The Phoenix' flight

The Phoenix’ flight

Disclaimer: They (almost) all belong to J. K. Rowling and her publisher. I don’t intend to make money with them, but have only borrowed them for some playing. I promise, as soon as I’m done with them (or better said, as soon as they’re done with each other) I’ll give them back.

Author’s Note: If the idea of older people falling in love and having sex with each other squicks you, then - please - do me a favour: Go away. You won’t like this story.


Chapter 3: An old box

Hogwarts, November 1998

Winter was coming, announced by an icy sea from the sea, blowing over the barren hills around the castle, ripping the lake and whistling around Hogwarts’s towers. Freezing, Ginevra Weasley pulled her jumper closer around her and hastened through the hall with the arcades towards the door of Poppy Pomfrey’s chambers. Ginny had spent the last two hours with tutoring two clumsy first years at broom riding, therefore she felt pretty chilly and wasn’t only looking forward of meeting Harry and the mediwitch, but to getting warmed up again.

It almost was like coming home: Ginny had hardly knocked as Poppy already opened the door and pulled her in. “Dear girl – you look frozen stiff! Harry just told me you were all the time out in the yard and didn’t even have a proper dinner!”
Before Ginny got a chance to say much, she’d landed in the old wingchair near the fireplace, had gotten the fluffy blue blanket around her legs and heard Poppy ring a bell. “Pinky – that’s my house-elf – will get you something to eat.”
“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey!” Ginny felt almost a bit amused. Actually Hogwarts’ mediwitch was famous, or, as some whiny students maintained, even notorious for her no nonsense attitude. As competent and kindly she treated her patients: Fussing about them certainly wasn’t Poppy Pomfrey’s style. All the more Ginny appreciated how Poppy now ordered hot soup, a pincher of pumpkin juice and sandwiches for her. As the seventh child among a herd of loud, demanding older brothers Ginny had never become spoilt with attention, so it felt nice that someone was now looking after her this way.

Waiting for the house-elf to come with Ginny’s dinner, the trio chatted about the weather and the news from the Ministry of Magic. Ginny’s older brother Percy was back there and even had got a department of his won. Of course, it was a very small one: The registry of educational magic contracts. In fact, the entire department consisted of Percy and a rheumatic old tomcat which had lived in the office of Percy’s predecessor since ages, but despite of the lack of Indians Percy felt like the big chieftain. Ginny was happy for him. As boring and pompous as Percy was – he was her brother and a member of the very close knitted Weasley clan.
Nevertheless, the other big news from the Ministry she liked even more: Dolores Umbridge, former Great Inquisitor of Hogwarts, Headmistress and undersecretary in the Ministry, hadn’t only become sacked, but charged. The Wizengamot had found her guilty of abuse of office, violence against charges and discrimination of intelligent magical beings. She’d been sent to Azkaban where she was to spend the next ten years.

With a “plop” the house-elf appeared again, carrying a big tray and putting it down on the little table next to Ginny’s chair. Poppy released the elf, invited Ginny to start with her dinner before the soup would become cold and smiled at Harry who’d made himself comfortable on the sofa again.
“Are you still interested in Albus’ family and childhood?” she asked.
“Oh yes!” Harry answered. “Although I find it hard to imagine that the Headmaster once was a baby. Whenever I try I get a vision from an infant with a long, white beard, half-moon spectacles and twinkling blue eyes.”
Poppy rose up and walked over to a desk which stood in a corner of the room. “He certainly wasn’t born with the beard,” she commented while taking up a very old and dusty box and carrying it back to her chair. “As I came to Hogwarts, the beard was auburn and short-cropped. And later then, during the war against Grindelwald, Albus was clean shaven. He didn’t have time for all the grooming his beard needed.” Putting the box down at the big table, she opened it. “Yesterday in the evening I was visiting my former mother-in-law,” she told then. “She is a lawyer and she took her office over from her father-in-law Polyxenes Pomfrey, who’d once defended Albus’ father Percival at the Wizengamot. Therefore I hoped my mother-in-law could tell me something about the Dumbledore case or even give me the old file. Well,” she patted the box, “I got something even better.”
Ginny swallowed a piece of sandwich and washed it down with pumpkin juice. “Now I’m thrilled!” she announced. “What’s in the box, Madam Pomfrey?” She looked at it as if she’d expect the lid to open to reveal the ghost of Percival Dumbledore.
“Letters and an old photograph.” Poppy sat down, the open box in her lap. “I hadn’t know, but Polyxenes Pomfrey hadn’t only been Percival Dumbledore’s lawyer, but a longstanding personal friend too. And he was obviously a methodical and neat man. He stored everything concerning old Dumbledore in this box.”
“You mean, you’ve gotten letters from the Headmaster’s father?” Harry sounded intrigued. “The Headmaster never mentioned his parents. I only know their names and that his father died in Azkaban because he’d gone after these Muggle boys who’d attacked his daughter. I’d really like to know more.”
Ginny was interested in the subject too. “Do you know what Dumbledore senior did before he went to Azkaban?”
“One after the other!” Poppy smiled, pulled a photograph out of the box and showed it to Harry and Ginny. It obviously was very old – it didn’t move and was only in black and white. On it was a tall, gangly wizard in his mid-twenties who wore a rather crumpled dark robe and looked out of big eyes at the photographer. “That’s the man we’re talking about: Percival Dumbledore, aged twenty three. The picture was taken at the day he did his magisterial exam in history.”
Mumbling her sandwich, Ginny studied the photograph and couldn’t help smiling. The man in it had a nice, long face with a snub nose, surrounded by freckles. Despite of his age, his airline had already gone back a bit. Looking closer, Ginny said: “I reckon he’d got red hair? He could have been a Weasley.”
“As far as I know,” Poppy gave back, “he was related to your family. His mother had been a Weasley.”
“Sirius used to say that all the old pureblood families were inter-rated,” Harry said. Taking the photo out of Poppy’s hand, he pushed his glasses up. “Actually there isn’t much alikeness to his son,” he immediately corrected himself, “sons, I mean.”
“Not much with Aberforth, I think.” Poppy leant back. “He was blond in his youth. However, he’s as tall and thin as his father. Albus had got more from him – the hair colour for example, the mouth and the freckles. But the blue eyes and the nose the Dumbledore boys had inherited from their mother.”
Ginny had taken the photo from Harry and put it now back on the table. “What did Dumbledore senior do for a living?” she asked.
“As I’ve mentioned: He was a historian. His special field was Merlin and his time and the dream of his life was to write a big book about Merlin and his connection to the Priestesses of Avalon. I read his letters last night, so I learnt that he’d inherited a spot of money – not much, but enough for a modest life – and a little cottage in Cornwall where he, after he’d finished his education, happily lived, working at his opus magnum. Yet in 1846 – he was just thirty four years old – his life changed.” Once more she opened the box, this time for taking an old parchment out. Carefully enrolling it, she reached it over to Harry. “This letter he wrote to his friend Polyxenes at August 20, 1846. Perhaps you’d like it to read to Miss Weasley?”
Harry took the letter, studied it for a moment and wrinkled his forehead. “The handwriting reminds me of the Headmaster – it’s hard to come in use with too. But I think, I’ll manage.”

Pumpkin Path, August 10, 1846
My dear friend,
how wonderful to read in your last letter that your work is going so well! I was always convinced about you becoming a very successful man one day and now, proven right by your steady progress, I feel almost as if having been the one who shared a desk and such a nice friendship with you at Hogwarts – and I am happy to say that this friendship still thrives – makes some of your glory falling on me too.
Despite of said pride I must admit I am rather pleased that you could not make it for lunch the other day. It made for me quite literally bumping into my fate.
You know, I had come to Diagon Alley because my dear, old Wilfa is not up to flying long distances any more. Hence I decided to give her some well-deserved rest and to buy a young owl. Indeed I found a lovely tawn the owl’s emporium and, with its cage in my hand, I walked happily out of the shop. Clumsy and inattentive as I unfortunately mostly am, I did not notice the young lady who just came around the corner. I bumped into her and made the parcel she had been carrying fall. Of course, I immediately picked it up for her and then I wanted to apologize. Only I could not. Looking at the witch in front of me the ability to think of a proper expressed apology left me at once. The only thing I could do was starring – open-mouthed and dumb footed, probably looking like one of these golden fishes the Muggle are so fond on keeping in bowls – at this vision of beauty which I had almost overran.
First it were her eyes which caught me: Azure blue with a hint of turquoise around the iris, surrounded by a curtain of incredibly long, silken, black whimpers. Of course, these eyes were looking a bit sharp and annoyed - becoming overran by a clumsy, big oaf who is not even able to apologize properly certainly is not to the lady’s liking.
I still was unable of coherent speech. There was her nose – a perfect Roman nose, fine and noble – and a slight pink mouth with beautiful, soft lips over a rather energetic chin. High cheekbones, a skin as white and smooth as marble and raven black, full hair, bound back in a severe bum deep on her neck, completed the picture. This face – strong, independent and proud – reminded me of a Greek Goddess: Pallas Athena, the immortal huntress.”

Harry looked up from the letter, reached for the goblet with pumpkin juice Poppy had put in front of him and grinned at Ginny and her. “Talk about a man in love! One wonders if she really was this breath taking.”
While he drank, Poppy nodded. “She was indeed a beauty and, as he wrote, a strong and proud witch.”
Ginny looked at the parchment Harry still held in his hand. “Is there more in the letter? I mean, did he in the end manage to talk to her?”
Harry grinned. “I take it that this witch became Madam Dumbledore and the mother of our Headmaster. So I reckon he must have found the courage to speak to her.”
“What does the letter say?” Ginny demanded to know.
Harry took it up again and, adjusting his spectacles, read the next part.

”She was looking back at me and suddenly a lovely smile enlightened her eyes and I heard a melodious, amazingly deep alto, sounding amused and a bit ironic: “I am sorry I was in your way, sir.”
My brain still was not working properly, but – with same struggling – I opened my mouth. “I need to apologize, miss. It was me who was clumsy.” Looking down at the parcel – it was rather heavy – I was still keeping I proceeded: “May I make my mishap up in carrying your goods and accompanying you?”
“And how will you do that?” She pointed at my owl’s cage and then took the parcel out of my hand. “Don’t bother.” She pointed with the parcel to the apothecary just opposite. “I only need to go there! Good day!”
“Yes, the same for you!” I stammered and then she was already gone, disappeared into the apothecary.
That was it and now, my friend, you may laugh at me. I met the witch of my dreams and let her walk away. I know, you would have been able to start a nice conversation with her and in the end she would not only have given you her name, but told you where and when you could see her again. However, I am not as good as you with ladies. Nevertheless I intend to search for my raven haired beauty. I think I just feel a headache coming – and do you not think, a headache should always be cured with a good potion? I will have to go to an apothecary tomorrow.
Wish me luck, Polyxenes!
Yours sincerely
Percival Dumbledore”

Harry put the letter down and took another sip of pumpkin juice. Ginny in the meantime was beaming. “What a sweet man!”
Poppy rolled the parchment up and put it back in the box, taking another one out. “He was on the right track. Albus’ mother Kendra was a Potions mistress. As Percival Dumbledore met her in Diagon Alley, she’d just finished her apprenticeship and started her first job in the apothecary she was heading to. Percival Dumbledore found her there …”
“And then he immediately started to court her?” Ginny asked eagerly.
“He was bit shy, it seems,” Poppy informed her.
“That’s a trait his oldest son certainly didn’t inherit!” Harry laughed.
“Absolutely not,” Poppy agreed. “He would immediately have started a flirt when so smitten by a young lady. However, his father needed same time to come closer to her.” She gave Harry the parchment she’d taken out of the box. “Here is another letter, written during the couple’s courtship.”
Harry took the parchment and this time he started to read without delay.

“Pumpkins Path, November 10, 1846
Dear Polyxenes,
it is around midnight and I have only five minutes before come back from my first visit at Miss Burton’s place, but I am so fulfilled by this marvellous event I just can not wait to tell you all about, hoping that I will not bore you out of your patient skin with the babbling of a hopelessly endeared man.
Because I did not want to tumble out of a fireplace and was too nervous for Apparating, I had taken my broom for the travel to Yorkshire and arrived at least twenty minutes too early at Hollby where Miss Burtons lives.
As I have already told you, Miss Burton is a Muggleborn witch. Her family – she has got two older sisters and a younger brother – lives in Wales where her father owns a farm. As Miss Burton’s parents learned about their youngest daughter’s special abilities, they were shocked and disgusted. They did not acknowledge of their daughter attending Hogwarts, so the Ministry of Education gave her, as it is custom in such cases (but to whom am I talking? You certainly know more about these procedures as I will ever do) a witch for a guardian. Said witch, one Madam Deidre Dumpkins, widow of the late Jethro Dumpkins, and her ward became close, so Miss Burton, though of age, is still living with her guardian who she calls “Aunt Deidre”. They share a cottage in Hollby where Madam Dumpkins used to work as a healer.
I did not mind arriving there too early. Since Miss Burton went to Hogwarts she had spent almost all her holidays in Hollby and even names the place “home”, so I quite enjoyed sitting there on a rock, looking out over the lovely landscape. Miss Burton loves to stroll through it and I thought about walking next to her along the silvery shimmering river on day. Actually I got quite lost in my little day dreaming and so I was a bit out of breath as I finally went down to the house.
It was Miss Burton herself who opened the door and what a sight she was! For the first time since I had the pleasure to meet her she wore her hair open with a white flower in it, perfectly suiting her fine skin and her simple, but elegant white robe. After greeting me she led me into a living room which was a bit too stuffed for my taste and introduced me to Madam Dumpkins and around ten other guests. However, the first hour of my visit I could not find too pleasant. Madam Dumpkins is a bit hard of hearing, but she was nevertheless very interested in my whereabouts, my family, my profession and my prospects in life. I needed to yell for answering her many questions (imagine it like that: “I am a historian.” – “You are a what?” – “Historian! I work about Merlin.” – “You know Merlin?”) and as you know: Politely yelling is kind of tiresome.
Besides I was suffering an acute bolt of love sickness because a handsome young wizard who had been introduced to me as “Mr Charles Kettlewith, a friend of the family” seemed very taken with “my” Miss Burton and – for my taste – much too familiar with her. He called her “Kendra” – I did envy him for this privilege – and while I suffered through my shouting match with Madam Dumpkins (probably her ancestors had come from Spain where they had worked for the Spain Inquisition) he quoted poetry to Miss Burton and laughed with her.
I found all my hopes and dreams already shattered as, one hour after I had arrived, a plain, but nice looking young witch with brown hair and hazel eyes, bumbled out of the fireplace, hugged first Miss Burton and Madam Dumpkins and then threw herself into the arms of Mr Kettlewith. She was introduced to me as Miss Lucy Dumpkins, niece of the house’s mistress and fiancée of Mr Kettlewith.
Although it is entirely beyond me how someone who – as I later heard – grew up with Miss Dumpkins and Miss Burton can prefer Miss Dumpkins over Miss Burton, you can probably imagine the relief I felt by watching the happy couple.
Miss Burton obviously noticed my feelings and once again reacted to it, shocking me quite a bit. You know, it was her who asked me the other week in the apothecary (and yes, you are right: My potions stocks are well filled now. I do not think I need to buy another potion in the next ten years) if I would not want to know where and when she is at home for visitors. And now, in the same direct way and once more with this enchanting twinkling of hers, she invited me to a stroll in the garden.
Madam Dumpkins who had heard her looked as if she would faint and immediately ordered Mr Kettlewith and his fiancée to accompany us and so we went out as a quartet.
I must admit I was a bit confused too. One is not used on this grade of openness in a young witch. But as I have mentioned before: A not too little part of Miss Burton’s charm is her independence. As well-mannered and ladylike as she is, she is certainly up to speaking her mind and showing what she wants. And the more I think about it, the more I like this certain trait of her. You know how shy I and clumsy I am. I probably would have needed an entire year (and a new Potions closet) until I would have dared to ask Miss Burton for an invitation. Yet with her being so open and frank, I feel as if she would help me out and even more: She obviously does not mind my clumsiness. It rather seems as if she would even appreciate my company. Of course, I am not so presumptuous to believe that I could win heart and hand of such a beautiful and charming witch, but perhaps we will become friends. That would already mean the world to me.
However, as tempting it is to talk all night about Miss Burton, I must go to sleep now. During our stroll in the garden Miss Burton expressed interest in my work and insisted of me telling her more about. So I am to send her a long letter about tomorrow.
I hope this letter finds you and your family well! Give my regards to your mother and be assured that my friendship for you is as strong as always.
Yours sincerely
P. Dumbledore”

Harry stopped reading and Ginny sighed. “What a romantic story – especially when one already knows that there was a happy end. I only don’t understand what his problem with her inviting him into the garden was. He almost sounded as if he’d try to rectify her behaviour against his friend.”
Poppy, who was during Harry’s reading quietly gone out and was now back with a bottle of wine, sat down again. “I think you’re right – he did rectify her behaviour. Remember, Miss Weasley: These letters are hundred and fifty years old. At this time Muggles saw their women as weak things who couldn’t think for themselves, let alone earning a living, but needed the protection of a strong man.”
“What an idiotic idea!” Ginny said. “I think magical folk never believed in such nonsense, did they?”
“Hardly,” Poppy answered, pouring wine in two glasses and reaching Harry one. Smiling at Ginny, she stated: “Sorry, dear – you’re not of age yet. So it’s pumpkin juice or tea for you. Shall I get you some tea?”
“No, thanks, I’m quite comfortable with my pumpkin juice.” Ginny sipped at her goblet.
“Back to the subject,” Poppy said. “Wizards certainly never believed their women weak and in need of protection.” She chuckled. “Just imagine what a woman as our Headmistress would have made from a wizard who’d treated her like an imbecile.”
“Oh, oh!” Harry took the wine with a grateful smile and sipped at it. “She’d probably change the guy into a mouse and chase him through the castle for a while.”
“Just so!” Poppy confirmed. “Nevertheless, the Muggles’ and our society were never totally apart. With every Muggleborn witch or wizard a few of the Muggle ideas and customs came and still come to our world and so it comes we have some customs which are certainly not in accordance with our ideas about gender equality.”
“You really think so?” Harry looked amazed at Poppy. “I mean, I got it in the Muggles’ world. My aunt Petunia for example: Actually it’s her who runs the household and does all the important decision, but towards the neighbours she’s always playing Uncle Vernon’s obedient and adoring little wife: ‘Oh, I can’t decide about that. Vernon knows so much more about these things!’ and ‘I’d be so totally lost without my husband!’ I can’t imagine a witch ever acting like this!”
“Unless her name’s Pansy Parkinson and she wants to marry into the Malfoy fortune!” Ginny commented dryly.
“Good example!” Poppy said. “In the so called pureblood society you find a lot of wizards who think themselves supreme to witches. Take Lucius Malfoy for example: As school’s governor he really once complained about Hogwarts having too much females in the staff. He was afraid that this bunch of – I quote – ‘hard core feminists’ here would give the boys at this school a wrong impression about a woman’s place in society. He even told Albus that he, in the contrast to Albus, would know how to put a woman in her place. I actually would have liked to watch how he did that to his sister-in-law!”
“I doubt he even managed with his wife,” Harry said. “Narcissa Malfoy showed a lot of courage and independence as it came to saving her son.”
“Narcissa even saved her husband’s lilywhite, weak butt,” Poppy said. “Do you think this spoiled brat would have made it through Azkaban without a bit of extra protection? He got it from Albus – in exchange for a few of the dark lord’s secrets, spelt by no one else as the beautiful Narcissa Malfoy. She even went so far to offer Albus some sweet hours for keeping her boy out of trouble.”
“I don’t think he was interested in her,” Harry said and shook himself like a dog after a hard rain. “She always looks as if she’d smell something icky.”
“Albus named her the ‘ice queen’ and said, he’d be afraid of getting chill blades if he’d come too close to her,” Poppy smiled. “But back to our subject: One doesn’t even need to look at the pureblood society for getting rather old-fashioned and kind of women discrimination customs in our society. It’s still all around us and even your generation deals with it.”
“We?” Harry shook his head. “I’m sorry, Madam Pomfrey, but I really don’t think so. I mean, I’m with Ginny who certainly wouldn’t accept a bloke telling her what to do and one of my best friends is Hermione Granger! She’d have a wizard trying to discriminate her for breakfast – without any mustard!”
Poppy smiled at Ginny. “What do you think, dear?”
“Well, I remember Harry’s fourth year,” Ginny answered.
“What was in my fourth year?”
“The Triwizard Tournament – and the ball,” Ginny answered sweetly. “I was there with Neville, but I’d have rather gone with you.”
“Well, I was an idiot at this time. But I don’t understand what this has to do with gender equality,” Harry grumbled.
“Just think about, Harry: How did it come that Ginny wasn’t with you?” Poppy asked.
“I didn’t ask her. At this time I had a crush on Cho Chang.” Still Harry sounded grumpy.
“And why is it that it’s always the boys asking the girls?” Ginny wanted to know.
Poppy seconded her: “Why can’t a girl ask a boy? How would you have felt if Ginny would have asked you for the ball?”
“Oh.” Harry had taken his spectacles down and was playing with them. “I think … I mean ...,” he stammered. “It would have been inappropriate.”
“Why so?” Poppy insisted.
“Because,” now Harry rummaged in his hair and searched for words. “I think it’s for saving the girls. I mean, if it would be custom for girls to ask, blokes would need to have the possibility for declining. But a rejection hurts …” He stopped, looking helpless.
Poppy finished for him: “A rejection hurts – and therefore the weaker gender, us poor, soft witches, must become protected.” She laughed. “And with that we’re back to the story of Kendra Burton and Percival Dumbledore. Kendra Burton was proud and independent. She didn’t want protection from a man, but wanted to be treated as an equal. On the one hand it was good for her relationship with Dumbledore. He’d put her on a pedestal and shy and modest as he was, he’d probably never have dared to come closer to her. On the other hand her strength and independence were difficult to cope with as it showed later.” She once more opened the box and, searching in it, proceeded: “From the first two letters we learnt that he loved and adored her. What we don’t know is how she felt about him. Did she love him too? Did she appreciate him as the caring and deep feeling man he was? We don’t know. The next thing we have is this …” She pulled a card out of the box and showed it to Ginny and Harry.

The Gaily Gollins, Holby
Decembre 10, 1846

Madam Deidre Dumblewitt is honoured to announce the engagement of her ward
Miss Kendra Burton
to
Magister Percival Dumbledore, son of the late Ambrosius Dumbledore and Annunciata Dumbledore neé Longbottom.”

Ginny took the card and turned it around. On the backside Percival Dumbledore had written:

Dear Polyxenes,
only in short: I did it! I proposed to Kendra (between you and me: I still wouldn’t have dared. Kendra asked me to ask her) and she agreed. We will marry in May. I would love to have you as my best man. Will you do me the honour? Yours sincerely – P.”

Harry still had one hand on his head and tried to get his untidy hair down. “Doesn’t this answer your question, Madam Pomfrey? Kendra asked him to marry her. It means, she loved him, doesn’t it?”
“Hmm.” Poppy looked at Ginny. “What do you think, Miss Weasley?”
Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not so sure about it. Marriage doesn’t always equal love and happiness. Perhaps Kendra Burton married Percival Dumbledore because she’d got enough of waiting for a better suitor? Or perhaps she took him because he was a pureblood wizard with some money? As far as I’ve got, she was rather poor. And in this time women often married for money, didn’t they?” She turned her head to Poppy. “What do you think, Madam Pomfrey?”
“We will probably never know if she loved her husband,” Poppy responded. “And by the way: He never knew either.” Once more she bent over the box and pulled a piece of parchment out. “This one Percival Dumbledore wrote in December 1851. The first part is all about business. After the wedding the Dumbledores had bought a cottage and an apothecary in Mould-in-the-Wold. Kendra had developed a hair growing potion which she wanted to sell to one of the big potions labs, Polyxenes Pomfrey was doing the negotiations for that and so most of the letter is a bout that. However, there’s a bit about the Dumbledore’s private life in it too.” She started to read:

”You’ve kindly asked how our little family is dwelling and I rush to assure you, that your godson Albus has become a big and very bright boy. Not only has he discovered how to run, but he is speaking very well and asks the most amazing questions. His favourite word seems to be ‘why’? and my dear wife is already fearing he will drive us out of our wits with his ethernal questions.
I sometimes think, the apothecary and our livid Albus are a bit much for her, especially now when she is expecting another baby which will be due in June. However, you know my proud Kendra: She would never complain. Between you and me I admit that sometimes I wish she would. Her way of bottling her feelings up is not always easy to cope with.”

Poppy put the letter back, took her glass and let the wine in it swirl. “Here you got it first – and in the next years it obviously became even more difficult. With her apothecary and her skills as potion maker Kendra earned the family’s living while Percival looked after the children. He loved them and he obviously was a good and very caring father, but sometimes he mentioned that he’d look forward to having his trio at Hogwarts because it would give him a chance to go back to his work.”
“It never happened,” Harry said sadly. “Or did it?”
“No.” Poppy shook her head and sighed once more. “The book was never finished. You know what kept Percival Dumbledore from it.”
Ginny shuddered. The thought of the warm and kind man she’d got to known through the letters suffering and dying in Azkaban made for her feeling chilly.
Harry had become silent too, but now, after drinking a sip of his wine, he spoke again. “Actually it’s odd. Percival Dumbledore, as we known him for the letters, was such a nice man. It’s hard to imagine that he became so violent …”
Ginny interrupted him heatedly. “Harry! My father is one of the sweetest and nicest men you’ll ever meet, but if someone would hurt one of us the Ariana was hurt, he’d go berserk too. And as far as my mom is concerned – I think, Bellatrix Lestrange learnt the hard way that you’ll have to step over my mother’s dead body to get a chance in attacking one of her brood.”
“That is what made me wonder about Percival Dumbledore going after these Muggles,” Harry explained. “Why was it him and not his wife? She certainly was more prone to showing her temper as him, wasn’t she? Or better said: She’d got more temper as him.”
“And you think that made her the candidate for going after the Muggles? She was stronger than him, even earning the money for the family, therefore …?” Poppy let the line hang and shook once more her head. “I don’t think so. Just on the contrary: The fact that she was the strong one in this family – in a time where men were supposed to breadwinners and protectors of their families – probably was the reason why he went after those Muggles.” Again she opened the box and took a piece of parchment out. “Percival Dumbledore refused to talk about. He even didn’t tell his friend and lawyer. Nevertheless Polyxenes Pomfrey learnt the truth.”
She enrolled the parchment and Harry, who’d curiously, watched her, almost jumped by seeing it. “That’s the Headmaster’s handwriting!” he cried.
“Indeed it is,” Poppy confirmed. “Albus wrote this letter three months after his sister’s death. He lived in Germany then. Polyxenes Pomfrey – you know, he was Albus’ godfather – had helped him to become the apprentice of the Potion master Hermanus Haeberle in Tuebingen. I suppose Polyxenes had a bit of a bad conscience around this time. He hadn’t looked much after Albus and his siblings while they still lived in Godric’s Hollow, now he tried to make up in staying closely in contact with Albus. They regularly exchanged letters and in one of these letters Albus answered to the question why his father hadn’t even trusted his friend and lawyer with the truth. I read this piece for you.”

”I’m sorry that our family ghost still bothers you so much, Uncle Polyxenes. I mused a lot about it in the last days and for one thing I’m sure: It certainly wasn’t lack of trust in you what made for father’s silence. In my opinion the problem was that he thought himself guilty and deserving severe punishment – not for what he’d done to the Muggles, but for Ariana’s unfortunate condition.
Let me try to explain what happened at this unfortunate day of the attack: Mother hadn’t managed to make it home for lunch, so it had been the four of us, father, Aberforth, Ariana and me. While Aberforth and Ariana were chatting, father and I were reading. He’d just one hour before got a historian’s magazine in which he’d found an article about his special field. It obviously made for a fascinating read and he wanted to have his peace for it. So he asked us to play outdoors for a while. Aberforth used this chance to sneak away to his goats, I went upstairs in my room for reading. Ariana in the meantime was out in the garden. As the Muggles approached, neither father nor I heard something. We were both too immersed in our lecture. It was me becoming thirsty and going upstairs to the kitchen who finally heard Ariana crying. I called for father and together we ran out into the garden, but it was too late. The Muggles took flight as they saw us and we found Ariana, curled up under a bush, bruised, bleeding and frightened out of her mind.
Father couldn’t forgive himself for not looking better after her and neither could mother. My parents’ marriage had always been rather rocky, now it became a tragedy. Ariana had always been mother’s favourite and the clearer it became that she wouldn’t recover from the attack, the angrier mother became. Almost every night my parents argued and I, having my room above theirs, could often hear how mother accused father of being too weak and unable to protect his family.
Two weeks after the attack on Ariana on a Sunday morning my parents were having another row. It ended with father storming out of the house, yelling: “I’ll show you weak!” He went directly to the church where the Muggles just arrived for service. The three boys who’d attacked Ariana came around a corner, mocking a little girl again. Father lost it entirely – and the rest of the story is history.”

Poppy finished her reading and silently drank her wine.
Ginny felt even chillier as before. “How utterly horrible! One doesn’t wonder anymore that the Headmaster never wanted to speak about his family. How old was he as all of that happened?”
“It was in autumn 1858,” Poppy answered. “Around the end of September Ariana got attacked, in October her father went against the Muggles. One month later, in the last days of November, he was sent to Azkaban. Albus was just ten years old then – he was, as you know, born in November 1848.”
“What a nightmare,” Harry said. “And here I thought I was having a lousy childhood!”
“Yours was terrible too,” Poppy tried to smile comfortingly at him. “And I think if someone really understood what you were suffering through it was Albus. It was the reason why he kept so many things about you secret. He’d been a boy who’d known too much.”


The clock at the middle tower had announced midnight. Hogwarts slept in the dark, only watched by a pale moon. Yet on a windows sill behind the hospital wing one person looked out at the white tomb down by the lake.
Poppy couldn’t sleep. She’d tried after Harry and Ginny had left, but one hour of tossing in her bed had been enough for her. She’d rose up again, had wrapped herself in the huge velvet night gown which still kept the smell of the man who’d once worn it and was now sitting at the windows sill, thinking about a young girl who’d once gone into a war.

To be continued …