Dumbledore's beginning

The beginning of an era has to start somewhere, right?


1. In the beginning

The man walked slowly through the deserted platforms of King's Cross station. It was late, how late he did not know, but through the transparent ceiling he could see the stars winking in the moonlight, and the moon casting soothing shadows on the buildings below. The man had brilliant blue eyes that glistened softly beneath his half-moon spectacles, auburn hair which was turning grey clearly through old age yet in the moonlight appeared a glowing shade of silver, but what was most odd about him was his clothing. He wore a long, forest green robe encrusted with golden spirals and delicate embroidery, a tall pointed hat baring the same material as his robe but lined with ancient symbols, and a strange pendant hung around his neck. He walked about with a rather inquizative expression as though he was assessing his surroundings thoroughly, before sitting down on a bench between platforms 9 and 10.

"Beautiful night," he said to the woman sitting beside him, her head entranced in a book. She looked at the man and politely nodded, not really taking in his appearance due to her concentration in the book. He reached his hand into his robe and pulled out a strange looking instrument rather like a large lighter, then flicked it and one of the surrounding lights went out. Of course, it was too late and too dark for the woman to notice any odd goings-on, but before long the man had turned out all but 1 of the lights that circled the platforms.

"The name's Dumbledore by the way," he stated, making himself a little more comfortable in the bench. "Say, what are you reading?" he asked the woman, peering over his spectacles to try catch a glimpse of the book she caressed. She rolled her eyes and reluctantly lifted the book to show Dumbledore the front cover, then just as quickly placed it back into her lap again and began to read. "Very good. Muggle book, is it? I remember reading that myself as a youth. Always was one of my favourites." The woman simply forced a smile at him then turned her head away.

"May I ask you a question?" he said softly in the woman's ear, giving her quite a fright. She nodded and gave up with her book, putting it into her bag and sitting up, now giving Dumbledore her full attention. "Great. Do you believe in magic?"

She smirked uncontrollably and tucked her short blonde hair behind her ears. "I do not," she said matter-of-factly, "I am a woman of logic. I only believe in what I can touch and feel." Dumbledore smiled helplessly. "Why of course, my lady. Why wouldn't you be?" His eyes twinkled beneath his half-moon spectacles. "Got something to show you."

He held out the put-outer again and flicked it. The station's lights all seemed to attract to the tip of the put-outer, leaving the whole place in complete darkness. The woman looked around in bewilderment, then Dumbledore held the put-outer to the woman's heart. A single ball of light slowly seeped from the tip of it, dancing slowly up into the air then disappearing into nothing. A second did the same, but the third ball of light expanded and expanded until it covered the woman's chest, engrossing her into a generous hug of warmth and beauty. She was almost entranced, until Dumbledore flicked it one final time and the light resumed to normal throughout the station.

"You see, you say you only believe in what you can touch and feel," he whispered, his face twisting into a curious yet gentle smile, "but magic does nothing if not touched the soul. And there's no greater feeling than that."

The woman stood up and looked at Dumbledore in astonishment. "What's your name?" Dumbledore asked.

"Joanne. Joanne Rowling," she said, not sure whether to run for her life or curtsey to this mysterious magical man.

"Take my arm Joanne. We're going on a little trip."

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