Amber Dreams

The spring and the summer that separated them from their wands and learning seemed, to the boys, to be longer than anything they had remembered. Yet in the years to come, they would look back and fail to remember anything of the long wait, not even of the last few months that Albus spent as a Muggle, or the time left to Geoffrey as a child of the Alley. They were free from the responsibilities that would soon be upon them, but without knowledge of their future they did not revel in their childish freedom but instead looked to the time ahead. For Geoffrey, the future could be seen in terms of the wand, and for Albus saw the future in the form of a cup, filled to the brim with the knowledge of his new world that his mother would sometimes tell him of, when her husband was away on business, as Perceval was increasingly wont to do.

The spring came slowly that year, and the winter kept its hold over the land and their hearts for longer than they thought they could possibly bear. When Geoffrey's father went out to the northern forests to harvest the sapling woods that would be made into the wands of change and growth, he knew that spring was here, and Albus knew it when the floor of the copse became covered by the blue sea of Deadmen's Bells. But they knew also that spring was not yet the time of their future, and for all their desires and pleas they could not change the season or the pace of the days.

Then, with realisation, they woke one day, and they knew in their hearts that summer had come, and the sun simply proved it, a moment of clarity that shone into the window of the little attic room, and into the east-ward windows of the manor on the Downs. Each child woke with the sun on his face, delicate light laying soft kisses of warmth upon them, and they woke pleasantly, and dressed swiftly, and ate with satisfaction. Geoffrey's parents were already busy working, one in the first floor workshop where they prepared the dragon hearts, the unicorn hairs, the phoenix feathers, all laced in copper or silver or gold, the other on the shop front. A young girl, no more than ten, was being served. He walked over and watched her try each wand, and could not help a little sullen smirk of jealousy coming across his face. His mother noticed him and asked him to fetch a few from the fifth shelf of the twelfth row, boxes number two and four and five, and be quick about it.

He fetched them quickly. Each of the rows were divided by the measurements of the body, and then by core and by weight, flexibility and strength, and by wood and by the charms that had been laid upon them. His mother took them from their wrapping in turn, and the girl gave them a spirited wave, each in turn, as her own mother looked on, face beaming with pride in her daughter. The last wand emitted a few sparks of green and gold, and a little, contented sigh. The girl smiled at her mother, and her mother smiled to his mother. The deal was done, and the mother and daughter paid, and left the shop. Geoffrey looked expectantly at his mother, and she smiled.

Another customer entered just then, an older boy who had tried to conceal his silver-blonde hair with a turban in the Indian style, who, he explained, had lost his wand in a delicate situation and required a replacement. A shout of delight came from upstairs, and then a cry for Geoffrey's mother, who apologised and ran upstairs, leaving Geoffrey to deal with the customer. He sighed and quickly looked through the thick ledger that contained the details of every wand sold. There'd never be one made the same, of course, but it would be a starting point.

"Mr Beaumont Malfoy, are you not?" he enquired politely. It was obvious. Malfoys weren't the only Purebloods with silver-blonde hair, but the nose and the age was right, and the air of condescension and wealth was thick around him.

"That is indeed correct. You're not to mention it to anyone, though, boy," the boy replied. Geoffrey had no intention of doing so.

"The last one was... 8 inches, oak wood. And a dragon's heart-string core. A very fine wand, I must say."

Beaumont smiled proudly. "Indeed. But please, a replacement, young fellow, and be swift about it, or I'll have to complain to your dam."

Geoffrey hurried to the third row, and then, on a hunch, up the ladder to the very top, where the longest wands were kept. He selected three boxes, and then hurried back down to the waiting boy. He unwrapped the first, and presented it to Beaumont.

"12 inches, dragon's heartstring core, cedar wood."

Beaumont gave it a little flick. Nothing occurred. He gestured for the second.

"14 inches, dragon's heartstring core, hazel wood."

"Comenus."

The spell caused a few wisps of smoke to pour from the wand, which quickly formed themselves in to a misty figure of a pretty girl, who averted her eyes demurely, before suddenly being pulled back in to the wand with a jerk from Beaumont.

"Very well. This wand will serve me admirably. I believe the length suits me particularly well. Now, how much will this set me back?"

Geoffrey stated a reasonable price. Beaumont nodded, and added an extra galleon, "for you're not to mention this at school, or elsewhere for that manner." Geoffrey nodded and thanked him, and Beaumont left without a backward glance.

Albus had risen early, and after he and his mother had eaten the kedgeree that the maid had prepared, Beatrice declared that she would be taking him to London to fetch his school things. He did not take long in washing and putting on clothes suitable for the journey. When he was ready, he came back down to the dining room, where the maid had been asked to make ready a fire, even though the day required no light or warmth. His mother was holding a little pouch, made of purple cloth, with a delicate cord that she untied.

"This is Floo powder, Albus, and it's one of the safer ways to travel. Each magical household is connected to the Floo system, even this one, now that you're of age, and all you need to do is take a pinch of the powder, sprinkle it across the flames, and say the address you wish to go to as you step into the fire. Now, there's an open brazier in Diagon Alley, and that's the public entrance if we don't wish to lower ourselves to coming in through the Leaky Cauldron. That's a tavern, Albus, and you're rather young for that sort of thing. Now, take a pinch," he did so, "and throw it in," the flames flared green, "and say 'Diagon Alley' and step in to the flames," she finished, and in a flash of emerald he was gone.

Diagon Alley bustled with life and busied itself with every occupation that a wizard could think of, providing it was neither illegal nor profitless - there were other places for the former, and little point in the latter. Albus cried out in terror and stumbled backwards as a carriage without horses clattered by, almost knocking the brazier over behind him. His mother stepped through shortly after. A few people seemed to recognise her, judging from their quick and wary glances, but they did not greet her, nor she them. Beatrice Dumbledore strode off through the crowd, Albus following her, up away from the brick wall that opened and shut with the passing of wizards and witches between the worlds.

The street was dominated by a hoary building several stories high and immensely wide, with pillars in the Grecian style and thick bronze doors. The other shops failed to reach the height of the white edifice, but not for want of trying. Some had bow windows that burst with colourful wares, others seemed empty, though a steady stream of customers entering and exiting seemed to demonstrate their hidden goods were in high demand. Owls in cages of many different sizes hung from one shop, and another had a large display of books that hovered in midair, fluttering their pages at the prettier or wealthier-looking passers-by.

"We'll go to Gringotts first, Albus," said Beatrice, as they passed a shop full of broomsticks and carpets. Reaching the bronze doors of the snowy-white building, they were welcomed by a stunted, twisted being with long fingers that seemed to ripple together as it bowed. Albus stopped and then stepped back with great alarum, with a little gasp of horror. Beatrice put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"My son means no offence to you, my good sir goblin. He is most unused to the world which he will inhabit, though I am not unfamiliar with your kind."

"Very well," the goblin said brusquely, straightening up from the bow. He clicked his fingers three times and the bronze doors swung inwards. Albus noticed little runes had been scratched into the doors, that had not been there when the doors were closed. He didn't have time to see more, though, as his mother hurried him through past them, and besides, he could not read the marks. He knew, though, that this was magic, real magic, more than green flames, and messenger owls, and goblins, and looked eagerly at the silver doors that greeted them next, but these did not show runes. Instead, an ornate script had been engraved on them.

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn,

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that ne'er was yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware,

Of finding more than treasure there.

A shiver of foreboding and excitement ran down his back. Two more goblins opened the door for them, bowing low, and the wonder of the bank lobby was revealed to Albus.

Pillars surrounding the chamber soared high up in to the air, gleaming white marble that arched up above the room. There were windows that started far above the tall shelves of ledgers that lined the walls, stained glass depicting wizards and goblins fighting, blasts of light and dark blood that seemed to erupt and swell and shift from the sunlight behind them, and then they changed to scenes of peace. Albus realised that they told a story, but he could not make out the words on the glass tapestries that seemed to explain it.

The fragments of glass were held by lattices of gold, which wove its way through the windows and through the pictures like veins or like sinews, and Albus lost himself in the images, until his mother laid a hand on his shoulder, breaking his concentration. His head pounded with blood, and he felt dizzy with the tumultuous patterns and colours that had surrounded and submerged him.

"Albus, dear, do concentrate. I certainly do not wish to lose you in a place such as this."

He walked behind his mother across to a spot on the long counter that stretched down the long lobby and back up on the other side, punctuated by doors that opened and closed with the passing and going of goblins and wizards.

A goblin was stacking gold and silver coins in minor pyramids of wealth, like the sovereigns and pounds that his father owned and traded with at the manor. Its fingers flickered like the mandibles of insects, a gold coin flicking across from one pile to another with incredible speed, and the goblin kept this up as Beatrice talked to it.

"I've come to take money out of my vault, sir goblin, vault number seven hundred and nineteen. My name is Beatrice Dumbledore."

The goblin nodded its head swiftly, barely perceptible, and kept counting. "You have your key, I presume?" asked the goblin, still stacking coins that seemed, Albus realised,

to come from midair.

"Of course. Though I must tell you, the vault is not in my name, nor in the name of my son. After I married, I made my leave of this world, and did not fill in the papers to inform Gringotts of my change in status."

"Very well, Mrs Dumbledore. You'll need to fill in those forms now. May I enquire as to your maiden name?"

Albus stopped staring at the rapid movements of the goblin's hands to listen. He had been wondering who his mother had been in the wizarding world since she had brushed his questions aside. Now the mystery was to be revealed.

"I was known as - "

But her next words were cut off by a sudden explosion further down the hall. Shouts of pain and an acrid stench filled the air. Almost every wizard and witch in the marble hall had their wand out, pointed at the epicentre of the attack. Bloody chunks of flesh mixed with carmine rubies and green emeralds, and everywhere there was gold and silver drenched in red. Goblins had sealed off each door, and one or two approached the devastation, hands flickering in front of them as if to throttle and kill whoever had attacked their home.

The goblin who had been serving them had sworn in its own language, and muttered something about anarchists and reactionaries, and his mother had whispered, more to herself than to either her son or the goblin, "so they still carry on like this," to which the goblin only nodded, and said something more in its own tongue.

The mess of blood and treasure was cleared up quickly, and a few wizards in green robes had been let in through the front entrance, wands out. They quickly looked at the damage caused, and then started questioning the people nearest to where the explosion had been.

"Very well, Mrs Dumbledore," said the goblin, breaking the silence. It seemed to have caught her reply to his last answer, because the goblin simply took a few rolls of what seemed to be long parchment from beneath the counter. Around them, business had resumed. The goblins at the counter stacked and counted coins and gems quickly as if nothing had happened, and other than the mess of blood and coins further down the hall, it appeared as if nothing had. His mother had filled in the roll of parchment with the quill and ink provided, and the goblin had swiftly run its fingers across it, ascertaining the proof of her claims beneath its fingertips.

"Everything seems to be in order, Mrs Dumbledore. Would you like to withdraw from your vault?"

"That would be good, thank you. We're buying young Albus' school things today, you see."

The goblin who was serving them clicked his long fingers twice, and another goblin hurried in through one of the doors that led off from the bank lobby.

"Ah, Dramstock, Mrs Dumbledore would like to take some money from her vault. Would you be so kind as to take her?"

"That won't be necessary, thank you. My mother and I disagreed on many things, but neither of us believed it ladylike to ride in the carts. My son will go in my stead."

"Very well then, madam."

She handed Albus the little golden key, and a purse made of purple velvet. The key had little markings on it, just like on the bronze doors, and he supposed they were the language of magic.

"When you arrive at your vault, take twenty of the large gold coins, and fill the rest of the purse to the brim with the smaller silver coins, if you please, Albus."

Albus nodded. The new goblin, Dramstock, beckoned to him with a long forefinger, and Albus followed him through the door. No pearly-white marble greeted him on the other side, but instead a long passage stretched out before them, apparently carved from the earth, dipping steeply downwards. Dramstock clicked his fingers, and a cart rolled up to them. Albus noticed that there were tracks in the tunnel, leading into the gloomy depths.

"Step in, please, young sir," requested Dramstock. Albus climbed in to the cart. There was a little seat covered in purple velvet. He found it not uncomfortable, but he understood why his mother did not accompany him when the cart lurched forward violently, trundling down the tracks into the gloom. Infrequent lanterns illuminated the tunnels occasionally, particularly at the crossroads, but Dramstock was not steering the cart in any way. Occasionally he saw little side-stations, some empty, and some with goblins, witches and wizards peering into deep vaults filled with gold, silver and bronze. Albus smiled with the idea of a vault of his own like this. Money had never been a thought in his mind, but deep in the treasure caverns of Gringotts, he couldn't help think of what it would be like to be truly rich, so rich that his father would not have to work so hard on the estates... but the moment was quickly gone, as the cart rolled to a halt in a little siding, and the goblin jumped out.

Albus stepped out of the cart. Three round doors to three vaults were there. One, he noticed, didn't have a keyhole. Dramstock pointed to one of the ones with a keyhole, with a bronze plate above it engraved with the numbers seven hundred and nineteen. That was his vault, Albus realised, or rather, his family's vault, and he opened it eagerly, the click of the lock opening seemed barely audible above the beating of his heart.

Before him were piles of gold and silver, glinting in the light of the lantern that Dramstock had lit outside the vault. Albus remembered his instructions and took twenty of the gold coins, then crammed as many of the silver coins in as the purse would hold, and for all it seemed small a considerable amount went in before he was forced to stop.

Albus looked at Dramstock, who was standing there patiently, and took two more of the gold coins and slipped them in to the pocket of his breeches. Then he stepped back and closed the heavy iron door, and locked it with the key, before returning both key and purse to the pocket of his jacket. It barely felt as if there was a purse there, or even a heavy key, though in his hand the purse had felt as heavy as any might when loaded with many coins. Then Dramstock climbed back into the cart, and Albus followed him. With a lurch, it began moving again.

The journey back seemed swifter than the first trip. Albus walked up the little passage that led back to the main lobby of the bank. His mother was talking animatedly to a goblin in black tails and a top hat, and a tall wizard with a sparse and rather awkward beard. Beatrice stopped talking when she noticed him.

"Gentlemen, this is my son, Albus. Albus, this is Mr Crimson," she said, indicating the wizard, "who is a dear old friend of mine. And this is Hrolf, who looked after my business whilst I was gone." The goblin tipped his hat.

"I'm afraid I'll have to leave you gentlemen. Albus needs to buy his school things, and we're running rather late already. My husband is expecting us back this evening."

"It's been delightful to see you again, Beatrice," said the wizard, and he kissed her proffered hand. She laughed and smiled. The goblin, Hrolf, simply shook it when she offered it to him, but she smiled all the same. Then she took Albus by the hand, and they walked out in to Diagon Alley.

"Well, Albus," said his mother, surveying the street, "Let's go shopping."