Dawn

prgreenhaw · **Posted:** Mon Nov 29, 2010 1:59 pm

The heat was nearly unbearable- even though it was September, Kansas (in fact, the whole southeast) was experiencing a dramatic heat-wave which tended to sap even the sturdiest men of their strength, forcing them inside to cool fans and blessed air conditioning as their only means of escape. An unfortunate mutt had not the luck of a kind master, though, and spent his days hiding his long nose in his dark fur, curled up into a ball in an attempt to sleep the beating sun away. His favorite spot was under his master’s stairs, which lead to a paved road, which in turn hosted a very nice suburban neighborhood. Each house’s grass was kept trimmed (by neighborhood ordinates, no less), and one out of three driveways possessed a basketball hoop. Every once in a while, a car would creep slowly through the empty streets, driver intent on maintaining the heavily-enforced low speed promoted throughout the clean and upstanding neighborhood.

This was the life the poor mutt was used to. What he was –not- used to was the sudden loud *pop*, as though someone had opened a champagne bottle next to his ear. His yelp pierced the thick air, and as he backed up, tail between his legs, even further under the stairs, his eyes beheld the strangest sight in his entire life: A robed, white-haired aged man with half-moon spectacles and a beard so long he tucked it into his belt, with black, high-heeled shoes to boot. And as if that were not enough, by his side stood a most extraordinarily stern woman, wearing a long, black robe to offset the male’s blue, star-embossed attire. The mutt let out another sharp yelp, to which the strange old man responded by quickly pointing a wand, though he never uttered a word. The last thing the dog saw before falling into a dreamless sleep was the man’s amazingly kind, blue orbs looking over the half-moon spectacles.

“…you miscalculated again, Dumbledore.” The tall witch stated in a most annoyed voice.

“Did I?” The old man mused. “Well, we’ll just have to blame that one on age, I suppose.” He let out a chuckle, his tinkering bell-like laugh sounding as though it could call the birds from the trees- and indeed, a few curious, beady eyes peeked out from various nearby Hawthorns.

The stern witch sighed, fixing her high hat. “That’s what you blamed the –last- mishap on. Remember? When we nearly apparated on top of that muggle contraption, the big one that cleans their roads?”

“Ah, yes.” He nodded, looking around amusedly. “I do believe you’re right, Minerva. But, I think a drink at Rosmarta’s will smooth things over between us?” He clasped his hands in front of him, looking as though he could stand right where he was and talk about the most trivial things, the weather being the climax of the conversation.

“Dumbledore… maybe we should get out of these people’s yard, and –then- we can talk about my drink?” Even though her voice never changed from its annoyed tone, her face flushed slightly pink, obviously pleased and slightly embarrassed. If he noticed, Dumbledore said nothing, simply nodded and led the way to the small gate at the end of the short walkway leading to the stairs, where the dog patiently slept. The gate creaked, metal hinges squeaking in the heavy, hot air. As though the many amazing things about them weren’t enough, they also seemed unfazed by the unseasonal heat, comfortable in their large, slightly billowing robes and tall, pointed hats.

They walked in silence, Dumbledore’s heels clacking against the concrete sidewalk, his face and general demeanor dreamy, while Minerva followed his footsteps closely. “Dumbledore, why –are- we here? You mentioned something about a possible new student, but I don’t see the connection. Who is this child, why should he enroll halfway across the world, and why would we accept him when our term has already begun?”

Dumbledore’s chuckle once again graced the air. “The Americans were unaware of his latent powers until recently. He’s hid them fairly well, they say. But they refused to enroll them at their own institutes, citing the fact that their terms had already begun as well. With that, -our- ministry was contacted, and… well, here we are.”

“I still don’t understand. Wouldn’t an owl have sufficed? Doesn’t it seem tedious and pointless to come here ourselves?”

Dumbledore’s heels continued to sound against the sidewalk, walking at a slightly brisk pace with his hands laced behind his back as he hummed to himself serenely. If they cared at all about being seen, they didn’t show it. He nodded to her question, taking a moment for himself before answering. “An owl was sent to their residence over two weeks ago. There was no response, so instead a Ministry of Education representative was sent. As I understand, he was most unwelcome. The child’s caregiver- his grandmother, that is- is convinced that entire process is a hoax, and had the official forcibly removed from their home by muggle police. –That- is why we are here… I thought it best for myself to visit with the grandmother myself, and hopefully the boy as well.”

Minerva stayed silent, choosing not to ask any further questions. Soon, Dumbeldore’s clacking stopped, and he turned on his heel, facing his right and gazing to a rather unremarkable house, appearing as a clone to the endless neighbors. His expression bemused, he started foreward, Minerva instinctively following. “No…” Dumbledore’s voice stopped her cold. “You stay out here, keep an eye on everything… if I need you, I’ll signal, I promise.”

Minerva nodded numbly, turning her back a little aggressively, pursing her lips and folding her arms.

Dumbledore’s polite knocking echoed throughout the empty street, and in just a few moments, the door creaked open, to reveal an incredibly old and wrinkled face, and though the woman’s eyes were obviously used to being creased with joy, they were now hardened and unfriendly. “You from that… goofy school, aren’t ya?” Her voice bit at him, accusingly. “Well, I done talked to yer damn recruiter, and I said –no-. There ain’t nuthin wrong with Vincent, he’s doin –just fine- in that grade school o’ his, and ain’t nuthin you can say gonna convince me otherwise!”

Dumbledore’s kind smile took her off guard, her face softening a bit, looking taken aback. “Madame…” he began, talking slowly, yet sincerely. “I do believe we have a misunderstanding. Hogwarts is a school in which Vincent will find himself accepted, where he can excel to his full potential. If we allowed him to stay in a muggle school, he would forever be an outcast…” His quiet chuckle removed a little more of the old woman’s defense, though she looked up at him with raised eyebrows.

“ I am Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. ” Her eyebrows flitted up. “But, might we discuss this in the comfort of your lovely home? It seems to be quite hot out here…” He smiled once more, ignoring the fact that he seemed completely comfortable right where he was.

“Uh… sure, come in, come in… what aboutchyer wife, there?” She pointed a knarly finger at Minerva, who was still posted at the end of the driveway.

“Oh, nevermind her. “ Dumbledore waved his hand, smiling amusedly. “Minerva loves the heat, goes out in it every chance she gets. We would be doing her a disservice to insist she come inside as well.”

Minerva seemed to sense Dumbledore’s statement, and she turned around, her lips tight and eyes slightly narrowed, to which Dumbledore gave a friendly wave before stepping inside the cool house.

Once inside, Dumbledore’s bright, twinkling eyes stayed bemusedly on the old woman’s back, politely refusing to let his gaze comb their personal effects. After passing through a short hallway, she led him right, to the livingroom, where she gestured for him to take a sit. He did so, thanking here as he sat on an opposite couch slowly. “Now… he pressed the tips of his fingers together, sitting back comfortably. “I feel that I must explain a few things.”

“You got that damn right…” The old woman muttered, looking away, then back as Dumbledore continued.

“Vincent has been born into a world which he, unfortunately, knows nothing about. He has a… power, within himself, and if he does not learn to control that power, he could very easily hurt those around him without meaning to.” He looked over his glasses at her, his eyes serious. “I believe you know of what I speak?”

The old lady looked away uncomfortably, as though fighting with herself, before finally admitting, “Yeah… yeah, I knew he was a little different. That father o’ his was different too..” She looked up at Dumbledore appealingly. “But, he’s a good kid! I don’t wanna see him locked up, or made out to be some kind of freak. He ain’t! He’s a sweet boy…”

Dumbledore nodded, closing his eyes and raising a hand. “At Hogwarts, he will be none of those. I have utmost confidence that he will find his place in the wizarding world.”

“There’s another thing though… we ain’t doin’ that bad at all, but there just ain’t no way we can afford a private school. Especially one with… well, yer kind.” She shook her head. “Dundeyder..”

“Dumbledore,” he corrected politely.

“Dumbledore, then. There’s something you gotta know ‘bout Vincent. He ain’t what you call… well, the most imaginative of kids, I guess. What I mean to say is, if you go around talkin’ bout wizards, and witches, and a school of magic, well he’ll just plumb refuse to have anything to do with it.” Dumbledore’s kind eyes twinkled as another smile lit his face.

“Madame… I would never have extended an offer for Vincent to attend Hogwarts if the school had not been fully prepared to meet your family’s financial needs as far as supplies. Everything, from books to cauldrons, will be happily taken care of. And as for Vincent’s, ah… lack of acceptance, I’m sure we will eventually find a way around that. Once Vincent is in school and participating, I have a feeling that he will learn his powers are very, very real indeed.”

“But,” Dumbledore continued, lowering a hand to smooth out a wrinkle in his robe. “Why don’t I speak with young Vincent myself?”

Dawn

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