Amber Dreams

Albus was walking up on the Downs when the barn owl dropped down before him onto the snow-covered path. His birthday had been uneventful, though that morning, when he had received his presents from his mother and his father, his mother had kept looking towards the big grandfather clock that stood in the drawing room, as if in any moment the old fairy tale she used to tell would come true, and the goblins would whisk him away. But he had made it through the morning, and then declared to his mother that he would take a walk across the Downs. She had told him to wrap warm, for the snow was still falling, but gently now, which did not worry her, and so he set off. There was a copse of ash trees about two miles away from the manor, and Albus would often go there when he wanted to be alone. He had built a little den where an old badger's set had been, digging it out further and deeper with a branch from a tree, and he would sit there for hours reading old books from the house that his parents didn't know he had borrowed. Once, he left a book out there overnight, and he returned to find it damp with dew, the pages stuck clammily together. His father beat him for that, and so he never left them there overnight again.

Albus was heading off to this copse on his birthday to think about life. For the past year, he had been going to a Prep School on the other side of the Downs, and the copse overlooked the town that contained the school; he made this trip every day of the past autumn and winter, until the winter holidays had come, and then he had stopped visiting. He had made a few friends there, and was doing well in class. In the playground, he kept to himself, though because he was tall for his age, he was often asked to play football in the unorganised scrimmages that took place on the field next to the school, where his auburn hair made him a distinctive figure on the playing field. Each time he agreed to play, he did so with an air of good grace, but he never really enjoyed himself, even after winning each and every match he played, until the other boys stopped asking him to play to stop the matches becoming too predictable. Albus didn't mind no longer being able to play, and instead took to wandering around the little town. The teachers didn't mind, or rather they didn't care; indeed, Mr Barbary, who taught Algebra and led the school in prayers each morning would give him a ha'penny to run down to the little sweet shop on the far end of the high street and buy him a pound of lemon sherbets, and he would have a few for his troubles. This favouritism did nothing to endear Albus to the rest of the boys.

There was one boy whom Albus liked to talk to, though, when he wasn't wandering the town, and his name was Modest Bass. The son of a Nonconformist preacher, Modest purchased a stock of penny dreadfuls from a parishioner who had business in London. Albus, who had been raised on scientific and philosophical texts, and on dry novels about the goodness of man, found these strange tales of Varney the Vampire, murderers and cheap shocks rather fascinating. Modest lent him one about a vampire for a weekend, and Albus took it home to read; his mother found it and told him that it was ridiculous and unfeasible, and then retreated with it to the little shed where she dried her herbs and made the occasional cure for stricken villagers. He was allowed to take it back on the Monday when he returned to school, but was told not to believe anything the books said.

Modest, when not deep in a book, was normally engaged in dissecting various insects and other small creatures he found in the field. He did so with an air of great scientific endeavour, pointing out the thorax, the abdomen, and the legs, and how worms could survive after being cut in two, and how slugs could not. Albus found this much more distasteful than the penny dreadfuls, but he enjoyed his friend's enthusiasm for learning.

Thoughts of school fled from his mind when the owl dropped down from the sky to land in front of him. It came with the cold wind from the north behind it, white and hazel against the pale grey sky, pinions appearing to blend in to the air. Albus realised that it was coming towards him, and he patiently stopped to wait for it. It landed on the snow and shook itself, before hopping forwards towards Albus and holding up a letter in its beak. Albus knelt down and took the letter from the owl, unruffled by the oddity of the event. The letter was addressed to him, written in green ink and sealed with a purple seal.

Mr A. W. B. Dumbledore

Beeston Hall

Beeston

Suffolk

He patted the owl gently on its barley-brown head, and it hooted and nipped his finger affectionately, before leaping up, almost in his face, and flying back off to the south. Albus pocketed the letter and strode off to the copse. Things delivered by owls required patience and a suitable place to sit down and concentrate, he felt. About ten minutes later, he reached the little coppice of ash trees, and made his way to the centre where the old badger's set was. The snow had drifted down the little tunnel slightly, and he kicked as much of it out of the way as he could with his foot, hands firmly in the warmth of his pocket. The letter rustled against his hand.

He lied down in the set, propping himself up on his elbows, and pulled the letter out of his pocket. The parchment was yellow, not the old yellow of musty books but a fresh smell of new paper, almost like vellum or hide. He pulled out his pocket knife and ran the blade under the purple seal, of a badger, an eagle, a lion and a serpent around a large "H". Unfolding the letter, he found that there were two sheets of parchment. One was a list of various things, so put that back in his pocket, and read the other.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Phineas Nigellus

(Order of Merlin, Second Class, Grand Sorceror)

Dear Mr. Dumbledore,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts

School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all

necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Nathaniel Crouch,

Deputy Headmaster

Albus re-read the letter a few times. The meaning was perfectly clear to him from the first time, but why he would receive such a strange missive made little sense to him. He wondered whether it was a joke at his expense, but the owl made it clear that this was probably not the case. From the little hole in the ground, he could see the sky slowly turn from a deep blue to orange into the clouds, and, with night coming on, he decided to walk home, where he could ask his mother about it. After all, the nurse had said she was a witch, and although his mother had simply laughed at that and told him to go play in the orchard, if it was true it might explain the letter.

He folded the two letters back up in his pocket, and already the night was darker, and the chill wind leapt across his back cruelly. Albus hurried faster along the deep rut of the path across the top of the downs, until soon the manor's lights could be seen in the darkness, and, below it, those of the village. He climbed across the orchard fence and up to the back of the house, and opened the door to the parlour. His mother was sitting there waiting.

"There you are, Albus. I thought you would be back from the Downs soon, so I've had the maid prepare a light supper for you, and there will be tea ready soon. Did you receive the letter?"

Albus smiled and pulled it out of his pocket.

"The owl was from you, mother?" he asked.

"Oh, no, Albus. I dislike owls. But that's how we communicate, when we must."

"We, mother?"

"Witches. Wizards. That's why you were sent the letter, you see. You're a wizard, and I'm a witch."

Albus sat down at the little parlour table, thinking deeply.

"Is father a wizard?" he asked at last.

Beatrice chuckled fondly. "Oh, no. Your father's what we call a Muggle, somebody who can't perform magic. He's no less intelligent for all that, that's why I love him so."

"Hogwarts must be a school for people like you - I mean, for us, then," he concluded.

That wasn't so hard to understand. He supposed that he wouldn't be taught how to use magic at the prep school in the town. And it would explain why his mother didn't go to his church with father, but instead to her own each Sunday. He had supposed that his mother was Catholic, but instead it was because she was a witch. His father had never mentioned her being a witch, though.

"Does father know you're a witch, and that I'm a wizard, mother?" he asked.

"Your father knows I'm a wise-woman, like Elly Magowan who lives ten miles over the Downs. But he doesn't know where I went to learn, or how it all works, or that all my family were witches and wizards. You're from an old line, Albus, and we were thought to have died out. And now you're a wizard, though you'll not taken my maiden name. Your father will have to be told as well, and he'll be disappointed you won't be off to the school he'd found for you. Now, will you let me read the letter, so I can explain in more detail?"

"Certainly, mother." He handed the letter to her, and she read it quickly, scowling with the same scowl she always had when his father showed her bills from the village.

"I will have to take you to Diagon Alley, Albus - that's where the wizarding world begins in London - to purchase your equipment. I have rather cut myself off from that world for quite some time," she continued, then paused slightly before explaining, "that was so that I could be with your father. Luckily I still have some measure of income there."

Sarah, the maid, brought in a little tray of bread and cheese then. "There you are, ma'am, Master Albus. The tea is still brewing. Will you require coals to be warmed for the bedpans?"

Beatrice considered. "Yes, that would be pleasant, Sarah. Albus will be off to bed after his supper, for he's had a long day, and will not complain, will you, Albus?" She smiled at the maid and Sarah curtsied then left. Albus had already begun eating his supper, hungry from the walk and the long day.

"You'll have little need for bedpans when you're at Hogwarts, for they have spells to warm the beds, and fires that burn without a need to bring in more timber. When amongst Muggles, however, you must do as the Muggles do. That's a cardinal virtue of being a wizard, that they don't notice you." She read a little further down the list.

"You'll be wanting a wand, of course. I have very little use for my own, for I prefer potions and herbs to glamorous spells and charms, but you'll need one. They cost a pretty galleon, wands, and then you'll need books, and cauldrons, and quills for writing. That's for when we go to Diagon Alley, though, my dear, so I'll not trouble your poor head with such talk."

"May I see your wand, mother?" he asked, when he had finished.

"I'm afraid it's in my balneary, and the night is too dark and cold for it to be worth going across the garden to find it. I'll show it you in the morrow, though, Albus. Now, kiss me goodnight, and run upstairs to get ready."

He stood up from the parlour table and kissed his mother goodnight, and she hugged him. "I'm very proud of you, Albus. Now, hurry to bed." He hurried.

The owl had flown in to the little attic of the Ollivander house through the owl-hole shortly before dawn that morning, leaving the letter between the water bowl and the pitcher, and had awoken the sleeping boy with a nip to the ear. Geoffrey awoke with a start, before realising that it was just an owl. He realised suddenly that it was his birthday, and if it was his birthday, the owl could only mean one thing. Wrapping the bed sheet round his thin body, he stumbled over to the table, the excitement doing little to wake him up, and poured the cold water from the pitcher over his head in to the bowl. He shivered and mopped the water with the little towel on the table, before picking up the letter.

Retreating to the bed, he sat down and looked at the letter. It was addressed to him in green ink, with a purple Hogwarts seal. For a moment, he wondered whether to call for his parents and tell them the good news, for though they always knew he would receive it, wasn't there the case of poor Lucy Blotts, who hadn't received a letter the year before, even after she levitated two inches off the ground when the shop had flooded one time? No, he decided, he'd open it, and then he would go and show them the letter.

The letter was similar to the two that his mother and his father had shown him, though the handwriting was slightly more neat and precise, and the name at the bottom was that of a Crouch, who were known to Geoffrey as a very esteemed family of wizards, whilst the head master was known as Phineas Nigellus. The meagre Latin he knew was enough to tell him that Nigellus was from the Latin niger, and that told him that the headmaster was a member of the House of Black. The latest fashion amongst purebloods was to affect a Latinised form of their old name; the classics, one old woman had said to his father as he served her son in the shop downstairs, were In once again. He could hear the capitalised I in that. Ollivanders, his father told him later, did not follow trends and fashions as the other families did. They had the name of the shop to uphold, after all, and besides, fashion changed so swiftly that there was little point indeed of hoping to hold on to its vagaries. From when they were Olewydden to when they were Ollivander, they had survived the influx from the continent and survived, changing only in the face of death, and would not lose their name merely to fit in with the noble families of the wizarding world.

The letter was accompanied by a list of equipment required for the year. There, at the top of "Other Equipment", was the word that sent shivers of excitement down his cold spine like water dropping from his hair. Finally, after all these years of working and living in a shop piled high to the brim with them, he'd finally be allowed to take one down and rather than wondering whether a simple flourish would give him ownership, he'd truly be able to be owned by the wand. He put the letter back on the little table and remade his bed quickly. Outside, the sky was still dark. He pulled on trousers and a cotton shirt, then made his way down the attic stairway to the hallway on the second floor of the house.

The house elf was already up, and bowed low to Geoffrey and wished him many a happy returns, before scampering off to the kitchen on the first floor. Geoffrey walked across the creaking floor and knocked on the door of his parent's chambers. There were wards thrown up around the door, to protect against anyone but the family from entering. All the old families had charms and wards like that. It was a reminder of old and dangerous times when a wizard might be hauled from their beds by the Ministry or by Muggles to answer charges of maleficium, magic based on hatred, although the tradition of witch-hunting had mostly been confined to the continent, and to the poor and weak of society. The Purebloods had picked up on these ideas and turned them against the new influx of Muggleborn wizards, who had not the alliances and the wealth to survive.

The knock was answered and the door swung open slowly. He entered the room. His mother and father were already dressed in their work robes. As far as they were concerned, it was not his birthday, but another day of work, as ever. They still smiled when he showed them the letter, though. "A happy birthday to you, Geoffrey. And we're happy to see you've received the letter."

"Will I look for my wand today, father?" Geoffrey asked expectantly.

His father smiled a patient smile. "All in good time, Geoffrey, son. You'll not be able to use it until you're off the Hogwarts carriages," he stopped to correct himself, "I beg your pardon, the Hogwarts train. I think until the summer when the other children come to buy their wands would be for the best." He noticed the disappointment on his son's face. "Now, now, Geoffrey. I had to wait for my wand. In any case, it's your birthday, and I've had words with Frank Eeylop. If you go across there after we've eaten breakfast, he'll see that you find a good owl for you. An owl will be of more use to you than a wand at this stage, you know, and much less of a temptation."

The boy smiled happily. The feeling of embitterment at not having a wand now was tempered by the promise of an owl. Toads might be In this season, but owls, as everybody knew, were eminently more practical.