I scowled at the book in front of me. Hermione had wasted no time in starting History of Magic. It’s one of the few classes where you don’t need a wand, and we weren’t going to Diagon Alley”to my disappointment”until the following Wednesday. I quickly learned to hate the subject, after only two days of studying the stupid, useless thing. We started with Ancient Egypt, the most boring place on earth, according to every single word in that book. Hermione had assigned me an essay about why the wizards were thought so highly of. Ron had loaned me his book”which he had written all over, and I assumed slept on, as there was drool dried on some of the pages”but it wasn’t helping me. All I got from it was, “The curse-holders of Egypt were held in high esteem for protecting their pharaohs’ treasures.” How can you make a whole essay out of that, I ask you?
I looked up as the door opened and the barer of my misery came in. Hermione smiled at me. “Working hard, I see,” she commented.
“Yeah.” I threw my quill down on the bed, splattering some ink. I rolled up my parchment and put it in the nightstand beside my bed, along with my ink well, book, and slightly bent quill. “Is lunch ready?” I asked.
Hermione nodded. “That’s what I came up here for. Dumbledore’s here, too, I think. Or will be soon.”
I didn’t make too big a deal out of it until she left”I gave her a shrug and a nod, telling her I’d be down in a minute. Then, when the door closed with a click, I pumped my fist into the air, whispering very loudly, “Boo-yah!” Spotty, who was on a chair in the corner by the window, scooted underneath the bed.
Why am I so excited, you ask? Who wouldn’t be, if they were about to meet one of the most famous wizards of all time! It helped that lunch was ready, too”I hadn’t had enough time to eat breakfast that morning, and my stomach wouldn’t leave me alone about it. (I almost never eat breakfast, anyways; I’m never hungry in the mornings.)
With a skip and a jump I went barreling down the stairs, stopping abruptly at the top of the first landing. I had learnt my lesson with that stupid painting, and I walked on tiptoe to the basement door. I didn’t want Sirius’ ‘dear old mother’ screaming her head off at me just for walking past, or, God forbid, talking. I slipped through the door and closed it with relief. I took my seat next to Ginny, nodding to Harry and Ron, who were discussing something about brooms and Quaffles. (Quidditch, if you haven’t caught my drift. I won’t go into detail about that right now.) Hermione wasn’t there yet. The pile of rags was gone, though I could still smell the whiskey, and there was no sign of Dumbledore.
“Have a good morning?” asked Mrs. Weasley, who was cutting up meat and bread.
“If you’re definition of a ‘good morning’ is writing an essay for History of Magic, then you’re messed up,” I answered moodily, taking a sandwich off a plate that Mrs. Weasley set on the table. I knew that I shouldn’t have been so rude, but I was grumpy. Just a little bit.
Ginny laughed. “Come on, writing essays isn’t that hard!”
“Is to, when you aren’t used to a quill, and starting over every time you make a small mistake,” I replied.
Ron looked up with a confused look on his face. “What do you usually write with?”
“A pencil.” He gave me a look that asked me what a pencil is. I just rolled my eyes.
“You’ll have to get used to it, dear.” Mrs. Weasley sat down at a chair near the end. Ron raised an eyebrow, ending up raising both, and murmured something to Harry. “Albus will be here soon,” his mother continued. “He made a quick stop at the Ministry to talk to Arthur.”
“Where’re Fred and George?” I picked up another sandwich, trying to hide my disappointment. Dumbledore was taking an awful long time…
“Somewhere upstairs,” answered Harry.
“They’re working on--” Ron started, but Ginny, who also gave him a look, kicked him. Rubbing his kneecap, he concluded in a mumble, “They’re doing stuff.”
I grinned, but decided to ask later. Ginny tells me everything”we made fast friends, after only a few days. I don’t know if it’s being the same age or her personality, or just my overall sarcastic happiness, but it happened straight off.
Lunch turned into afternoon, and afternoon into evening, and still Dumbledore didn’t come. Supper was a silent affair; I got the feeling that someone had died or was in the hospital, for even Sirius was sadder than usual, spending all his time upstairs. (“Buckbeak’s up there,” Ginny explained to me in a whisper. “He’s Sirius’ hippogriff.” I knew that. “He comforts him, more than we ever could.” So that’s where Buckbeak ended up! It had me wondering, after Sirius flew off on him in the third book.)
I was getting ready for bed before he finally came through the door. I was upstairs in my bedroom, talking with a painting that hung on the far wall, near the dresser/closet thing that I can’t really describe. He said his name with Phineas, a very pompous former Hogwarts Headmaster and sarcastic to the point of annoyance. We were arguing over something very stupid (so stupid that I don’t feel it has any importance to be made evident about what was being discussed) while I was partway through changing and he had his back turned to give me some privacy.
“Really, Mr. Nigellus, you can’t seriously think--”
“Yes, I do, Winston, and don’t bother continuing this argument!”
“I like heated debating, sir.” I slipped on my pajama shirt, one that reached to my knees, and put my laundry in my basket. “And having one with a painting is just as fun!” I added with a smile. I looked up as someone knocked.
“Ms. Winston? May I come in?” came a man’s voice.
“Yes!” I called. When the door slid open, my jaw dropped.
There, in flesh and blood, was Albus Dumbledore.
His beard was long and silver, and his robes a deep maroon. Half-moon glasses adorned a bony nose, and blue eyes looked at me calmly, excitedly, even. His hair was gray, close to the silver of his beard, and black slippers covered his feet. I grabbed my robe out of my truck and quickly tied it on, making the old man laugh.
“It’s alright!” said Dumbledore.
“For you, maybe,” I replied. “But for me, it’s a problem.” I sat down on my bed. The mattress squeaked, and I flinched. Phineas had left”thank goodness”and we were alone. Now that the time had come, though, I was a bit apprehensive about being alone with such a formidable man.
“I believe no one has explained anything to you, Ms. Winston,” began Dumbledore, going straight to the point. “Have they?” I shook my head. And, in truth, no one had told me a thing since I had arrived at number twelve Grimmauld Place. Whenever I asked, the subject was always changed to something more pleasant to everyone but me.
“And you probably have some questions, don’t you?” I nodded. “Fire away,” said Dumbledore calmly.
The questions exploded from my mouth, trampling each other to get out first. “Why am I here, why me, what’s going on, how long will this be, what’s the Order, what does Voldemort want with me?” The last question forced itself from thoughts into words, and I fell silent. I saw a smile crease Dumbledore’s lips.
“Alas, I can only answer some of those,” he said. “You shall stay until the end of the school year, July 1st, to be exact. It shall be your choice to stay or go after that.
“The Order of the Phoenix is an anti-Voldemort association that is bent on stopping him and his Death Eaters. I assume you have some knowledge on the subject, as our creator so kindly made sure of in her last installment.”
“So…you know J.K Rowling made you up?” I asked timidly. “Made your whole world up, too?”
“Of course we do,” Dumbledore replied, a bit surprised. “Though, regrettably, those numbers are very few. But we make do, and keep it a secret so no one else shall know or try to change it. Or, worse, deny it.
“Why Voldemort wants you, we are still trying to figure out. But, it is currently top priority for the Order, as is keeping you safe. So, that means--”
“Don’t tell me no Diagon Alley!” I interrupted sharply.
“Hold on there, Ms. Winston!” laughed Dumbledore. “You will still be going, just with some fortifications to ensure your safety.”
I sighed in relief, sagging on my bed. “Thank goodness! I thought I’d be stuck here for the rest of the summer.”
“But,” said Dumbledore with a somber grin, “you will not to be leaving this house without an escort, so that means no unauthorized trips, Ms. Winston.
“Now, moving on. About your classes. Having your friends”I am assuming friends, so correct me if I am wrong”teach was the only way I thought would be safest. Having the professors walk in and out of this house for everyday lessons would be foolish and risky. I have negotiated with the Minister for Magic, and he has allowed you to use magic, as well as your temporary teachers, for learning purposes only.” He put emphasis on the last part, and I tried my best to look innocent. Okay, so I had some ideas for my wand once I got it”what’s the harm in thinking, as long as I don’t do it? Right? Right? (Trying to be convincing here, people!)
“But why me?” I asked. The man still hadn’t moved from the door, though it had closed a short time ago. “Why a fourteen year old who doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing?”
“Language, Ms. Winston,” said Dumbledore sternly, but with a twinkle in his eye. If I liked him a lot as a character in a book, I sure liked him a lot more now! “That question shall be answered in due time.”
I scowled, crossing my arms. “Everyone keeps saying ‘I’ll tell you later, Lara’, ‘Some other time, Lara’. When will I get some da”dang answers!” I switched the word I was going to use just in time. I had a tendency to swear when I was mad, as you can see.
Dumbledore didn’t answer, but turned the knob. “Like I said, all in due time. Good night, Ms. Winston.” He left and closed the door behind him, and I heard his feet thump quietly down the stairs, leaving me with more questions than answers.
Torture, it seemed, loved me. But the feelings would never be mutual.
Muggles can't be Witches! by Wand_Waver2006
Chapter Notes: Ok, so I can't tell time. ^-^ Again, thanks to loverly KateH, you are a lifesaver! And you guys, my readers--you keep me going! Enjoy the third chapter, y'all!