Dumbledore's Request

"Strange. Vacation's almost here—where has our headmaster gone?" At dinner, Tom, with a lettuce leaf between his teeth, looked at the empty seat in the middle of the staff table, puzzled.

"No idea. I heard he's spent the last few years working with the Wizengamot to purge Dark wizards." Walburga handed Tom a plate of cherry tomatoes while grabbing her brother by the ear, lifting him from his seat, and roaring into Alphard's ear in a lowered voice, "If I find out another teacher wrote to Mother because of you..."

"I heard Headmaster Dippet had family members who were bewitched by Grindelwald and gave up their jobs at the Ministry of Magic to become terrorists. He swore to clean house himself. Last year, too, he only showed up at school at the beginning and end of term." Nelson removed the Slytherin crest splashed with beef soup and carefully wiped it with a napkin as he shared the gossip he'd heard. "Last time I was in the library, I heard the librarian tell Ogg that Dumbledore has been handling the school's affairs these past few years."

After cleaning the crest, he pinned it back onto his chest. Catching sight of Magical Theory beside Tom's hand, he frowned. "Why are you still using that secondhand book?"

"I took my notes from the first few classes in it. Besides, the previous owner's notes are useful for reference."

"Aren't you afraid the previous owner was a lousy student? What if you study from their notes and go wrong somewhere?"

"It's fine. It's not like I have no judgment of my own..."

"I heard Dumbledore was a once-in-several-centuries genius student at Hogwarts. The old lady at home even said, 'Armando Dippet is a hysterical old fool. He thinks he can uphold justice? He ought to hand that job over to his beloved Albus instead of letting those idiots from the Ministry of Magic come to our house every day and turn everything upside down. Do they think we'd hide Gellert Grindelwald in the sewers beneath Grimmauld Place?' Hahahaha!" Having broken free from his sister's chokehold, Alphard hunched over and comically imitated his family before inviting Tom and Nelson, "Do you want to come to my house for Christmas? We've got plenty of interesting things to see..."

"But Dumbledore really is impressive. You can tell just from taking his Transfiguration Class. Things are such a mess now; perhaps he has his own reasons for not stepping forward. At the very least, Hogwarts is the safest place right now." Watching Alphard's animated expression, Nelson added darkly, "Have you finished the copying Professor Sakes assigned for tonight?"

Alphard's face immediately fell, and his sister soon dragged him away.

"If I had Dumbledore's skills, I'd go kill Grindelwald. I'd fight him in the morning and be famous across the world by afternoon." Tom had never actually seen Dumbledore cast any magic beyond the Transfiguration taught in class, but he held a blind trust—and even fear—for the wizard who had opened the doors to the magical world for him. He forcefully speared a cherry tomato, waving his fork as though it were a wand, and his voice suddenly rose. "A man destined for greatness cannot have an ordinary stepping stone! Someone like Grindelwald is worthy of me."

"You certainly can do it!" Nelson frowned at the flattery from the surrounding Slytherins.

"A great wizard like Dumbledore will certainly take action," Nelson said from the side. "With great power comes great responsibility."

"You always come out with such aphorisms, Nelson!" Nelson felt a warm palm settle on his right shoulder. Looking up and back, he saw Dumbledore standing behind him with his hands on both his and Tom's shoulders, smiling at him through half-moon spectacles.

"Professor Dumbledore." Seeing the Head of Gryffindor arrive at the Slytherin table, the Little Snakes stopped their chatter and greeted him in unison. Tom also looked up at Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore turned to greet him with a smile, but Tom muttered his greeting and awkwardly turned away. "Good evening, Professor Dumbledore."

"Mr. Williams, could you come to my office after dinner? There is something I'd like to ask of you." Dumbledore whispered to Nelson, and Nelson felt the warmth of the broad palm on his shoulder.

"All right, Professor." He nodded.

"I hope I haven't interrupted your dinner." Dumbledore clapped his hands and left the table. The students quickly grew noisy again.

"Nal." Tom gripped Nelson's forearm and asked worriedly.

"It's nothing, Tom." Nelson patted the hand clutching him with his other hand. "I'm not Alphard. No teacher is going to give me detention."

"See you tonight." Just as Tom was about to say something, Nelson spoke first, rose from the table, and left.

Outside Dumbledore's office, Nelson paced back and forth across the corridor carpet. He had no idea why Dumbledore wanted to see him, but his encounter with Professor Sakes had taught him that nothing good ever came of entering a teacher's office.

"Brother, could you stop pacing? Dumbledore told you to go in. The door isn't locked." A suit of armor beside the door suddenly spoke. "If you keep going, I might fall apart."

"Sorry, sorry." Nelson waved an apology at it and reached for the handle. "I didn't know you... uh, could see me."

"Make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink?" The moment he pushed open the door, Nelson saw Dumbledore standing before the office liquor cabinet, holding a bottle and studying its label.

He stepped inside and looked around, taking in the full view of Dumbledore's office:

The floor of the entire office was covered in a single purple-red carpet. The desk stood near the window and was exceptionally tidy, with only an inkwell holding Quills and several sheets of parchment face-down upon it. At one corner of the desk sat a bird's nest resembling a pen holder, with a pile of ashes beneath it. Several chairs with purple-red velvet cushions stood beside the desk, while two dark-purple knitted sofas with a small tea table between them occupied a corner.

The walls on both sides were completely covered by enormous wooden bookshelves. Books of all sizes were neatly categorized and arranged within them. A few empty compartments stood out conspicuously.

On the wall directly opposite the door were two enormous arched windows. Curiously, one displayed the Hogwarts grounds outside, while the other seemed to face a house that had been unoccupied for a long time—the window showed a dusty room, with tables and stools overturned across the floor, holes all over the windows, and scorch marks covering the beams and walls. Their shared feature was the thick layer of dust over everything. The walls around both windows exposed their original stone brickwork, with several photographs hanging in an irregular but balanced arrangement. Oddly, only Dumbledore remained in these photos, smiling toward the edges of their frames; everyone else seemed to have left to attend to something.

In the middle of the wall opposite the windows stood an enormous fireplace, covered in extravagantly ornate reliefs that seemed to depict myths and legends of wizards. To the right of the fireplace was an old cabinet that looked as though it had been moved from somewhere else, displaying little ornaments and several bottles of fine liquor. The door stood to the right of the fireplace, and between them was a stand holding a broken basin.

Dumbledore isn't going to shove my head into the Pensieve, is he...? Nelson felt a little panicked and sidestepped like a crab, moving farther away from the basin.

"You're not old enough to drink. How about orange juice? When I was your age, I loved sweets!" Dumbledore was still turning the bottle in his hand. It rotated steadily between his long, knuckled fingers, as though something on the label had captivated him.

"No, thank you. I drank a lot of lemonade just now."

"Sit down, Nelson. You seem to know what that is." Dumbledore walked toward the two sofas. He did not look at Nelson, yet he seemed to know exactly what he had been doing.

"No, I just thought it looked old. It seemed like an antique..." Nelson argued as he walked toward the sofa beside Dumbledore.

"Haha, every chair in Hogwarts is an antique." Dumbledore said nothing more. He simply patted Nelson's shoulder and pressed him down into his seat before taking the other sofa.

"Nelson, I hear you're going home for Christmas?" With a wave of his hand, two glasses appeared on the tea table out of thin air and slowly filled from the bottom with orange juice.

"Yes, sir. I'm planning to make a trip back to London." Watching the glass floating before him and constantly wiggling like a dog's wagging tail, Nelson was afraid the orange juice would spill on his robes, so he had no choice but to take it and sip from it.

"Here's the thing. I have a favor to ask of you." Dumbledore turned sideways, raised his own glass of orange juice, and clinked it against Nelson's. "I have some business to attend to after Christmas break, so I have found a substitute teacher."

"He will arrive in London on the twenty-sixth. I hope you can meet him for me in Diagon Alley and tell him how to take the Hogwarts Express from King's Cross Station." Dumbledore set down his glass. "He has been away from London for a long time. The changes may make him feel unfamiliar with the place."

"All right, Professor." Nelson set down his own glass and nodded. "Is that all?" He could not help doubting the substitute teacher's intelligence. After all, an adult needing a guide to change trains in a city sounded rather ridiculous.

"Well, one more thing." Dumbledore rose and retrieved a small package from the bookcase behind him, placing it on the tea table. Lowering his voice, he said, "If the person who arrives is a man with chestnut hair, help me give this to him. If not, keep it with you."

"Professor, something this important..." Nelson looked at the small package on the table, unable to understand why Dumbledore trusted him so much.

"Minerva often speaks of you. I think you are someone worthy of trust." Dumbledore paused, blinked, then added, "I also trust Melgan's child. And I trust someone who says things like, 'With great power comes great responsibility.'"

"This is very important. Can I trust you?" Dumbledore extended his right hand, his gaze burning as it fixed on Nelson.

I don't even know who Melgan is, and you ought to trust Peter Parker more... Nelson panicked inwardly, complaining frantically in his head. Yet as he met Dumbledore's eyes, he finally reached out and shook his hand. "You can trust me, sir."

Dumbledore smiled with satisfaction. With another wave of his hand, both their glasses were refilled with orange juice. As they clinked glasses for the second time, he looked at the back of Nelson's hand in confusion.

"Nelson, why have you written the word 'backpack' on your hand?"