Dumbledore walked through the streets of London with the two children.
His unusual clothes attracted plenty of curious looks.
He paid them no attention.
‘Would you like an ice cream?’ he suggested cheerfully, stopping outside a shop.
‘I’ve always thought Muggles show rather more imagination with their desserts.’
Black licked his dry lips and nodded at once.
For some reason, he had an extraordinary fondness for sweet things.
It seemed to be a taste he had acquired in this life.
Even the sort of British pudding that other people found unbearably sugary suited him perfectly.
The sweeter, the better.
He couldn’t explain it himself.
Hermione hesitated, a little embarrassed about accepting, but when Black agreed, she nodded too.
Her strawberry cake had been lost somewhere along the way.
After all that, she still hadn’t had the treat she’d been looking forward to.
Dumbledore went inside and soon returned with three large strawberry sundaes.
He seemed entirely at home in the Muggle world.
Buying things in its shops certainly presented him with no difficulty.
They settled at a table outside and began eating.
Between spoonfuls, Dumbledore asked Black more about his life at the orphanage.
He seemed particularly interested in his early experiences.
There was nothing much to conceal about life there, so Black answered freely.
He hadn’t spent the years since his arrival doing nothing.
Even knowing he was a wizard, he had been well aware that wizards needed money too.
Drawing on knowledge from his previous life, he had quietly found ways to earn it and built up a respectable sum.
He had also offered several useful suggestions that had helped keep the orphanage running when it had been close to shutting down.
That was why Mrs Marian treated him with such particular regard.
He was the only child in the orphanage with a room to himself.
It also explained why he could buy every cake in a shop without worrying about the cost.
Dumbledore listened to the brief account of his money-making efforts without finding it especially strange.
Children who grew up with little often learnt responsibility early.
With Black’s abilities, earning money was hardly beyond him.
Hermione, however, was appalled.
He had started finding ways to make money when he was seven or eight?
And he had already saved a great deal?
How was that possible?
What had she been doing at seven?
Going to school, mostly.
Enjoying being the cleverest person in a classroom full of children who couldn’t keep up.
And his magic was better than hers, too.
Hermione, who was accustomed to feeling rather pleased with her accomplishments, suffered another blow to her pride.
Black noticed her astonishment.
This time, however, the system made no attempt to draw a chest.
[This person’s daily chest limit has been reached.]
Ah.
He had earned quite a few from Hermione already.
Apparently, he had exhausted the day’s supply.
Never mind.
There was always another day.
Dumbledore and Black took Hermione home first.
‘Goodbye, Professor.’
She turned to Black.
‘Goodbye.
I’ll look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts.’
After everything they had been through together, it seemed quite natural to think of him as a friend.
‘I’m looking forward to it too, Hermione.’
Black smiled.
A whole school full of people who could produce chests.
What was there not to look forward to?
Marian Orphanage was on the outskirts of London, but Dumbledore had chosen to take Hermione home first.
Black suspected he wanted to speak to him alone.
Yet, to his surprise, the old man spent the journey telling him amusing stories about the magical world.
He raised no other subjects.
The light was beginning to fade when they approached the orphanage.
From a distance, Black could see Mrs Marian at the entrance, talking to a police officer.
‘Ah,’ Dumbledore said quietly.
‘It seems someone has been worrying about you.’
‘Oh, she’s making such a fuss.
I’m old enough to come home a bit late.’
Black pressed a hand to his forehead.
She had actually called the police.
‘I wouldn’t dismiss it quite so readily, my boy.
Having someone who cares whether you come home is a very good thing.’
Dumbledore stopped.
‘I think I’ll leave you here.
Otherwise, that policeman may decide an eccentric old man has been leading you astray.’
Black returned his smile.
‘Professor… you won’t forget what you promised?’
‘Certainly not.
I’ll come and see you again before long, and then I’ll tell you everything.’
He glanced towards the entrance.
‘Off you go.
Don’t keep that kind woman worrying.
Will you do that?’
Black nodded and headed towards the orphanage.
When he looked back, Dumbledore was gone.
He could make a fair guess at what the old man intended to check.
Surely he was going to Nurmengard to question Grindelwald himself.
If a descendant of his had suddenly appeared, the man ought to know something about it.
Black hoped Dumbledore would ask him.
He wanted to understand his origins just as much.
‘Black!
Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?’
Mrs Marian’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
[Bronze Chest obtained ×1.]
She had even produced a chest.
She really was furious.
With a rueful smile, Black went to meet her and submitted to the scolding.
In an unremarkable tower at Hogwarts, Dumbledore opened an old door and stepped briskly inside.
Beyond it lay a small room.
A table stood alone in the centre.
On it rested a thick black book, beside a small silver inkwell holding a long, faded quill.
The Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance.
Their decisions were final.
No student whose name was absent from those yellowing pages had ever been admitted to Hogwarts.
Black’s name would be there.
As Dumbledore approached, the book rose from the table.
Its black dragon-hide cover opened, revealing sheets of aged parchment.
He was about to examine them when the quill stirred.
It lifted slowly from the inkwell and drifted towards the book.
The pages turned to meet it.
Dumbledore watched in surprise as the quill added several letters to an existing entry.
The earlier writing had faded a little with age.
The new letters completed the name.
Black Grindelwald.
Dumbledore frowned.
Someone had deliberately concealed the boy’s true surname.
The magic had deceived even the Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance.
It must have been bound into the tag.
Today’s unusually powerful burst of accidental magic had broken the concealment.
Only now had the book and quill been able to recognise his full name and supply the missing letters.
Dumbledore read the entry.
Black Grindelwald.
Date of birth: 15 August 1980.
He committed the date to memory, then turned and left the tower.
He had a long journey ahead.