New chapter is live.
Settle in, take your time, and let’s see what waits in the dark 🖤
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Another school year was about to begin.
In one of Hogwarts’ locked towers, two objects were kept under careful watch: the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance.
Together, they formed the standard by which Hogwarts accepted its students.
The Quill of Acceptance, believed to have been made from an Augurey feather, usually rested in a silver inkpot.
The inkpot was empty, and the Augurey feather rejected ink, yet the quill could still write.
Whenever a child showed magical ability for the first time, the quill would fly out of the inkpot and attempt to write the child’s name in the Book of Admittance.
The book, however, was far stricter.
Unless the evidence of magic was convincing enough, it would refuse to admit the name the quill tried to write.
The quill’s sensitivity, paired with the book’s severity, meant they had never made a mistake.
Every year, Professor McGonagall checked the book and sent owls to the children who had already turned eleven, inviting them to attend Hogwarts.
For Muggle-born children, and for children in certain special circumstances, a member of the Hogwarts staff had to visit in person and explain matters properly.
It was the best way to avoid misunderstandings.
That day, Spinner’s End received an unfamiliar visitor.
Dumbledore walked along the street in a finely tailored dark-blue velvet suit.
His expensive clothes and unusual air were more than enough to draw curious looks from passersby.
He had originally intended to wear his favorite plum-colored velvet suit, but after thinking about certain events from long ago, he had hesitated for quite some time and chosen his second favorite instead.
Perhaps, somewhere in that small decision, he hoped fate would not repeat itself.
As the headmaster of Hogwarts, Dumbledore had not needed to perform this duty personally for many years.
Still, the familiar fact that the child had grown up in an orphanage made him decide to come himself, explain things properly, and observe the child he was about to meet.
One Voldemort was already more than enough.
The signs were not yet unmistakable, but the wave of terror attacks in recent years had revealed something of Voldemort’s methods and aims.
The all-night meeting of the Order of the Phoenix had left a faint trace of exhaustion on the nearly century-old wizard’s face.
Behind his half-moon spectacles, however, his blue eyes still shone with intelligence.
Before long, Dumbledore reached his destination.
Anthony House.
A small boy was leaning by the front gate.
He had noticed Dumbledore from a distance, and he was watching him with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
As Dumbledore drew nearer, the curiosity vanished.
Only caution remained.
“Who are you?” the boy asked before Dumbledore could speak.
Dumbledore did not seem troubled by his attitude.
He only smiled gently and said, “Hello, child. Is there an adult here?”
“No,” the boy answered.
“There haven’t been any adults here since Mr. Anthony died.”
After a brief pause, he added, “Because we can’t afford to pay them.”
“Who is it?”
While Dumbledore was still absorbing the answer, an older child walked over from the hall.
The moment he saw Dumbledore’s clothes, suspicion entered his eyes too.
It was well hidden, but Dumbledore still noticed that the boy seemed to have something tucked up his sleeve.
“Go eat,” the older boy said.
“I’ll handle this.”
The usual mealtime had clearly passed, but he said it anyway.
The younger boy nodded silently and hurried away.
“Who are you?” the older child asked, repeating the question.
Dumbledore studied him.
The boy plainly disliked being examined, and his voice sank as he repeated, “Who are you, exactly?”
“My name is Albus Dumbledore.”
Dumbledore’s expression shifted, as if a few pieces had fallen into place.
He said directly, “I am here to find Callan Ashworth and discuss his future with him.”
“You’re looking for Callan?”
The boy became even more guarded.
Without thinking, he said, “Callan isn’t here. If you have something to say, tell me. I’ll pass it on.”
“I am afraid that will not do.”
Dumbledore shook his head.
“It would be best if I spoke with Mr. Ashworth directly. The matter is rather private and not suitable for others to hear.”
“Then you can leave.”
After a pause, the boy repeated, “Callan isn’t here.”
Dumbledore smiled faintly.
It was the first time he had encountered a situation quite like this.
Just then, a burst of noise came from inside the hall.
Seven or eight children of different ages ran out.
The boy who had supposedly gone to eat led them, and the older boy stepped back slightly, merging into the group.
Every child was staring at Dumbledore with suspicion.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Dumbledore frowned in mild confusion.
“What’s going on?”
Callan walked in from outside.
He peered into the house from behind Dumbledore, then looked at him and asked, “And you are?”
“He’s here for you,” the older boy said.
“Asked for you by name.”
At the same time, he deliberately beckoned for Callan to come closer and put some distance between himself and the mysterious old man.
Callan did not move.
He asked again, “May I ask who you are?”
“Albus Dumbledore,” Dumbledore said warmly.
“I am the headmaster of Hogwarts. I have come to invite you to attend our school, Mr. Ashworth.”
“Oh.”
Callan nodded.
Then he clapped his hands and said, “All right, break it up. No problem here. Go on, all of you.”
The children hesitated for a moment before running back inside one by one.
Only the first little boy stayed where he was.
Callan walked in first, ruffled the boy’s hair, and said to Dumbledore, “Snape told me about you, Headmaster. I already know what I need to know. I know about the supplies too. So you must be here to bring the money, right?”
He laughed despite himself, as if even he knew how blunt that sounded.
Dumbledore did not simply hand over the prepared Galleons.
He walked in as well and said gently, “We can discuss that shortly. But this is a very interesting place, Mr. Ashworth.”
“Orphans,” Callan said, mocking himself.
“The world is always full of malice toward orphans, especially somewhere like Spinner’s End. If Mr. Anthony hadn’t been here…”
His eyes moved to the photograph hanging at the front of the hall.
“I doubt many of the people here would still be alive.”
Callan had guessed early on that the visiting professor might be Dumbledore.
Children raised in orphanages, whether Muggle-born or descended from wizards, could not be common.
As far as Callan knew, Dumbledore had encountered only two such cases: Tom Riddle and Callan himself.
In Dumbledore’s place, Callan would have made the visit too.
It cost him very little time.
As for any defenses he ought to have prepared, such as Occlumency, Callan could only laugh at the thought.
He could see no hope at all, either in finding the knowledge or in learning it properly.
Magic did not work that way.
If it did, why would he still be practicing the Levitation Charm?
He would have started with the Vanishing Spell instead.
Anyone who annoyed him would simply vanish, whether it was Tom Riddle or anyone else.
If he lost his temper badly enough, he could even declare that the problem was the world, not him, and make everyone disappear together.
The Earth would vanish.
Gravity would break apart.
The solar system would collapse.
All of it would be Callan’s personal contribution to history.
The key problem was difficulty.
Real difficulty.
At the moment, Callan could not even manage to become a wandless little superhero.
Why would anything else be easier?
So he laid his cards on the table, at least in his own mind.
Fine.
Let Dumbledore use Legilimency on him.
Let the memories of another life rattle the old man.
Perhaps inspiration would strike, and Dumbledore might suddenly invent magic even stronger than Horcruxes and kill young Tom Riddle outright.
As for Callan himself, he would take things one step at a time.
What else could he do?
“Let’s talk in my room,” Callan said.
“These things aren’t really suitable for everyone else to hear.”
He left the little boy where he was and led Dumbledore toward the stairs.
The place was old and worn, but it had clearly been cleaned with effort.
There was no visible dust.
“A very clean place,” Dumbledore said.
“The ones who can work go out and earn money. The ones who can’t can at least clean,” Callan replied.
“We can’t let anyone eat and sleep here for nothing. We’re all orphans. There isn’t much difference between us.”
“It’s about living. And about making this place look, at the very least, like a home.”
“Here we are.”
Callan opened a door and led Dumbledore inside.
The room did not look like part of an orphanage.
It was more elegant than many ordinary family homes.
Flowers sat on the windowsill.
Callan picked up a watering can with practiced ease and began watering them as he asked, “Would you like something to drink, Headmaster? There are still some bottles Mr. Anthony left behind. Whiskey, brandy, or…?”
Dumbledore looked around, then sat on the sagging sofa and sighed with genuine feeling.
“This is beyond anything I imagined, Mr. Ashworth.”
“Being an orphan has its uses.”
Callan laughed softly.
“Old clothes alone are enough to make people see exactly what they expect to see. But who would ever imagine that a group of orphans had managed to hold on to this much wealth?”
He poured Dumbledore a glass of whiskey, even adding ice, then picked up a glass of juice for himself.
“Keeping it was not easy.”
“Assumptions,” Dumbledore said.
He took a sip and smiled.
“I did not expect a student to give the teacher a lesson first. A rare experience indeed.”
Callan smiled and said nothing more.
For a while, the two of them fell silent.
After waiting quietly for some time, Callan glanced at Dumbledore a few times, unable to keep the suspicion from rising in his mind.
‘What is going on?
Half the bottle is almost gone.
Even freeloading has limits.’
In the end, Callan broke the silence himself.
“Headmaster, does Hogwarts allow students to stay at school over the holidays?”
“Oh?”
Dumbledore naturally poured himself another glass.
“Students may normally remain at school during the Christmas and Easter holidays, but the longer holidays are usually another matter. It is quite rare.”
“And is this place not good?”
“As the headmaster of the school, perhaps I should not say this, but I still believe I ought to remind you that this environment is far better than any student dormitory.”
“Then I think I should remind you of something too, Headmaster,” Callan said, exasperated.
“This is an orphanage. No matter how beautifully it is furnished, that does not change what it is.”
“And as it happens, I am an orphan.”
“If possible, I would rather never come back here at all.”
“I’m sorry,” Dumbledore said with genuine regret, without the slightest trace of pretense.
Unfortunately, the glass he filled again made Callan’s eyelid twitch so hard that he could not even find a polite way to object.
By the time the bottle was nearly empty, Dumbledore seemed a little embarrassed himself.
After thinking for a moment, he said, “You might consider buying a house of your own, somewhere away from Spinner’s End. That may be better.”
“As for staying at school, I am sorry. In the short term, and perhaps for a very long time, the school will not be able to allow students to remain there during the long holidays.”
“I think you may have misunderstood me, Headmaster.”
Callan’s tone became a little more formal despite himself.
“Mr. Anthony may have left behind a considerable inheritance, but all of it belongs to Anthony House. Unless it is absolutely necessary, that money cannot even be touched.”
“Otherwise, why would Mr. Anthony have dared to leave such a large inheritance to a group of orphans?”
“A group?” Dumbledore asked with a smile.
“Surely it belongs only to you, Mr. Ashworth.”
Callan curled his lip.
“Yes, yes, only to me.”
“That damned old man left me this enormous problem.”
“If he had said the money was only for the orphanage, I might not have interfered.”
“But he said I could use it however I liked.”
“Once he did that, how could I have the nerve to actually spend it? Wasn’t he deliberately making things difficult for me?”
“Damned old man,” Callan muttered again.
Dumbledore laughed instead.
“It seems the late Mr. Anthony was a very wise old gentleman. He even found himself a suitable successor. I think I understand why you are so eager to leave this place, Mr. Ashworth.”
With that, Dumbledore drank the last of the whiskey and placed a money pouch between them.
“It seems today’s meeting may end here. I look forward to seeing you again at Hogwarts, Mr. Ashworth.”
Callan weighed the pouch in his hand and said, “Wait a moment.”
Then he took out a bag, packed every bottle of alcohol in the room into it, and placed it in front of Dumbledore.
“These bottles are not easy to deal with. Most of the people in the orphanage are underage, and I do not want them picking up a habit of drinking. You can have them, Headmaster. These Muggle things are not bad.”
After a pause, Callan added, “For free.”
Dumbledore laughed.
With a wave of his hand, the entire bag vanished.
He asked teasingly, “Truly free?”
Callan clicked his tongue.
“Any money I got for them would have to be spent on Anthony House anyway. I couldn’t use it. If I have to give them away either way, I might as well use them to annoy him one last time.”
“However.”
Callan suddenly changed the subject.
“Since you accepted the gift, it would not be too much to ask for a small favor, would it? It is only a matter of convenience.”
“What favor?” Dumbledore asked curiously.
“There is a family nearby named Evans. Their younger daughter, Lily, should be entering Hogwarts the same year as I am. Their older daughter, Petunia, is a Muggle, and she is somewhat jealous of Lily.”
“I did a few things to lessen that jealousy, but problems may still come up.”
“You should be able to talk to Petunia, Headmaster, and keep this from causing lasting damage between the sisters.”
Callan spoke quickly.
Clearly, he had thought this through in advance.
“Yes. That is indeed something worth paying attention to.”
Dumbledore nodded in agreement, then asked, “But may I ask why you wish to do this, Mr. Ashworth?”
After thinking for a moment, Callan answered, “Because they are the only children from a Muggle family I know. Is that reason enough?”
Dumbledore did not consider it for long before smiling and nodding.
“It is enough.”
“Then I will see you at Hogwarts, Mr. Ashworth.”
Dumbledore turned and left.
Callan stood alone in the room for a while before sitting back down on the sofa.
He seemed to breathe out in relief, but his brow drew tight.
‘Either Dumbledore never used Legilimency on me, or…’
‘Could it be…?’
Elsewhere, Dumbledore had already left Spinner’s End and was walking toward the Evans home.
Since it was not far away, it had been the next household he meant to visit anyway.
Callan’s request truly was only a small matter.
Even so, a thread of astonishment remained in his mind.
‘A natural-born master of Occlumency.’
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Want to keep going?
I hope this chapter gave you another reason to stay with the story.
There’s still plenty ahead, and things are only starting to unfold.