6 The Visitor

Once again, the season to unlock the gates of learning had arrived.

Within the cloistered tower of Hogwarts, two artifacts sat under lock and key: the Quill of Acceptance and the Book of Admittance. Together, they determined the fate of prospective students.

Crafted from an augury feather, the Quill rested ordinarily in a silver inkpot—an inkpot that, despite its emptiness and the quill's repulsion to ink, could inscribe names on its own.

When magic first revealed itself in a child, the Quill would soar from its stand, attempting to etch the child's name into the Book. But the Book's standards were strict; only with substantial proof of magical ability would it allow the Quill to inscribe the name.

The sensitivity of the Quill, paired with the Book's stringent criteria, meant they had never erred.

Each year, Professor McGonagall inspected the Book, dispatching owls to eleven-year-olds, inviting them to Hogwarts. However, children of Muggle descent or with unique circumstances required a faculty visit to mitigate misunderstandings.

On this day, a stranger arrived in Spinner's End.

Dressed in a meticulously tailored suit of deep blue velvet, Dumbledore strolled through the alley. His affluent appearance and extraordinary aura drew many a curious glance.

He had considered wearing his favorite plum velvet suit but, recalling incidents past, he opted for his second favorite, perhaps hoping to steer clear of déjà vu.

As Hogwarts' headmaster, such tasks were no longer Dumbledore's to perform, yet the familiar tale of the orphanage compelled him to take personal interest. He intended to observe the child he was about to meet.

One Voldemort was already one too many.

While signs were yet subtle, the recent surge of terror hinted at Voldemort's methods and intentions. The all-night discussions at the Order of the Phoenix had left the near-centenarian visibly weary, yet behind his half-moon spectacles, his eyes still shone with a wisdom that reflected his true vigor.

Soon, Dumbledore arrived at his destination.

Anthony's Orphanage.

Leaning against the entry, a young boy had been observing Dumbledore from afar with a mix of curiosity and wariness. As the headmaster approached, curiosity faded, leaving only vigilance.

"Who are you?"

Before Dumbledore could inquire, the boy's steady voice challenged him.

Dumbledore, unfazed by the boy's demeanor, replied warmly, "Hello, young man. Is there an adult present?"

"None left." The boy answered. "Since Mr. Anthony passed, there's been no one."

Pausing, he added, "Because we can't afford to pay wages."

"Who's that?"

As Dumbledore pondered the boy's response, an older child emerged from the hall, eyeing Dumbledore's garb with suspicion. Dumbledore detected something hidden in the boy's sleeve.

"Go on and eat. I'll handle this."

Though well past mealtime, the older boy spoke, sending the younger one scurrying away.

"What do you want?"

The older child's question mirrored the first's.

"I am Albus Dumbledore." As clarity dawned upon him, Dumbledore confessed, "I'm here for Callan Sanster, to discuss his future prospects."

"You're here for Callan?" The elder child's guard went up. "Callan's not here. Tell me your business, and I'll relay the message."

"That won't do," Dumbledore shook his head. "I must speak to Mr. Sanster directly. These matters are private and not for others to know."

"Then leave," the boy reiterated. "Callan's not here."

Dumbledore maintained his composure, a rarity in his encounters.

At that moment, a clamor arose from the hall as children of varying ages ran out, led by the younger boy from before. They stood at the doorway, the elder child stepping back to blend with the group.

All eyes were warily fixed on Dumbledore.

Silence fell, and Dumbledore's brow furrowed in confusion.

"What's going on?"

Callan appeared behind Dumbledore, peering into the hall and then at the headmaster. "Who are you?"

"He's here to see you," the leading child said, beckoning Callan away from the enigmatic old man.

But Callan stood still, repeating, "And you are?"

"Albus Dumbledore," he replied. "Headmaster of Hogwarts, here to invite you to our school, Mr. Sanster."

"Oh." Callan nodded, then clapped his hands. "All clear, off you go."

The children hesitated, then dispersed, leaving the young boy from before.

Callan led Dumbledore inside, patting the boy's head. "I've heard of you from Severus, Headmaster. I'm aware of the essentials and the shopping procedures. So, you must be here for the money, correct?"

His laugh suggested he found his own directness amusing.

Dumbledore didn't hand over the prepared Galleons. Instead, he entered and said, "We can discuss that later. This is an intriguing place, Mr. Sanster."

"Orphans, indeed." Callan's self-mockery was evident. "The world's always harsh to us, especially here in Spinner's End. If not for Mr. Anthony..." His gaze lingered on a photo above. "Many here wouldn't have survived."

Callan had suspected the visitor would be Dumbledore. Two orphans in the same locale was uncommon, whether in the Muggle or wizarding world—likely only two cases in many years.

One was Tom Riddle; the other, himself.

Were he Dumbledore, he wouldn't spare the time either.

As for potential defenses like Occlumency, Callan could only scoff.

The prospects of knowledge or learning offered no hope.

Magic was not so simple.

Otherwise, why practice Levitation Charm when starting with Vanishing Spells would be more exhilarating? Displeased with someone? Make them vanish—be it Tom or Saddam. Pushed to the extreme, one might declare, "It's not me who's wrong, but the world," and ascend together.

Thus, Earth vanishes, the gravitational system collapses, the solar system perishes—all thanks to Callan.

The difficulty was real.

If mastering wandless spells eluded him, how could anything else be simpler?

So, Callan laid his cards on the table, adopting an indifferent stance. "Read my mind," he thought, "Let the tale of a transmigrator astonish you. Perhaps you'll have an epiphany, conjuring magic more formidable than Horcruxes, ending Tom in a snap."

As for himself, he'd take it step by step. What else could he do?

"Let's talk in my room. These matters aren't for others' ears."

Leaving the boy behind, Callan led Dumbledore upstairs. The place, though worn, was tidied diligently, dust-free.

"A clean space," Dumbledore noted.

"Those who can work, earn money. Those who can't, clean. Can't let them freeload; they're orphans, no different from me. It's survival, making this place feel like home."

"Here we are."

Opening a door, Callan ushered Dumbledore into a room that defied the image of an orphanage, lavish as any decent home, with flowers on the windowsill. Callan watered them, asking, "Care for a drink, Headmaster? Some of Mr. Anthony's leftover spirits—whisky, brandy, something else?"

Dumbledore took in the room, settling on a plush sofa. "Beyond my imagination, Mr. Sanster."

"The orphan tag does have its uses," Callan quipped. "Ragged clothes alone shape perceptions. Who'd guess orphans possessed such wealth?"

He poured Dumbledore some whisky, ice included, and sipped juice himself. "Keeping this has been quite the effort."

"Perceptions," Dumbledore mused, sipping his drink. "A lesson from a student to a teacher—quite the rare experience."

They lapsed into silence.

Growing curious, Callan broke it, "So, Headmaster, does Hogwarts allow students to stay over the holidays?"

"Hmm?" Dumbledore refilled his glass. "Christmas and Easter, yes, but not extended breaks. Rare exceptions exist. And why leave here? As headmaster, I shouldn't say, but this place seems far superior to any dormitory."

"That's kind of you, Headmaster," Callan sighed, "but this remains an orphanage, no matter its facade. Coincidentally, I'm an orphan who'd rather not return."

"I apologize," Dumbledore said, genuine in his regret, though his refilled glass twitched Callan's eye, words of protest stuck in his throat.

As the whisky neared its end, Dumbledore seemed sheepish. "Consider purchasing a home away from Spinner's End. As for staying at school, sorry, but that's unlikely for now."

"You seem mistaken, Headmaster," Callan corrected respectfully. "Mr. Anthony's estate may be vast, but it's for the orphanage, barely touched otherwise. If it weren't so necessary, he wouldn't have trusted us with it."

"Just us?" Dumbledore smiled. "Surely you mean only you, Mr. Sanster."

Callan scoffed. "Yes, only me. That damn old man, burdening me with such trouble. Had he claimed it was for the orphanage, I'd not have interfered. But it's mine to use as I please."

"How could I use it without feeling guilt? It's like he's mocking me!"

Cursing softly, Callan was met with Dumbledore's laughter. "Mr. Anthony seems a wise old soul, choosing a fitting successor. I understand your urgency to leave."

Finishing his drink, Dumbledore placed a money bag between them. "Let's conclude our meeting. I hope to see you at Hogwarts, Mr. Sanster."

Callan felt the bag's weight, then gathered all the alcohol in the room, presenting it to Dumbledore. "Hard to dispose of, and with so many minors here, I dislike fostering bad habits. Take it as a Muggle curiosity, Headmaster."

"Free of charge," he added.

Dumbledore vanished the bag with a gesture, chuckling, "Truly free?"

"Otherwise, it's spent on the orphanage, not by me," Callan retorted. "It's a parting jab at that old man."

"However," Callan continued, "having accepted a gift, you wouldn't mind a small favor, Headmaster—a mere trifle."

"What is it?" Dumbledore inquired.

"Nearby, the Evans family. Their daughter, Lily, will join Hogwarts with me, but her sister, Petunia, is a Muggle and quite jealous of Lily. I've mitigated it, but issues might arise. You could surely soothe Petunia, preventing future strife between the sisters."

Rapid-fire, Callan listed his well-prepared request.

"Yes, such matters warrant attention," Dumbledore nodded. "And may I ask why you'd intervene, Mr. Sanster?"

"They're the only Muggle-born children I know. Is that reason enough?"

"That's more than sufficient," Dumbledore agreed, rising. "Until Hogwarts, Mr. Sanster."

With that, he departed.

Callan sat in the quiet room, feeling a mix of relief and a tightening frown. "Either Dumbledore didn't use Legilimency, or..."

"Could it be...?"

Meanwhile, Dumbledore stepped beyond Spinner's End, heading to the Evans household. Close by, it was a convenient next visit, and Callan's request was indeed a simple task.

Yet, a whisper of doubt lingered.

"A natural master of Occlumency!"