervousness that Wesley carried was unmistakable.
"Hello, Professor. What can I do to help you right now?" Wesley greeted, his voice tinged with both respect and readiness as he gestured for Dumbledore to enter the house. His eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity about the urgent visit.
As Dumbledore stepped inside and was guided into the living room, his grin broadened with a mix of familiarity and satisfaction. "First things first, Wesley, you're no longer in school, so feel free to call me Albus. Second, I require your Slayer's assistance," he said, his voice carrying a tone of both authority and camaraderie.
Wesley's face showed a mixture of relief and determination as he sighed and called for Faith to come downstairs. His voice carried the weight of their shared history and the importance of the task at hand. When Faith appeared and took a seat on the couch next to Wesley, she eyed the elderly wizard with a mix of curiosity and caution. "Who is this, Wes?" she asked, her voice steady but inquisitive.
Wesley turned to Faith with a smile that spoke of both pride and respect. "This, Faith, is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. He said he needs my Slayer, which of course is you."
Faith's eyes widened slightly at the mention of Hogwarts, a hint of amusement playing on her lips as she took in the gravity of the situation.
As Wesley and Dumbledore began to delve into explanations about the wizarding world, Faith blinked in surprise, her mind racing to process the new information. Dumbledore went on to explain about Dawn and the Key with a level of gravity that highlighted the seriousness of the situation. Faith's expression shifted from intrigue to understanding as she listened. She gave a quick, thoughtful blink before responding, "I wondered where the Key was that woman was looking for."
Dumbledore's interest piqued, and he turned his full attention to Faith. "What woman?" he inquired, his tone sharp with curiosity and concern.
Faith recounted her encounter, her voice steady as she detailed her experience. "I found her in a downtown warehouse while out on patrol. We fought, and she prevailed. Days later, while I was still battered and bruised, I learned about the Key and the twins who lived from a monk I saved, who later died."
Wesley, listening intently, interjected with a hint of disbelief, "You didn't mention any of that to me."
Faith shrugged nonchalantly, her expression indicating a blend of weariness and nonchalance. "It didn't seem important at the time."
Returning the conversation to the matter at hand, Dumbledore addressed Faith directly. "Will you accompany me to assist in defending Dawn?" he asked, his voice earnest and hopeful.
Faith rose from her seat, her posture resolute. "When do we leave?" she asked, her determination evident.
Dumbledore rose as well, his grin returning as he responded, "As soon as you're ready. Naturally, we must first go pick up Dawn before traveling to England. Once we get there, I believe you should adopt a new persona. To avoid raising suspicion among the students, you might pose as Dawn's aunt or perhaps a nurse. A nurse might be best, as it would allow you access to areas that an aunt might not be permitted to visit during class."
Faith nodded thoughtfully, her mind already working through the logistics. "Nurse might be best. It will let me access areas that her aunt wouldn't be permitted to visit during class."
September 3, 1991 – Tuesday
Great Hall – 7 AM GMT
On their way to breakfast, Harry and Buffy had gotten hopelessly lost. The castle's labyrinth of shifting staircases and hidden passages had led them straight to the third floor—the very one Dumbledore had ominously warned was out of bounds. Cold drafts swept through the stone corridors, adding an extra chill to their mounting anxiety as they realized how far off course they'd wandered.
It was then that Filch, the cantankerous caretaker, had caught them. His eyes narrowed with suspicion as he loomed over them, his bony fingers twitching as though itching to drag them off to detention. He refused to believe their protests that they were lost, convinced that they were there for some mischief. His threats of locking them in the dungeons sent a flicker of genuine fear through Buffy, but before Filch could make good on them, Professor Quirrell happened by. The jittery man, clad in his usual turban, intervened just in time, his nervous stammer managing to persuade Filch to let them go.
Quirrell's hands shook slightly as he directed them back toward the Great Hall, pointing them in the right direction. Though his nervous demeanor was clear, Buffy couldn't help but feel a strange unease in his presence. She shrugged it off as residual anxiety from the close call with Filch, but something about Quirrell's trembling smile lingered in her thoughts as they finally made their way to breakfast.
"What have we got today?" Harry asked, pouring sugar over his porridge, his eyes still heavy with sleep.
"Double Potions with the Slytherins," Ron replied, grimacing as he shoveled some eggs onto his plate. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them—we'll be able to see if it's true."
Buffy exchanged a glance with Harry. They had already heard plenty about Professor Snape from the older Gryffindors, none of it good. She felt a twist of apprehension in her stomach. Potions with a biased teacher, and alongside the Slytherins, promised to be anything but enjoyable.
As if on cue, a flurry of wings filled the Great Hall, and the ceiling darkened momentarily as about a hundred owls swooped in from every direction. The birds darted over tables, scanning for their owners before dropping letters and packages into waiting hands. The sight never got old; it was pure magic, a reminder of just how different Hogwarts was from the world they'd known.
Buffy looked up expectantly, hoping to spot her owl, Cin, or Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig. Both owls had been strangely silent the past few days, with no word from Joyce, Hank, or Dawn. She tried not to let it worry her too much, but it was hard not to feel a pang of unease.
This morning, however, a flicker of white caught Harry's eye. Hedwig swooped gracefully through the air, her wings outstretched like a gliding ghost. She fluttered down to the table and dropped a small note onto Harry's plate. He tore it open at once, his face lighting up as he recognized the untidy scrawl.
Dear Harry & Isabella,
I know you both get Friday afternoons off so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three this Friday? I want to hear all about your first week. Send me an answer back with Hedwig or Cin.
Hagrid
Buffy grinned at the invitation, feeling a warm rush of relief. A visit to Hagrid's seemed like the perfect way to shake off the stress of their first week.
"Bells, can I borrow your quill?" Harry asked, snapping her out of her thoughts.
Buffy, still smiling, dug into her bag and pulled out the ink bottle and quill, handing them to Harry. He quickly scribbled, "Yes, please, see you then," on the back of the note, his handwriting almost as messy as Hagrid's. With a soft hoot, Hedwig took off again, the letter clutched in her beak, disappearing into the rafters.
As they watched her go, the chatter of students filled the hall, mingling with the clatter of cutlery. For a moment, everything felt lighter. The thought of escaping to Hagrid's cozy hut, with its warm fire and friendly company, made the looming Potions class seem a little less daunting.
Buffy tucked her quill away, the smile still lingering on her lips. They would need all the comfort they could get after facing Snape and the Slytherins—tea with Hagrid was something they could definitely look forward to.
Summers Home, Los Angeles, California – 2 AM PDT
The shrill beeping of an enchanted alarm clock cut through the darkness, jolting Dawn awake at the ungodly hour of 2 a.m. Groggy and disoriented, she blinked against the darkness, her heart thudding in confusion. For a brief, fleeting moment, she wondered if everything that had happened the day before was just some wild, fantastical dream. Hogwarts, Dumbledore, the Key—it all felt so surreal, like the kind of story she might read in one of her books. But as her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she noticed her packed trunk at the foot of her bed, reality settled in. This was no dream—she really was heading to Hogwarts, a whole year early.
Thirty minutes later, Dawn found herself standing in the middle of the living room, feeling both excited and nervous as she clutched a small pouch of Floo powder in her hand. The fireplace crackled warmly before her, its flames flickering in shades of orange and gold. She could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her—Dumbledore with his serene and knowing smile, Faith offering a reassuring nod, and Wesley observing with the composed demeanor of someone accustomed to such rituals. Her mother, Joyce, stood closest, giving her daughter a final, comforting squeeze on the shoulder. Dawn couldn't help but catch the faint sheen of tears in her mother's eyes, though Joyce quickly masked it with a smile.
"Speak very clearly, dear," Joyce advised, her voice holding that mix of motherly concern and encouragement. She handed Dawn the Floo powder with careful precision, as if it were a delicate crystal. "If you don't speak clearly, you could wind up in the wrong fireplace. Make sure you say 'Diagon Alley,' not 'diagonally.'"
Dawn nodded, swallowing the nervous lump in her throat. The tiny grains of powder sparkled in her palm, each fleck catching the light like tiny stars. She stepped into the fireplace, feeling the strange warmth of the flames that didn't burn. Taking a deep breath, she tossed the powder down and called out, "Diagon Alley!" Her voice rang out with determination, though there was an undeniable quiver of anxiety beneath it.
Green flames roared to life around her, twisting and spiraling as they engulfed her. The sensation was disorienting—like being pulled and spun in every direction at once—until, in the blink of an eye, she was gone.
Within seconds, Dumbledore, Faith, and Wesley followed, each vanishing in a flash of emerald fire, leaving the living room eerily quiet in their wake. The only sound was the soft crackle of embers and the faint sigh from Joyce, who leaned back against the arm of the couch, her composure finally breaking. Hank stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they both stared at the now-empty hearth.
"This is probably for the best, finding out about Dawn and sending her to Hogwarts early," Hank said, his tone trying for reassurance, though the weariness in his eyes betrayed a deeper strain. "It gives her and Buffy something new to focus on. They won't have to deal with... all of this," he added, gesturing vaguely as if "all of this" encompassed the crumbling state of their marriage.
Joyce nodded slowly; her gaze still fixed on the fireplace. "Yes," she agreed, though her voice was tinged with sadness. "This way, neither of them has to watch us fall apart." There was a heaviness in her words, a bitter acceptance of the inevitable. They both knew that while Dawn and Buffy would be spared the worst of it by being away at Hogwarts, it didn't make the situation any less painful for the two of them.
For a long moment, they stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, both hopeful and regretful. Eventually, Joyce pulled away and forced herself to smile, albeit faintly. "Well," she said with a small, wistful sigh, "at least they'll be safe there. That's what matters."
Hank nodded, though the uncertainty in his eyes showed he wasn't entirely convinced. But for now, with Dawn on her way to start a new chapter in her life, that was the best comfort they could hold on to.
Diagon Alley, London, England – 10 AM GMT
Dumbledore reached into his robe and produced a neatly folded piece of parchment, which he extended to Dawn with a small, reassuring smile. "Here, this will have everything we will be getting today," he explained, his voice carrying the warmth of a seasoned mentor eager to assist. Dawn accepted the paper, her fingers trembling slightly as she unfolded it. The crisp rustle of the parchment was a tangible reminder of the magical world she was about to fully immerse herself in.
As she smoothed out the folds, her eyes scanned the list. It began with the essentials for her uniform, laying out each requirement with precise clarity:
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
COURSE BOOKS
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
As she finished reading, the group stepped out through the back door of the Leaky Cauldron. The crisp morning air greeted them, a refreshing change from the dimly lit interior. They made their way to a seemingly ordinary brick wall behind the tavern. Dumbledore approached the wall with his characteristic air of calm confidence. He began counting the bricks above a weathered trash can, his fingers moving with practiced ease.
He tapped the wall three times with the tip of his wand, his movements precise and deliberate. The wall responded with a subtle tremor. Slowly, a small hole formed in the center of the brickwork, widening into a gaping archway. Through it, a bustling cobbled street appeared, its path winding and twisting out of sight. The scene was alive with the hum of magical commerce and the distant clamor of spellwork.
Dumbledore turned to Dawn and Faith, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of mischief and pride. "Welcome," he said, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand welcoming gestures, "to Diagon Alley."
They stepped through the archway, and as Dawn glanced over her shoulder, she saw the archway shrink instantly back into a solid wall, the entrance to another world now hidden from view. The bustling street of Diagon Alley unfolded before her like a vivid tapestry, brimming with colors, sounds, and magical sights. Dawn felt a rush of excitement and bewilderment, her senses overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what lay before her. She wished for eight more eyes to take in the marvels all around her—every shop, every curious item displayed outside, and the diverse crowd of witches and wizards bustling about their daily business.
"I know how you feel," Faith said, her voice laced with empathy. "While I never knew this existed. Being the Slayer I've known about magic since my first Watcher, Diana, approached me. I remember the shock when I was called as the Slayer." Faith's words conveyed a shared sense of wonder and disbelief, bridging their experiences in a way that offered Dawn some comfort.
As they walked further up the street, they reached a grand, snowy-white building that seemed to loom majestically over the other quaint little shops. The towering structure was an imposing symbol of magical commerce, its pristine facade standing in stark contrast to the bustling vibrancy of the street. At its entrance, beside the burnished bronze doors, stood a goblin dressed in a uniform of scarlet and gold. The goblin's stature was roughly equivalent to Dawn's height, though he had a swarthy, sharp-featured face marked by a pointed beard. His long fingers and feet gave him an air of both efficiency and peculiarity. With a courteous bow, the goblin welcomed them inside, his movements as practiced and fluid as the transactions he facilitated.
Dumbledore approached one of the tellers at the front desk, a figure behind the polished counter who seemed to exude a quiet authority. "I have Isabella Potter's key," Dumbledore announced with his customary calm assurance. "She has graciously lent it to me to withdraw funds for her cousin's tuition and other necessities as a new student of Hogwarts." His words carried a tone of formality and importance, underscoring the gravity of their visit.
Moments later, after a thrilling ride in a wild cart that clattered and jostled through the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the city, they emerged into the sunlight outside Gringotts. The abrupt transition from the dim, echoing vaults to the bright, bustling street left them blinking in the radiant daylight. Dumbledore led them down the cobbled street with a purposeful stride, guiding them to their next destination.
Their first stop was Madam Malkin's, a shop renowned for its quality robes and attire. The shop's windows displayed an array of elegant garments, each one more finely crafted than the last. As they entered the store, the air was filled with the scent of new fabric and the quiet hum of a magical sewing machine. Here, Dawn would be fitted for her new robes, marking another step in her journey into the wizarding world.
As they stepped into Madam Malkin's, the interior was a cozy haven of fabric and magic. The walls were lined with shelves filled with neatly folded robes of every color and pattern, while the air buzzed with the soft, rhythmic hum of enchanted sewing machines working on their own. The shop's warm, golden light cast a soft glow over the rich materials and elegant designs, creating an inviting and magical atmosphere.
Madam Malkin, a stout witch with an air of efficiency, greeted them with a friendly smile. Her robes were a cascade of vibrant purple, adorned with intricate gold embroidery that hinted at her mastery in the art of tailoring. "Welcome, welcome!" she said, her voice cheerful and brisk. She had been informed the day before that Dumbledore would be bringing Dawn. "You must be Miss Summers. Let's get you fitted for your school robes, shall we?"
Dawn nodded, trying to take in every detail of the shop. Her heart raced with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Madam Malkin led her to a raised platform in the center of the room, draped in a shimmering golden fabric. As Dawn stepped up onto it, the room seemed to quieten, the attention of the shop's patrons subtly shifting to the new arrival.
With a practiced flick of her wand, Madam Malkin summoned a measuring tape that floated around Dawn, taking precise measurements with swift, graceful movements. "I'll be using a new, enchanted fabric for you, Miss Summers. It's both warm and light, perfect for all the varied activities you'll be undertaking at Hogwarts." The fabric seemed to shimmer in anticipation as if it were already adjusting itself to fit her perfectly.
As the measuring tape completed its work, Madam Malkin began selecting robes from the shelves. She held up a few samples, each one a beautifully crafted garment. "We'll start with three sets of plain work robes, as required," she said, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "And, of course, a winter cloak to keep you warm through those chilly months."
While Madam Malkin worked, Wesley, Faith and Dumbledore watched with interest. Faith's gaze was focused on the process with a mixture of curiosity and approval, while Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with amusement, as if finding joy in the simple pleasure of watching a young student embrace their new world.
Dawn tried on several robes, each one meticulously adjusted by Madam Malkin with a few deft wand movements. The robes were comfortable and well-fitted, made of a material that felt both luxurious and practical. The cloak, with its deep black color and silver fastenings, felt particularly magical as it draped around her shoulders.
As the fitting concluded, Madam Malkin made a few final tweaks and adjustments. "There we go, Miss Summers," she said with a satisfied nod. "You look absolutely splendid. These robes will serve you well throughout your time at Hogwarts."
Dawn smiled, feeling a surge of confidence as she admired her reflection in a nearby mirror. The sight of her in the Hogwarts robes made the reality of her new life feel more tangible. She could almost hear the echoes of magical adventures awaiting her.
Dumbledore, with Dawn, Wesley, and Faith in tow, guided them through the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley to the venerable shop of Ollivanders. The shop's facade was narrow but reached high into the sky, its windows crammed with an eclectic array of wand boxes, each one bearing intricate gold lettering and symbols that hinted at the powerful magic within.
As they entered the shop, the familiar scent of old parchment and polished wood greeted them, mingling with the faint aroma of magic that seemed to permeate the very air. The shop was a labyrinth of tall wooden shelves, each stacked haphazardly with wand boxes of every conceivable shape and size. The walls were lined with dusty tomes and arcane artifacts, and the whole space felt imbued with a sense of ancient wisdom and mystery.
"Garrick," Dumbledore called out with a warm, welcoming tone, his voice echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged room. The shop's proprietor, Garrick Ollivander, emerged from behind a towering stack of wand boxes. His eyes were sharp and observant, framed by silver hair that fell in a cascade of waves.
"Yes, I received your owl, Albus," Ollivander said, his voice soft and carrying a hint of the ethereal. He turned his attention to Dawn with a measured look of curiosity and anticipation. "Now, Miss Summers," he said as he withdrew a long tape measure with silver markings from his pocket, "which is your wand arm?"
Dawn hesitated for a moment, feeling a twinge of nervousness as she considered the task ahead. "Er—well, I'm right-handed," she responded, holding out her arm.
"Hold out your arm. That's it," Ollivander instructed, his voice steady and reassuring. As he took Dawn's measurements—shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and round her head—the tape measure seemed to move with a life of its own. It twisted and turned, adapting to the measurements with an almost sentient precision. Dawn watched in awe as the tape measure flitted between Ollivander's nostrils and danced through the air, its movements smooth and almost imperceptibly graceful.
Ollivander, meanwhile, moved with a quick and practiced efficiency. He flitted around the shelves, his fingers brushing against the wand boxes as he sought out the perfect match for Dawn. "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss Summers," he explained, his voice carrying a tone of reverence. "We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another witch or wizard's wand."
Dawn, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, realized that the tape measure was now measuring between Ollivander's nostrils on its own. Ollivander, seemingly oblivious to the magic of the tape measure, was engrossed in selecting wands.
"That will do," Ollivander finally said, as the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Miss Summers. Try this one. Beech-wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."
Dawn took the wand, its surface smooth and cool against her fingers. She gave it a tentative wave, feeling slightly self-conscious. Ollivander watched intently, his expression one of quiet concentration. But almost immediately, he snatched the wand back from her hand, his eyes narrowing as he considered his next choice.
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—" Ollivander said, placing another wand in Dawn's hand with a flick of his wrist.
Dawn tried again, but before she had hardly raised the wand, it was snatched back by Ollivander, who seemed to be increasingly animated by the search.
"No, no—here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."
Dawn took the wand and gave it another attempt. She had no idea what Ollivander was waiting for, but the pile of tried wands on the spindly chair beside her was growing ever higher. Each new wand was met with a slightly more enthusiastic response from Ollivander, who appeared to be relishing the challenge.
"Tricky customer, eh?" Ollivander said with a hint of a smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Just like your cousins, they were tricky too. Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere."
Dawn continued to experiment with each wand Ollivander presented, her anticipation mounting with every new choice. The wands ranged in material and length, each one possessing its own unique weight and texture. The shop was filled with the quiet hum of magical energy as she tested each wand, and the pile of rejected wands grew taller, teetering precariously on the small chair beside her.
Ollivander's eyes twinkled with a mix of amusement and concentration as he observed Dawn's reactions. He would occasionally make notes in a small, leather-bound book, flipping through pages with practiced ease. The walls of the shop seemed to close in on them, the shelves of wand boxes and ancient artifacts creating a cocoon of magical history around them.
Finally, Ollivander reached for a wand hidden at the very back of the shelf. Its box was dusty and ancient, adorned with intricate runes that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light of the shop. He carefully extracted the wand, its surface smooth and gleaming with a subtle iridescence.
"This one," Ollivander said, his voice carrying a note of quiet confidence, "has a very special core. It is made of elder wood and contains a core of thestral hair. Eleven inches, sturdy with a bit of flexibility. It's an unusual combination, but sometimes, the rarest of wands find their way to the right owner."
Dawn took the wand into her hand, its weight comfortable and reassuring. As she gave it a tentative wave, a cascade of shimmering golden sparks erupted from the tip, filling the room with a warm, ethereal glow. The sparks danced through the air, swirling in a mesmerizing pattern before fading away.
Ollivander's face broke into a broad smile, his eyes alight with satisfaction. "Ah, yes. This is the one. It seems that this wand has found its match. It resonates with your magic, Miss Summers. Elder wood and thestral hair are both rare and potent, and this wand is perfectly suited for someone of your unique potential."
Dawn's face lit up with a mix of relief and joy. She felt a connection with the wand, a sense of understanding and unity that reassured her that this was indeed the right choice. She looked at Ollivander, who was now carefully wrapping the wand in a protective cloth with great care.
"There we are," Ollivander said as he handed the wand to Dawn. "This will serve you well, Miss Summers. Remember, the bond between a witch or wizard and their wand is a special one, and it will grow stronger with time and practice."
Dawn nodded, her heart swelling with a newfound sense of belonging. She slipped the wand into her pocket and turned to Dumbledore, Faith, and Wesley, who had been watching the process with interest.
With the wand purchase completed, Dumbledore led the group out of Ollivander's and back into the bustling street of Diagon Alley. The sounds of the busy marketplace filled the air: the chatter of witches and wizards, the clinking of coins, and the occasional burst of laughter from a passing group of students. Dawn marveled at the vibrant tapestry of magical life around her, her earlier anxieties fading into the background.
"Shall we proceed to the other shops?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "We still have a few more items to procure before we conclude our shopping trip."
As they continued down the street, Dawn felt a sense of excitement and possibility. The magical world was vast and full of wonders, and each new experience added to her sense of adventure. Faith and Wesley walked alongside her, offering reassuring smiles and occasional bits of advice, while Dumbledore led the way with his usual air of calm authority.
With her wand now in hand and a growing list of new experiences before her, Dawn took her first steps into the magical world she had only begun to explore, feeling a mixture of anticipation and determination.
Potions Classroom – 2 PM
"There, look."
"Where?"
"Next to the kids with red hair."
"The boy wearing the glasses? The girl with the blonde hair?"
"Did you see their faces?"
"Did you see their scars?"
The hushed whispers trailed Buffy and Harry like shadows as they made their way toward their next class, Potions. The narrow corridors of Hogwarts seemed to magnify the murmurs, the curious stares of students burning into them from all directions. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe, craning their necks to get a glimpse of the famous siblings. Others doubled back as if on an excuse, only to pass by again for another look, their eyes wide with both curiosity and disbelief. Every whispered word and stolen glance sent a prickling unease up Buffy's spine.
Buffy kept her gaze forward, fighting the urge to snap at the onlookers. She hated the attention—especially the way their eyes always seemed to land on the faint scar running along her cheek. Harry didn't seem much better off, gripping his bag tighter as the hallway grew more crowded. The constant whispers felt like an ever-growing wave pressing down on them both.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
Buffy shivered as she pulled her robes tighter around herself. The dungeon where Potions class was held was damp and frigid, its stone walls and flagstone floors seeming to leech warmth from the very air. The cold bit into her skin, a sharp reminder of just how far she was from the sunlit warmth of California. Her breath came in faint white puffs, and she wondered how the other students seemed so unaffected by the chill. As her teeth chattered faintly, she mentally braced herself for what she knew would be a tense lesson under the notorious Professor Snape.
The moment Snape began taking roll call, the air in the room thickened with anticipation. When he reached her name and Harry's, he paused dramatically, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make it uncomfortable.
"Ah, yes," he said in that soft, venomous voice, "Harry and Isabella Potter. Our new—celebrities."
His tone dripped with disdain, the word celebrities twisted into a sneer. Buffy's stomach churned with irritation, but she kept her expression neutral. She could hear the snickering from behind her—Malfoy and his goons, Crabbe and Goyle, stifling laughter behind their hands. The sound was as grating as nails on a chalkboard, and Buffy's grip tightened around her wand, but she kept herself in check.
Snape's gaze swept over the class, his dark eyes glittering with a mixture of boredom and contempt. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began, his voice low and silky, the kind that made you lean in just to catch every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."
His words carried a hypnotic quality, drawing everyone in despite the cold. Buffy couldn't deny that he had a presence—a sort of dangerous charisma that demanded attention, even if it came wrapped in sharp sarcasm.
"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes," Snape continued, his tone almost reverent as he described the intricate craft of potionmaking. "The delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
His final words cut through the silence like a blade, and Buffy noticed a few students shrink back in their seats. The tension in the room was almost palpable now, a coiled spring ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
"Mr. Potter!" Snape suddenly barked, making Harry jump slightly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Buffy's heart sank as Harry stared back at Snape, clearly at a loss. "I don't know, sir," Harry answered honestly, his voice steady despite the unease gnawing at him.
Snape's lips curled into a mocking sneer, his eyes glittering with triumph. "Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything," he said, drawing out the words in a voice oozing with disdain. The class held its breath, waiting for the next jab.
"Let's try again, this time Ms. Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Buffy's mind raced, trying to recall anything from her brief skimming of the textbooks. She could almost feel the heat of Hermione's gaze beside her, the other girl's hand shooting up like a rocket, quivering with the sheer effort of holding it as high as possible.
"I'm sorry," Buffy said, feeling a flush of embarrassment. "I have no idea, sir."
Snape's eyes narrowed, his expression twisting into one of smug superiority. "So, you two thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh?" he sneered, dismissing Hermione's desperate attempts to be called on. Her hand was still raised, but Snape's cold indifference made it clear he had no intention of acknowledging it.
He turned his attention back to Harry, ready to strike again. "What is the difference, Mr. Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Buffy clenched her jaw, feeling a knot of frustration forming in her chest. This was going to be a long class.
Hermione sprang to her feet, her hand straining upward as if sheer willpower could make Snape call on her. Her eyes were wide, practically brimming with answers. She vibrated with eagerness, hoping against hope that Snape would acknowledge her, but Harry's uncertainty made him try a different tactic.
"I don't know," Harry muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and amusement. "I think Hermione does, though. Why don't you try her?"
A few students chuckled quietly, and for a brief second, the tension in the room lightened. But Snape's expression darkened instantly, his scowl deepening into a glower that sent a cold shiver down the room.
"Sit down," he barked at Hermione, who quickly sank back into her seat, disappointment etched across her face. Snape's sharp gaze returned to Harry, the intensity behind it making Buffy's skin prickle. "For your information, Mr. Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death."
He turned his attention to Buffy, his voice dripping with condescension. "Ms. Potter, a bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons." Each word was delivered with the precision of a blade, his tone leaving no doubt about his contempt. "As for monkshood and wolfsbane, Mr. Potter, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well?" Snape's voice suddenly snapped through the room, sharp as a whip. "Why aren't you all copying that down?"
The room erupted into the frantic rustling of parchment and the hurried scratching of quills. The sound filled the dungeon as students scrambled to jot down Snape's words, eager to avoid further scrutiny from their venomous professor. Buffy's hand moved on autopilot, but her thoughts were miles away, simmering with resentment.
At that moment, a firm knock echoed against the dungeon door, interrupting the uneasy silence. Every head swiveled toward the entrance as the door creaked open, revealing Professor McGonagall standing there, her expression as stern and composed as ever.
"Sorry, Severus," McGonagall said crisply. "Professor Dumbledore wants to see Harry and Isabella Potter in his office."
Snape's eyes narrowed further, a flash of something dark crossing his face. It was clear that he was less than pleased to have his class interrupted and even less thrilled to lose his opportunity to further humiliate the Potters. He waved a hand dismissively, his reluctance barely concealed. "Very well," he muttered coldly, "you're excused."
The twins exchanged wary glances before gathering their things and following McGonagall out of the icy dungeon. As they walked through the twisting corridors of the castle, the tension from Snape's classroom gradually began to fade, replaced by curiosity and a flicker of unease.
"Why does Professor Dumbledore want to see us?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing as they moved deeper into the castle.
"I do not know, Mr. Potter," McGonagall replied, her tone giving nothing away. Her voice was clipped but not unkind as she led them up a spiraling staircase toward the Headmaster's office. The castle around them seemed to hum with secrets, the portraits lining the walls whispering amongst themselves as they passed. Buffy's heart pounded in her chest, her thoughts racing. Whatever this was about, it had to be important if Dumbledore had called them out of class.
Dumbledore's Office
Wesley Wyndam-Price paced back and forth, the soles of his polished shoes clicking against the stone floor in a rhythm that betrayed his impatience. His brow was furrowed in frustration as he cast a quick glance at the Headmaster, who remained serenely seated behind his cluttered desk.
"Albus, mind telling us what we're waiting on?" Wesley's voice was strained, the carefully composed demeanor of the former Watcher beginning to crack.
Faith leaned back in her chair; arms casually draped over the sides as she smirked at Wesley's agitation. "Calm down, Wes," she said, her tone a mix of amusement and reassurance. "I'm sure he's got his reasons."
Dumbledore, who had been watching Wesley with a faint twinkle in his eye, nodded thoughtfully. "Ms. Lehane is correct," he said in that calm, measured tone of his. "I believe we need all interested parties present before we continue."
Before Wesley could fire off another question, a sharp knock echoed from the door. The tension in the room shifted as Dumbledore's expression brightened. "Ah, they're here," he said warmly, rising from his chair with a sense of quiet authority. "Come in, please."
The door creaked open, and in walked Harry and Buffy, both looking curious but slightly apprehensive. Dumbledore immediately motioned for them to take seats near his desk, but Buffy's eyes lit up as soon as she spotted Dawn. Without a second thought, she darted across the room, enveloping her younger cousin in a tight, protective hug.
"Hey, Dawnie," Buffy said, a rare softness in her voice. "How long you been here?"
Dawn grinned, returning the hug with just as much enthusiasm. "Only a few minutes," she replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Long enough to get sorted into a house."
The moment was abruptly interrupted by a polite but pointed cough from Wesley. His gaze flicked between the newcomers and Dumbledore, his curiosity now piqued more than ever. "Mind telling me who these two are, Albus?" His tone was sharp, but not unkind.
Dumbledore, ever the conductor of this orchestrated meeting, gestured for everyone to sit down. "Of course, Wesley. Allow me to introduce Harry and Isabella Potter—though you may know them better as the Twins Who Lived." There was a pause as Wesley's eyes widened ever so slightly, recognition dawning on him. "They are Dawn's cousins," Dumbledore continued, "and Miss Potter here is the one who discovered Dawn's origins. It appears Miss Potter possesses some form of cognitive abilities, as she dreamt of the monks discussing what they referred to as the Key. In her second dream, I believe she saw Ms. Lehane."
Faith's eyebrows shot up, her usual bravado replaced with a flicker of surprise. "Saw me in a dream before we even met? Well, that's one hell of a gift. I get prophetic dreams now and then too—part of the Slayer package, y'know."
Buffy's attention snapped back to Faith, curiosity mingling with the serious expression on her face. "That's the second time I've heard that word. When I got my wand, Mr. Ollivander told me it had the hair of a Slayer as its core."
Wesley, who had been carefully listening to every word, suddenly looked intrigued. His eyes darted to Buffy's wand with a hint of scholarly fascination. "May I see your wand?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a sense of foreboding.
Buffy hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, handing him the wand. Their hands brushed briefly, and in that instant, something shifted in the air—something almost imperceptible but powerful enough to make Wesley's eyes widen in shock. He nearly dropped the wand as he pulled his hand back, his face drained of color. "You're a Potential," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
Buffy frowned, her brows knitting together as she tried to trace back where she had heard that word before. It hovered just on the edge of her memory, elusive but nagging. Then, like a light breaking through the fog, she remembered—the Sorting Hat. It had whispered the word to her, telling her she had potential. The realization sent a shiver down her spine.
Dumbledore's soft chuckle brought her back to the present, his eyes twinkling with a knowing warmth. "I don't know why I didn't see it sooner," he mused, his tone light yet thoughtful. "That would certainly explain your dreams, Miss Potter. Though, Wesley," he continued, turning to the Watcher, "isn't it true that Potentials typically don't experience Slayer dreams until after they've been called?"
Wesley nodded, a thoughtful frown creasing his forehead as he picked up Buffy's wand again, studying it with a careful eye. "That is indeed the case. It's exceedingly rare for a Potential to display any abilities before being called, and even rarer for a witch to be a Slayer—or even a Potential. It's almost unheard of." His voice was tinged with a mix of awe and concern, as if he were piecing together a puzzle that was both fascinating and troubling.
Buffy raised her hand slightly, her voice cutting through their thoughts with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. "Okay, two questions. What exactly is a Potential, and what is a Slayer?"
Wesley's smile was gentle as he turned his attention fully to Buffy, sensing the weight of the moment. "Let's start with the Slayer," he began, his voice steady and clear as if reciting a sacred text. "Into every generation, a Slayer is born: one girl in all the world, a chosen one. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their number. She is the Slayer." The gravity of his words hung in the air, making the room feel a touch smaller, the shadows a little darker.
He paused, letting the significance sink in before continuing. "Now, as for a Potential—a Potential is a girl who has the potential to be called as the next Slayer. You, my girl, have that potential." Wesley's gaze was steady, meeting Buffy's eyes with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.
Buffy gulped, the weight of Wesley's words settling heavily on her shoulders. She turned to Harry, seeking reassurance in her brother's calm presence. He simply shrugged, his expression a mix of bewilderment and concern. "Oh," was all she could manage to say, her voice barely above a whisper.
Wesley, sensing her unease, softened his tone. "Now, my dear, looking at your wand, I believe I know where the hair at its core comes from. It's not just any hair; it comes from the First Slayer, Sineya. This is indeed a powerful wand you possess." His words carried a reverence, as though he were speaking of an ancient relic rather than a simple piece of wood.
Buffy's fingers trembled slightly as she took the wand back from Wesley, her mind reeling with the implications of what she had just learned. She looked at Dumbledore, pushing thoughts of Slayers and Potentials to the back of her mind, knowing she would have to unpack them later. For now, there were more immediate concerns. "Anyway, about Dawn. What are we going to be doing?" Her voice was firm, determined to focus on what mattered most in the moment.
Dumbledore's smile returned, his expression one of quiet pride as he nodded. "On to business, then. First, I'm pleased to inform you that Dawn has been sorted, and as luck would have it, the Sorting Hat placed her in Gryffindor. That will make our job much easier. She will be taking classes with the two of you, which means you can watch over her when Ms. Lehane cannot."
A flicker of relief passed through Buffy's eyes at the news, the idea of having Dawn close by easing some of the tension that had built up inside her.
Dumbledore continued, "We had initially considered Ms. Lehane taking on the role of Dawn's nurse, but since she's been sorted into your house, that idea can be set aside. Ms. Lehane," he said, turning to Faith with a thoughtful expression, "I'm considering offering you a teaching position—perhaps something along the lines of Muggle Defense?"
Faith's eyes lit up with a spark of interest. "I think I could do that," she replied, nodding in agreement. "And I think it wouldn't be a bad idea for Harry, Buffy, and Dawn to take the class. Not only could they learn self-defense techniques that might help them protect Dawn better, but it would also give Dawn an excuse to be around me when she's not in her other classes."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, his gaze steady as he considered the group before him. "Agreed," he said, his voice taking on that calm, authoritative tone that somehow managed to soothe and command all at once. "I will make an announcement in the morning. Dawn, as you might expect, there will be many questions about your age. Technically, you are underage to be here, so we'll need a plausible story. We'll say that you were already showing signs of accidental magic long before most children should, and that this unusual talent led the Ministry to agree that you ought to start your education at Hogwarts a year early. It's not the truth, of course, but we all know why you're really here." He ended with a reassuring smile, as if the plan was the simplest thing in the world.
Wesley nodded, tapping his fingers lightly against his chin as he mulled over the idea. "That sounds like a solid plan. It would explain any curiosity while giving Dawn some protection. It also allows me to continue training Miss Potter without drawing undue attention. Now, Miss Potter," he said, turning to Buffy with a serious expression, "it is absolutely essential that you do not share anything about Faith being the Slayer or about your potential status with anyone outside of this room. The secrecy here is critical, and any slip could put not only Faith, but yourself, Dawn and even Harry at risk."
Buffy met his eyes with a firm nod, determination flickering in her gaze. "Yes, sir," she replied, her voice steady despite the weight of responsibility pressing on her.
Dumbledore's eyes softened with approval as he looked over the small group. "Very well, then. Buffy, Harry—would you two kindly take Dawn to the Gryffindor Common Room and show her where she'll be sleeping? The house elves have already brought her trunk there, so everything should be in place. She'll need to settle in and get familiar with her surroundings."
Buffy and Harry both nodded, rising from their seats with the unmistakable energy of siblings ready to take care of their cousin. Buffy cast a glance at Dawn, offering a reassuring smile as she held out her hand. "Come on, Dawnie, let's get you settled. I'll show you the ropes—Gryffindor-style."
Dawn's face lit up with a mixture of excitement and nerves as she took Buffy's hand, letting her cousin guide her out of the office. Harry followed close behind, his protective instincts kicking in as he cast a cautious look over his shoulder, as if already attuned to the idea that Dawn needed safeguarding.
Dumbledore turned back to Wesley, the lines of worry returning to his face as the seriousness of their situation resurfaced. "Wesley, you recall where the guest suites are located, correct?" he asked, his voice laced with an undercurrent of urgency.
Wesley gave a curt nod, his mind flashing back to his own days at Hogwarts. "Yes, I remember where they are. I'll get settled in and be ready to assist wherever needed."
"Good," Dumbledore said, his tone indicating both relief and anticipation. "I will go inform the other professors about Dawn's situation. They'll need to be vigilant as well, especially with what we're facing. It's going to take more than just a few of us to keep her safe."
Staff Lounge
Dumbledore strode into the staff lounge, his robes swirling gently around him as he entered. A wave of relief washed over him upon seeing that all the professors were already gathered—he knew this conversation would be difficult enough without having to repeat it multiple times. "Ah, good," he began, his voice carrying a hint of both urgency and gravity. "It's fortunate you're all here; this will save us time. I have some important matters to discuss."
The professors immediately fell silent, sensing the weight in Dumbledore's tone. He clasped his hands in front of him, a rare flicker of concern in his eyes. "First and foremost, we will be welcoming a new student—Dawn Summers. She's a cousin of Harry and Isabella Potter." He paused briefly, gauging the professors' reactions before continuing. "I'm sure you'll notice she's a bit younger than our usual first-year students. She's only ten years old. The reason she has been admitted early is not due to academic prowess, but for her own protection."
The air in the room grew thicker with curiosity, a few of the professors exchanging concerned glances. Dumbledore held their attention as he delved into an explanation about Dawn. He spoke in measured tones about the Key—a mystical force disguised as Dawn—and the looming threat posed by a dangerous woman known only as "The Beast," who had been relentlessly hunting her. The room remained silent, tension simmering beneath the surface as the gravity of the situation became clear.
As Dumbledore spoke, Professor Quirrell's expression remained carefully neutral, but there was a glint in his eyes. Behind his quivering facade, he mentally tucked away every detail about Dawn, filing it under 'useful information' for reasons best left unspoken.
"Faith Lehane, the current Slayer, will be here under the guise of staff, primarily to watch over Miss Summers and her cousins," Dumbledore continued, shifting his gaze around the room, his eyes lingering on each professor. "I would like you all to remain vigilant as well. We must be proactive in ensuring her safety."
Murmurs of acknowledgment rippled through the group, and then Dumbledore added, "As part of her cover, Ms. Lehane will also be taking on a teaching position. She will be offering a course in Muggle self-defense. This class will be elective—students may choose to take it if they wish, but it won't be a required subject. I believe her skills will be a valuable addition to our curriculum, especially considering the current climate."
A brief silence followed before several professors began firing off questions. Professor McGonagall's brow furrowed as she asked about how this decision might affect the school's policies on age restrictions, while Professor Flitwick wondered whether there would be any impact on the existing curriculum. Others raised concerns about how much information about Dawn's true nature could be revealed to the students.
Dumbledore fielded the questions with his usual composed demeanor, offering what reassurances he could. "The age situation will be explained as a rare exception, based on Dawn's early display of accidental magic. As for the curriculum, Ms. Lehane's class will be carefully balanced with the current schedule and will not interfere with core subjects." He paused, his eyes twinkling slightly. "And as for what the students may learn—only what we decide is necessary. The less they know, the safer everyone remains."
With the professors somewhat satisfied, the room gradually relaxed. The chatter died down as they processed the new information. Finally, Dumbledore gave a courteous nod to the group. "Thank you for your time. I trust you'll all do your best to welcome Ms. Summers and keep a watchful eye on her, just as you would any other student in need."
With that, he turned and left the lounge, his thoughts still heavy with the night's discussions. The halls of Hogwarts felt quieter than usual as he made his way to his quarters, the stone walls echoing faintly with his footsteps. For a brief moment, Dumbledore allowed himself to acknowledge the unease tugging at the edges of his mind. They were embarking on uncertain territory, but he knew that with everyone's cooperation, they could navigate it.
As he finally retired for the night, Dumbledore couldn't help but reflect on how much the world had changed since his early days as headmaster. The castle was more than just a school now—it was a refuge, a battleground, and a place where destinies intertwined in ways no one could fully predict. And with Dawn Summers, yet another thread had been added to the intricate tapestry that was Hogwarts.
September 4, 1991 – Wednesday
Great Hall
The morning sun had barely begun to filter through the high windows of the Great Hall when students and staff started streaming in for breakfast. Sleepy yawns mixed with the clatter of cutlery and the low hum of morning chatter. Despite the usual bustle, there was a subtle current of anticipation in the air—word had spread that today would bring some announcements. As plates began to fill with food, Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat at the head of the table, his presence commanding instant attention. Conversations faded into a hushed silence as every eye turned toward the headmaster.
"Good morning, everyone," Dumbledore began, his voice warm and clear, resonating through the hall with its usual calm authority. "Before we indulge in our breakfast, I have a few important matters to address."
The students leaned in slightly, curiosity piqued. Dumbledore's gaze swept across the tables, settling momentarily on a figure near the staff table before continuing. "First of all, we are pleased to welcome a new professor to our staff. Professor Lehane will be offering Muggle Defense classes—a subject which may be particularly useful in these times. This class is entirely optional, and for those who do not wish to participate, you will be excused. Those of you who are interested will receive your class schedules soon."
At the mention of the new class, whispers rippled through the students. Eyes darted toward Faith, who sat with a casual confidence among the other professors, her dark eyes observant and sharp. Though many students had no idea what to expect from a "Muggle Defense" class, there was an undeniable intrigue in the air. Faith's presence was unlike any professor they had seen before—there was something about her that suggested she was more than capable of teaching them how to handle themselves.
Dumbledore allowed the murmurs to die down before continuing. "Additionally, we have a new student joining us in Gryffindor. Just a few days ago, it was brought to my attention that she has already been displaying signs of accidental magic, and at an age earlier than is typical. The Ministry, in their wisdom, felt it best that she begin her education sooner rather than later. It is my pleasure to introduce Dawn Summers, the youngest student to ever grace these halls."
Heads swiveled toward the Gryffindor table as Dumbledore's words sank in. Dawn sat among the first years, trying her best to remain inconspicuous, but there was no hiding the flush on her cheeks as curious eyes lingered on her. A few of the older students exchanged impressed looks, while others craned their necks to get a better view of the new girl.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he surveyed the hall one last time. "Now, with that said—let the feast begin!"
With a flick of his hand, the platters on the tables filled with food once more. Conversations erupted back into life as the students speculated about the new professor and debated what kind of magic a ten-year-old could possibly do to earn such special treatment. Dawn tried her best to blend in, but it was clear she was the talk of the morning.