Amber Dreams

As the summer had begun, so it continued; slowly, expectantly, and without a single cloud on the horizon. Now, though, expectancy was tempered by the hard reality of the books and the wands each boy possessed. Nothing, it seemed, could prevent them from reaching their destinies now. They read the books, and tried to comprehend the theory and the practice of magic, the desires, circumstances and alignments of the physical world and how to change them, as far as they could understand from the little knowledge they had.

The days trickled by. Then, at the end, mere days before he was to leave, with the thick leather trunks of robes, books and equipment packed full and bound shut, Perceval asked his son to see him in his study after supper.

"Your mother," he began, when Albus had closed the door and sat down on a little stool, "has told me about the new school you will be going to. Her old school," and he paused, and dipped his pen in the ink well, and scratched a few notes in to his ledger, "Hogwarts, I believe the name was. She confessed, with all honesty, that it was not a usual school. Indeed, I was shocked that they would take boys and girls together. I do not want you to become involved with these people for longer than your education requires. The estate, my estate, your estate, it needs a man who can look after it. I've worked hard. You are my heir," he continued, with, Albus thought, with a flicker of hope, a little pride in his voice.

Albus nodded, and he smiled, slightly, though he barely dared to look his father in the eyes. When he did, he knew his father was proud.

"She also said that you would study unusual subjects. Your mother, may God bless her for it, saved my life when science and doctors could not. Remember that. If this school will teach you to be as good a man as she has been as good a wife to me, then I'll not begrudge you your place there. You will come home, though, and you will inherit the estate."

Perceval Dumbledore turned back to his work then, the nib scratching against the rough paper. Albus wondered if there would be more, and he sat there. Outside, the bees from the orchard hives were buzzing loudly. Time passed, no more than a minute, and he realised that his father had finished with him. He stood up and left the study quietly, gently closing the door behind him. His feelings had felt low with his future so laid out, but it was there for only an instant, before the prospect of school raised them again. He ran down to the orchard and plucked an apple off the tree. It tasted like every apple he had eaten before, but there was a sense of something behind it, an act of defiance, perhaps, or of taking knowledge, or of eating poison. The feeling passed in an instant.

* * *

They set off from the Downs the afternoon before the term started. The carriage would only go so fast, laden with so much luggage, and so Albus and his mother stayed in an inn on the western outskirts of London that night, south of the river, ready to progress in to the smog-wreathed city the next day. The silhouettes of tall buildings could barely be seen through the oily mists, despite the fierce sun setting behind them. Albus spent the night restlessly in the large bed; for the sake of economy, they shared a room with a married couple who had come to pluck lavender on the hills outside the city, and Beatrice had talked with them for several hours after supper about the use of lavender in honey, and as a charm for fertility, which, they confessed, was their true reason for coming to London. The smoke above the city turned to black as the sun left the horizon. They slept.

The morning did not dissipate the fog. The innkeeper said that it was mostly permanent, a product of all the waste from the factories and from the thickets of houses, burning coal day and night to keep warm. Pea-soupers, they called them, and they concentrated on the industrial areas, where the worst of the industry fumed. They descended into the valley, crossing the Thames by London Bridge. It was new, said the coachman, only twenty years old, but already it was stained with black streaks of smoke, and the river flowed turgidly through the arches, black and brown with silt and effluence. The bridge was like the streets before and after it, packed with coaches and horses, street vendors, pedestrians. Albus had never seen so many people in his life, not even in that short trip to Diagon Alley, in the peak of the shopping season.

Before long, they found themselves on the other bank, and then progressed to the north. Here, the smoke seemed less oppressive, and there was less filth on the streets. The people seemed better dressed, for their part, though beggars were prevalent, and a stench was still in the air. Albus was glad he couldn't feel the full brunt of the city from inside the carriage.

The twin arched windows of Kings Cross Station came in to sight soon enough. The outside was built of bricks of a pleasant tawny colour, but like the bridge, there were streaks of black that discoloured the outside. Beyond the tall arched entrances, Albus could see that this continued, even worsened inside, and the steam and smoke of the trains beyond the arches trailed out through the roof and the entrances.

Beatrice paid a porter to carry the trunks and the cauldron across to the station. The porter looked rather bemused at the cauldron.

"What you got a cauldron for, then, ma'am? I've seen quite a few children with them today."

"We're looking for Platform nine and three quarters, if you please."

"Ain't got no platform nine and three quarters. Got a platform nine, an' a platform ten, but not one in between."

"Well, my child's ticket says platform nine and three quarters. Things were much better in the old days, when they took us north by coach."

"Well, it's progress, innit, Ma'am? Well, there's a train on platform 9 leaving in 'alf an hour, might be that one you want."

Yet a man in an ornate waistcoat, jacket and top hat had spotted them and hurried over. "Hogwarts, are we, madam, young sir?"

"Indeed," replied Beatrice.

"Good, good. I'm Professor Scrubb. If you'd like to get the Muggle to take your luggage this way, then."

The porter picked up the trunks and the cauldron, and hefted them off after the man. Beatrice asked the carriage driver to wait for her, and then she and Albus walked across to the station behind the porter and the man who had just greeted them.

"My apologies," said the man, "The Ministry saw the new contraptions the Muggles had, and decided that there would be nothing better to transport a school than a locomotive steam engine. Of course, the first year we used it came round, and nobody knew how to get into the station."

"So it would seem. But I do remember with great love the long journey in the carriages, through the clouds, wrapped up warm with our dorm-mates. Progress," she sighed, rather disapprovingly.

"Yes, well. Here we are," said the slim professor, gesturing to a tall iron pillar.

"Very ingenious," said Beatrice, looking the pillar up and down.

The professor had taken the luggage from the porter and sent him on his way with a tip. "Just stride through it and you'll find yourself on our own platform. We found the tracks simply did not stretch far enough on the Muggle side of the platform, so we had to make our own, and a devil of a time they had with that one, so the ministry tells us," and with that, he stepped through the barrier, quickly, and disappeared from sight.

"Hold my hand, Albus. These things are rather disorientating the first time round." Beatrice held out her hand and Albus grasped it, and he stepped through after her.

It felt as if he had been kicked in the chest by a horse, but the sensation passed so swiftly that by the time he had realised, it was over. On the other side were a multitude of children and harried parents, trunks, creatures, as if Diagon Alley had transplanted itself to a railway station for the day. On the tracks was a gleaming scarlet locomotive, with carriages stretching all the way down the platform. The funnels belched steam and smoke, though this didn't seem as dark or as ominous as the clouds produced by the engines outside. Another person was coming through the pillar behind him, and Albus hurried out of the way.

"Well, good to meet you. I'm afraid I must dash off and see if there are any other people lost and confused," said the Professor, who stepped back through the pillar out of sight, leaving the luggage on the platform.

There was a silence, and then Albus picked up the cauldron and one of the suitcases. His mother picked up the other, and they carried them down the platform. The first few carriages were already full, but the eighth carriage was empty, and a guard opened a door for them, and hefted the luggage inside.

"No parents allowed on the train, I'm afraid, ma'am. The wards malfunctioned when we were coming down, and we've had one little 'un try to stow away already 'cos he wasn't old enough." The guard went off to put the last trunk in the carriage.

Beatrice looked at her pocket-watch, pursed her lips, and then looked back at her son.

"Albus, I've not told you everything you'll need to know there, but I've taught you about money, and the kind of people you'll meet. Respect your teachers, and if I hear you get into trouble, then on your head be it."

She kissed him gently on the cheek, and stepped back. Albus smiled, trying to cover up the nervous feeling that had almost overwhelmed him since the moment he stepped through the pillar. All the luggage was away, the train was soon to leave - a blast of a whistle told them that - and there was nothing to keep him there. He stepped up into the train. All along the platform, children were boarding it, waving goodbye to their parents. Albus noticed that two children had already sat down in the carriage his luggage was in. Bracing himself, he opened the door from the corridor, and, with a desperate smile as his chest contracted, said,

"Hello. I'm Albus Dumbledore."

One of the occupants smiled. He was a short child, with a mess of sandy-blonde hair, and a pleasant look. The other child contrasted with the boy dramatically; a grubby, rag-clothed girl, who had huddled up in a corner and seemed to be sobbing.

The short boy stood up and proffered a hand to Albus.

"I'm Pellinore Pettigrew, but you can call me Pell. Awfully exciting, this train stuff, don't you think? Ignore her - some scruffy Muggle child they found on the street."

His mother had explained what a Muggle was- like his father, or like Modest. Someone without magic of any sort.

"What's a Muggle doing here, then?" he asked, perplexed. The girl sniffled.

"Oh, she's not a full Muggle. You get people without Wizarding parents, you know. I don't think they should let her sort in. There are decent Muggles, I suppose, but not ones like her. In fact, I think I might find another carriage to sit in. You coming?" He walked past Albus in to the corridor and looked back, waiting.

Albus felt it wasn't entirely nice to leave the girl alone. On the other hand, she wasn't talking, and he'd do well to befriend somebody who looked like they knew what they were doing. His mind was made up when another boy entered the carriage. Albus recognised his eyes, if nothing else- they were the same pearly globes that the man in the wand shop, Mr Ollivander, had.

"Pellinore Pettigrew. 6 inches. Hartwood. Unicorn tail."

Pellinore turned to see who was talking. There was a sneer on his face now, and Albus wondered why he had considered his face pleasant.

"Oh, it's you. Ollivander's brat. Well, I'll not be keeping you," he said, and walked off down the corridor. The girl in the corner sniffled again.

"Albus Dumbledore." He paused and looked at the girl. "And somebody I don't recognise. Do you mind if I sit here?"

Albus shook his head. "No, do sit here by all means."

Geoffrey had seen Pellinore when he entered the carriage, and had taken a dislike to him since he had helped fetch wands. He wasn't sure what it was, perhaps it was just a poor day, but when he had called him a brat he decided that he really didn't like Pellinore. And here was the boy who had so dismayed his father. He had wondered, briefly, whether he should move elsewhere, but his father had left the station before he had even got on the train; there was a batch of doxy eggs that needed shelling, and they'd not last the morning. Besides, the boy was powerful. His wand had told them that. His interest was piqued. He shook the boys hand, and they sat down.

"I saw you, didn't I? In the wand shop?" asked Albus, barely a second after they had shook hands.

"Of course. My father is Mr Ollivander. He makes wands. My name's Geoffrey," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Albus. But you knew that. Are you all wizards, then?"

"We're an old family. There are ones who are more powerful, but we're happy making wands. Do you know anybody else here?" he asked, looking pointedly at the girl in the corner. Albus shook his head.

"She was there when I got here. Pell - the boy you saw - he was with her, but he didn't know her either."

Geoffrey stepped over to the girl at tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She swung round swiftly, and spat at him, hissing, as if she was a wildcat.

"Gerroff of me!" she shouted, as Geoffrey stumbled back, fumbling for his wand. Albus leapt up and pulled his out, there was a sudden crash, and both boys found themselves on the floor, knocked onto their backs. There was a silence, and then the girl started crying again.

"Are you alright, there?" asked Albus of Geoffrey, and Geoffrey nodded his head.

"Just winded a little. I heard this is what happens when you get Muggle-born children doing magic. They don't know what to do with it."

Albus picked himself off the floor and offered Geoffrey a hand.

"Thank you."

There was another jolt, and they pointed their wands at the girl again. They weren't entirely sure what they would have done with them, but they realised, with a sudden sigh of relief, that it was only the train beginning to move.

"Do you want to go find another carriage?" asked Geoffrey, and Albus nodded, glad that he wasn't the first to suggest it.

To their dismay, the other carriages were full, and, feeling rather foolish, they wandered back down to the carriage with the strange, feral girl in it. Sitting down near the door, as far from the girl as they could get, they began to talk, quietly.

"Do you know which House you're going to be in?" asked Dumbledore, a question that had been lingering at the back of his mind since he had been asked it in Mr Malkin's tailor shop.

"Ravenclaw, I dare say, for they're the intelligent ones. We Ollivanders are researchers, and craftsmen, you see. I must say that Slytherin seems rather a good House, though. It would be nice to have a chance of being famous; they're the ambitious ones. What about you?"

"Oh, I don't really know, Geoffrey, I'm afraid. My mother didn't really tell me about the houses. In all honesty, I think she's rather ashamed of being a witch. Isn't that strange?"

Geoffrey thought back to his father's words in the summer. A strange family, or an ill-omened one, something along those lines. Yet this boy was powerful.

"You might do well in Slytherin, if your mother is a witch. And there's Hufflepuff, of course, but they all turn out to be businessmen and paper-pushers, says my father," though Geoffrey couldn't see how that was so terribly worse than making wands or potions.

At that point, a witch with a large tray of assorted sweets, chocolate and savouries rumbled in to the corridor. Geoffrey grinned and opened the carriage door, pulling out a little pouch.

"Come on, Albus, they've got all sorts of different delicacies." He pointed out a few; Chocolate Frogs, Kelly-In-A-Coffins, cucumber sandwiches and glass bottles of ginger pop to drink. They bought a selection of each, and settled down.

"What about the young lass, then?" asked the witch before she moved off, and the boys weren't at all sure what to say.

"We'll buy some hot chestnuts too, then, if you please," and the witch sniffed.

"She could do with a wash, you know." The witch pulled out a wand and pointed it at the dirt-encrusted girl.

"Scourgify."

There was a hiss, and the girl screwed her face up as if something was pushing and scrubbing against her skin. When the witch lowered her wand, the girl was quite clean, but for a little smudge on her left cheek.

"There, now, that's a bit better. She'll be one of the Flamel Scholars, I don't doubt. Mucky little urchin, aren't you, me dear?" said the witch, smiling at the girl genially. The girl just scowled.

"Aw, bless. Well, I've got thirty more carriages left, so I'll take my leave."

The witch wandered off down the corridor, and the boys fell in to the food they had bought. The girl looked on with interest now.

"Would you like some?" asked Albus, noticing. There was a little silence, and then the girl nodded.

"Gimme some of the sweets. And some drink."

Albus was a little put out by her rudeness, but passed a few of the sweets to her, along with a bottle of ginger pop. She wolfed them down, messily and hurriedly, sticky crumbs and splashes of drink staining her freshly-cleansed shirt. The boys ate theirs quietly, watching her with a morbid fascination.

"Do you have a name?" asked Geoffrey, when they had all finished eating. The girl looked up at him.

"Lizzie, they call me." She looked as though she would turn back to face the window again; they were crossing through deep moorland now. But instead she bit her lower lip and then ventured a question of her own.

"What's yours?"

"I'm Geoffrey Ollivander."

"And I'm Albus Dumbledore."

She grinned, quickly, flashing a set of yellowish teeth, and then turned to look out of the window.

"I've never seen such open spaces as what we've got here," she said, wistfully, and now the scenery began to change from moor and heath to higher hills. The boys sat and played hands of brag, and Albus was amused to find that the Jacks would flirt with the Queens, when the Kings were not in the hand, and it took some persuasion to convince the cards to stay still and not squabble when they were trying to bluff. Hills changed to mountains, and the train passed by a lake that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, and, as dusk set in, an announcement was made that the train would be arriving at Hogsmeade in five minutes.

"We'd better get changed into our robes, then," said Geoffrey, and they pulled their new robes on. Geoffrey was used to them, but to Albus they felt rather strange; Lizzie had no fondness of them, and muttered uncouth words about looking like a doctor or the Lord Mayor of London, but they convinced her that she would have to wear them. Under her wild temperament and her low manners, she seemed to be alert and intelligent; they supposed that living as an animal on the streets of London would do that to a girl.

With their robes on, they felt the train draw to a halt; there was a cry of a whistle, and then older students came past, and they made their way on to the platform.

A stout old man dressed in thick furs wandered down the platform.

"First years this way, please!" he shouted, and they walked off towards him. An older student had told them their luggage would be dealt with. Pellinore was one of the first amongst the group; he smiled at Albus, but scowled at the other two. He seemed to have found friends in the other carriage.

"My name is Melkin, " said the man when they had all gathered round him. "I'm the Hogwarts Groundsman, and if you'll follow me I'll take you up to the castle."

They followed him down a dark and narrow path to the loch, lit only by Melkin's wand, held aloft, though that gave out no little amount of light. As they reached the bottom of the path, they could see in the distance a tall castle, with spires and turrets lit up by countless windows. There was a little gasp from each as they saw it. Several small boats waited for them at the bank of the loch, each big enough for four children. Albus, Geoffrey and Lizzie were joined by a short young child with carefully groomed black hair, who looked rather bored, and then the boat began to float across the loch, apparently of its own accord, following the boat of the Groundsman. They passed through a curtain of ivy in the cliff face of the castle rock, and found themselves in a little cavern.

"If you'd like to follow me, please!" said Melkin, loudly, and the group walked up a little staircase carved in the rock, finding themselves at last on the green grass of the front drive. Before them was a great door of dark oak, bolstered by thick struts of iron and carved with countless runes and writhing patterns. Melkin stepped forwards and knocked three times on the door with the pommel of his wand, and the doors began to open.