Amber Dreams

After the first few weeks of the term, the first years found themselves settling into a comfortable routine of study and meals, and between Latin and the practical side of the lessons, they spent most of their spare time unwilling to venture beyond their Common Rooms. By the third week of October, though, with rumours of a Hallowe'en Banquet being prepared, Geoffrey managed to convince Albus to explore beyond the portrait. It was a Saturday afternoon, and the Common Room was mostly empty; the older pupils had been allowed to visit the village, and the Quidditch team was training hard for the upcoming match. Lizzie was still taking private lessons in Latin with Professor Maudlin, though she was progressing fast, she said, and would soon be able to join the rest of the year.

They walked through the empty corridors, and found themselves bored by what they found. The poltergeist, Peeves, had tried flooding the girls' toilets on the second floor, and there were shouts from an empty room, that caused them some alarm, but soon they found a side-door that led out into a wide garden of herbs and rare spices, surrounded by a tall wall, which they left for the grounds by a cobwebbed door.

The grounds were as empty of life as the corridors, but for the cawing of crows overhead. The eaves of the East Wing cast shadows down the pale grey walls, and the green of the grass was muted, leached, though the autumn sky seemed as blue and as fine as it had since they had arrived at the school. How long it seemed, how strange it was that everywhere should seem so familiar, though they realised that they barely knew the grounds.

There was a long field that led down to the lake, hedged by the deep wall of trees of the Forest, scattered with browning leaves from the branches, which crunched underfoot. The dew still moistened the grass, and as the two walked down to the waters, they found their shoes and stockings slowly grow wet, a pleasurable, cold feel between the toes.

"So do you know what wands each person will choose when you meet them?"

Geoffrey had been rather reticent when it came to his parent's work, especially amongst his other classmates. It wasn't so much that he didn't wish to speak of the matter, than that he found it rather uninteresting to talk about, except with Albus, whose wonder of the wizarding world rather charmed him.

"Not really," he answered, as they neared the Great Oak that dominated the field above the lake like a watch tower, "But you can sort of tell in their eyes, what they're like. Then it's all guesswork, as far as my father will tell me, though I know I will be unable to work the shop for many years after I'm initiated."

That was true, he thought, though he couldn't tell Albus what the initiation would be, for he did not know himself. His father had always changed the subject when it came up, and he had long given up asking his mother the secrets of the business. They would stay until he was ready, and then there would be no need for questions.

If the Forest had taller and more spectacular trees, they were dwarfed by the greater splendour of the Forest in its sheer magnitude, and the pines stood like serried armies, the evergreen canopy creating a gloomy prison, barred by shadowed tree trunks. Yet the Great Oak spread its beams out in the wide space of the meadow, unhindered, unkempt with brown and golden leaves half on and off the tree. The ground around it bore rotting acorns and mouldering leaves, and the two boys wandered over to the base of the tree, dwarfed, yet not humbled in their approach. This was something new, to be explored and climbed, not to be watched and studied from afar.

The trunk of the Great Oak was as wide as one of the castle's spiral staircases, and knotted with old branches and beams. The knots and bulges like the muscles of a brawler, or the face of an old and weathered man, and the branches reached across the boys' heads like the roof of a grand house. Albus didn't wait for Geoffrey, and pulled himself up into the tree. Crows cawed in the trees, and took to the air.

"Come on, Geoffrey. It's easier than the beech trees at home," he cried, now sitting happily on the lowest branch. Geoffrey tried to scramble up, but the bark evaded the grip of his fingers, and he fell back to the ground again. The other boy reached down and offered an arm.

After that, it was easier, the branches below giving a better foothold, though Geoffrey, who, it turned out, had never climbed a tree in his life, was less confident, and ascended at a far slower pace than Albus's fast rise. The crows had returned to the tree now, and seemed strangely acclimatised to the presence of the two boys; Geoffrey supposed they were used to students climbing the tree. The glimpses of the grounds through the gaps in the foliage showed him why they might, for the views were astounding, from the lake stretching like ruffled silk across to the far shore, to the tiny figures of the Quidditch players darting through the air.

After a while, as they wondered when the tree's far away top might ever come to view, the branches began to thin out, and the pale sun could once more be seen properly. There, at the top of the tree, was a particularly large raven, which eyed Albus coldly. Geoffrey emerged a few moments later, and started to speak before he realised how entranced the other boy was by the raven.

"What is it, Albus? It's only a stupid bird."

Albus was about to say something, when there was a sudden shout from far below.

"What the deuce are you doing up there?" came the voice from the ground, and Albus peered through the leaves to see a man below, dressed in short robes, waving a wand furiously. Both the boys found themselves suddenly plucked from the Great Oak, and pulled slowly to the ground to drop at the feet of the man. The raven flew away off into the forest, and the crows gratefully returned.

The man had a thick growth of stubble, and his robes were of leather, patched and dirty. It had been quite a while since they had last seen him, but the boys recalled his face from their first night at Hogwarts, the Groundsman Melkin. A mastiff at his side growled and sniffed at the boys, and Geoffrey recoiled slightly.

"First years, are you? What names do you go by, and no lies, mind."

"O-Ollivander, sir, Geoffrey Ollivander."

"Ollivander, eh? And you, boy," he said, tapping Albus on the head with his wand, "Who are you?"

"Albus, sir, Albus Dumbledore. We didn't know the tree was forbidden to us."

"It's not forbidden, just damn-fooled dangerous for two lads like you to climb it. Well, trust a Gryffindor to try it." The Groundsman snorted with amusement. "Did you see anything interesting up there, lads?"

"No, sir. I saw a raven, and the views are wonderful, like being on a broom but firmer, but nothing that you might call interesting."

Melkin bit his lower lip, as if in thought, and then chuckled. "Well, as long as you're all right, then I suppose I shouldn't have to punish you. The raven, though, I've had a lot of problems with the buggers eating the seeds on my pumpkin patch. You wouldn't, erm, be able to keep an eye out for them if you see them again? Just send an owl to me, and I'd be most grateful."

"Of course, sir."

"Well, on your way, then, lads. It'll be lunchtime soon, I dare say, so if you're making for the lake I'd hurry."

The boys walked off down past the Great Oak to the shores of the lake. The deep waters were dark and still. Albus showed Geoffrey how to play ducks and drakes, skimming the flat stones across the water. They spent a few minutes in such idle pursuits, before the distant sound of a bell called them back to the Great Hall for their meal.

* * *

Albus dreams:

There was a tree on a hill, a high hill that reared into the sky, silhouetted against the sun. The branches were like lightning, and magic leaped between the twigs and the leaves. Twelve planets encircled the brow of the hill, and a white raven flew between them, eyes red as the blood of a man's brow. The raven became a man, and the man became a goat, which danced on its hind legs, and the goat was joined by his mother. Albus cried out at the vision, but nobody heard, the dancers entwined in each other. Then the tree began to burn, and he could feel the heat, and the branches were now close to him, burning against his face.

The flames were cold now, and they tickled like whiskers. There was a smell of fennel in the air, like the aniseed balls he bought in the village shop, and there was a whispering sound that grew louder, until he could vaguely discern that it was a man and a woman, and they were arguing. Then the woman was gone, and the man was whispering into his ear, whispering possession and grim secrets that he could not remember mere moments after they were uttered. And then there were eyes, dark eyes that seemed to see into his very soul.

Albus, they said, though he knew not how eyes could speak, though every secret of the world was contained within them, Albus, you intrigue me. I will come for you after the Yule and the birth, and I shall teach you, teach you things you could never have imagined. Favoured shall you be, you and your companion.

Geoffrey dreams:

There was a tree on the hill, a high hill that reared into the sky, silhouetted against the moon, silver in the sky. The branches are like lightning, but they point and gesture to him like a judge to a guilty man, and there is something in the branches, a spirit of the woods. The moon is as grand as the greatest pearl that was ever plucked from the ocean, and around it were twelve planets, and between them flew a raven, as black as the night could ever hope to be. The raven became a woman, with hair like the twigs of the oak leaves, and then she became a boy with hair like ivory, who turned from him, and Geoffrey knew who he was, and wanted him, though he would forget who the boy was before he even woke.

There was the odour of the streets in his dream, and cobbled stones could be felt under his feet, and Geoffrey moaned, and looked down, and betrayal was written on the floor, carved in runes he could not recognise yet knew as if they were the first words he spoke. He dropped to his knees, as if he was punch-drunk, tracing the runes blindly and foolishly, a smile bestowed upon his lips. The boy with hair like ivory became a raven once more, and pecked at his fingers, and turned them bloody and pained.

In his mind he could see the raven's eyes, and the eyes reflected his own, turning them from black to white, and in them he could see secrets. There was a whispering, urgent, tense, and the eyes still bore into him. The eyes were no longer those of a raven but of a man, and the man spoke. You will be mine, child, not your father's, for I see ambition in you, and bravery, and those are virtues in mine eyes. I will come for you when I come for your companion, though for now you will remember this not, and the morning light will sooth your mind.

* * *

Geoffrey awoke to the sound of giggling, and his sheets around his legs were wet. He spluttered awake, swearing, and saw Pellinore and one of the other Gryffindor boys hurrying back to their beds, holding a cup of water.

"It worked, Pell!" sniggered the dark haired boy.

"Shut up!" hissed the other.

Geoffrey reached for his wand and shouted something at the nearest bed. The curtains turned into vines that wrapped around Pellinore, who had been shaking with quiet laughter inside. He gasped as the vines enfolded him, pulling him up to the top of the bed-frame, and as they wrapped around his neck he began to choke. He dropped the cup of water he had been holding, and the water splashed across the dormitory floor.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HIM?" shouted the other boy, and now Albus was roused from his slumbers as well, his wand in his hand already. Geoffrey clutched the sheets to himself, and tried to Transfigure the vines back, with little success but a few tatters of cloth falling to the floor. Footsteps could be heard on the stairs, and someone pounded at the door, before the red-haired prefect barged in, wand out.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, before waving his wand and muttering something. The vines fell dead to the floor, and Pellinore dropped heavily on to the bed, eyes dilated, his breathing shallow. Professor Barnacle strode into the dormitory a few moments later.

"Weasley Minor, run and fetch Madame Seacole from the pharmacy, and be quick about it. You, Dumbledore, fetch me some water."

The rest of the dormitory was awake by now, looking on with bleary eyes as the Professor cast Cheering Charms and other spells to keep Pellinore conscious. Soon, a middle-aged woman arrived with a satchel of potions, and a chair of iron and canvas that hovered nearby.

"Just mild asphyxiation, Erik," Madame Seacole told the Professor. "Give me a hand getting the lad into the chair. He can spend the morning in the hospital wing, and I'll expect whichever boy is responsible cleaning bedpans for me tomorrow night."

The Professor lifted Pellinore up and in to the chair, and it darted off in front of the school nurse out through the door and down the stairway.

"Boys, sit down on your beds, please, immediately. I am very disappointed in you. We are Gryffindors, not pitiful cowards or Slytherins, and when it becomes necessary for us to attack each other, I would rather you do so in a formal, controlled duel. Now, I do not expect any of you to own up," he continued, gazing around the room, "That's not how we do things here. But one of you will find himself cleaning bedpans tomorrow night, without fail, and he will not complain. Now, it's almost time for you to rise for breakfast and chapel. Ollivander, clean yourself up, and the House Elves will deal with your bedding."

He left without a further word. There was an awkward silence, and then a flurry of activity as they went off to prepare for the day.

* * *

"I simply cannot stand that infuriating toad."

"Be calm, Geoffrey. You more than punished him for it."

"And received a detention for the trouble. I hardly meant for him to choke in the manner that he did. A mere fright, that was all."

"Well, he was sorely frightened when you were done with him."

They had returned to the sheltered garden after chapel, with Lizzie in tow. The long beds had been encapsulated in glass chambers to keep them from the bite of the winter frost, and the wooden benches were hard and chill, the freeze penetrating even through their robes.

"Why do we 'ave to be out 'ere, Albus?" asked Lizzie, whose yellow teeth were chattering from the cold.

Albus wasn't entirely sure, but he knew he had to be here. "We're looking for the raven that we saw yesterday," he said, knowing that that was true. Why they were in the herb garden instead of the main grounds, though, he didn't know, and he said so. "Perhaps we should walk in the grounds. We could show Lizzie the oak."

"Or we could get inside out of the cold. You rich folk ain't got the sense you were born with, en't you?"

"Oh do stop whining, Lizzie. We're going to find the raven, and then we can tell Melkin."

But if Albus knew what he had to do, he was not at all sure why he had to do it. There was the dream, of course, fragments of it falling like ashes from a burning pyre of books into his consciousness, but there was something about Melkin that had made him trust the old man. And the raven was important somehow. Back on the Downs, ravens were a rare sight, but there were crows, and there was a rookery in the copse, and boys from the village had been hired in the spring to chase the black shapes from the freshly sown fields. Perhaps that was all the Groundsman wanted, knowledge of a pest that would eat the seeds, but somehow Albus knew that was not all.

"We'd best walk to the tree we climbed yesterday, then."

"Arbor," stated Lizzie. "A tree. See, I'm learning, en't I?"

Albus nodded politely. "We should really hurry up. It won't be long before lunch, and we won't get far unless we hurry." As they walked over the threshold of the garden, though, Lizzie tripped on a flagstone, falling to the ground with a heavy thump. She swore loudly and rubbed her knee as the boys helped her up, then swore again. This time, though, it was with something approaching awe. The paving stone was engraved with words, like a tombstone in a cathedral.

FVNDAMENT COGNOSCI ET MAGICVS YESOD INTERCEDVNT

"More bleedin' Latin."

"The first word is foundation," stated Albus, already trying to understand it. "But a foundation stone wouldn't be found in a garden, would it? And there's magic, and learning, but the rest is beyond me," said Albus, half to himself. "Geoffrey, do you understand the other words?"

"Haven't a clue, mate. But you're right about the foundation stone. Normally they are integrated into the structure of the building itself. My father showed me the one we have for our house, and the wording is similar. I admit I cannot recall what it meant, though. Maybe I can ask him when I next write to him."

"It's pointless, anyway. It's the raven we're interested in. We can ask Professor Maudlin what they mean later, if we have to. Come on!"

They spent a short half hour peering around the tree and walking along the edge of the forest, which darkened mere feet in to the dense foliage. Magpies hopped on the grass, but their blacker cousins were not to be seen.

"One for sorrow, two for joy..." muttered Albus under his breath.

"What's that?"

"Oh, a magpie rhyme. Everybody knows it where I live.

One for sorrow, two for joy,

Three for a girl, and four for a boy.

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

And seven for a secret ne'er to be told."

"Ain't got magpies in a London rookery. Dirty great pigeons, though. Good eating on 'em if you can catch 'em!" Lizzie grinned toothily, and ran off after the flock of magpies, arms out, laughing. The sound of the luncheon bell could be heard over the strange screams of the magpies and the laughter of Lizzie.

"Come on, Lizzie. You'll get better food at a Hogwarts lunch than a few mangy birds."