1988, Britain, Ministry of Magic.
When Dumbledore saw the child sitting in the holding cell, magical suppressors attached to his skin, he felt a jolt of surprise, then anger. He turned to the woman beside him. "Millicent, is this not excessive? To treat a child so?"
Even the Minister for Magic felt her heart lurch when faced with the wrath of the greatest wizard of the age. For Dumbledore's most terrifying quality wasn't the long list of titles after his name, but his history: he had been friend to the first Dark Lord, then the one who defeated him; he had been teacher to the second Dark Lord as well.
If they truly fell out with this man, who could guarantee there would not be a third, a fourth...? Others might struggle to match him, but you had to remember: this man was also Headmaster of Hogwarts. He possessed both the power and the resources.
Some had once darkly speculated that the second Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was merely an opponent Dumbledore had cultivated for himself, a toy to relieve the boredom of his long life.
"Albus, I had no wish for this, but look at this report. I cannot conceive of any other method to resolve this matter."
The old man took the parchment, reading line by line, his expression growing increasingly astonished.
Owen Carat. Born 1980, in York, just eight years old.
At age three, he had shown no sign of a magical outburst, naturally drawing no attention from the Ministry. Yet no one could have predicted that this child's magic would erupt at eight years of age.
Magical outbursts happened to every witch and wizard sooner or later; they were simply proof of magical ability. Because the child was so young, the radius tended to remain small, generally not exceeding twenty square metres, perhaps levitating a water glass or a small object.
But this young wizard named Owen was different.
His outburst had covered the whole of Yorkshire. Yesterday, eighty percent of Muggles in Yorkshire had witnessed a pure white phoenix flying through the sky.
The Ministry had panicked, assuming some kind of magical creature was on the loose. But when Aurors traced the magical signature to its source, following it to a residential house, they found not a creature but a child with closed eyes, floating in mid-air, surrounded by a white phoenix.
The Aurors had never handled such an incident. They waited for it to end, then carried the unconscious boy back to the Ministry and reported to their superiors.
Millicent had no experience with this either, but the phoenix brought Dumbledore to mind at once, and she sent for him.
By the time she finished, Dumbledore felt both shock and delight.
Shock at the magnitude of the outburst; delight at the manifestation of the phoenix...
At that point, Dumbledore was the only person in the wizarding world to possess a phoenix. But a white phoenix, even an ethereal one, was something he had never encountered in over a century of life.
This child, then, possessed something extraordinary.
Watching the boy sitting quietly, eyes downcast, Dumbledore sighed. He wanted to know what the boy was thinking, but the dense, chaotic magic surrounding him made Legilimency impossible without risking harm.
Dumbledore composed himself, opened the door, and sat before the boy. At that moment, Owen opened his eyes, revealing to Dumbledore a gaze as dark and gleaming as black pearls.
Confusion. Clarity. And determination.
Then came surprise...
"Sir, I truly did not expect someone of your advanced years to engage in kidnapping. I must regretfully inform you that you shall receive no ransom for me. My parents died in an accident last year. I have no remaining family. There is nobody left to pay you for my return."
In a century and more of living, nobody had ever spoken to him quite like that. After a moment's pause, he laughed, delighted.
"Ha! Mr Owen, your humour is refreshing. I am no kidnapper, and you are not abducted. This is the Ministry of Magic. You were brought here because your magical outburst caused significant disturbance. This is not imprisonment but protection, for in the eyes of... ordinary people, wizards are dangerous. We seek to prevent you coming to harm."
"Wizards?"
"Precisely. You and I are both wizards."
Dumbledore withdrew his wand and waved it before the boy's eyes. Upon the desk appeared plates of traditional British fare: roast potatoes, mashed potatoes, boiled potatoes...
Owen inhaled deeply. He was not awed by the magic, but relieved the old wizard had not produced a plate of Stargazy pie.
He ate two potatoes quickly, taking the edge off his hunger, then met the old wizard's eyes again. "Now, regarding compensation. For the disturbance I caused, I shall pay in full, though it may take time, as I am too young to earn a proper wage."
Dumbledore smiled again. "My boy, please relax. No compensation is required. What you need is education. Learning to control your magic. Learning to become an excellent wizard."
Instead of looking pleased, the boy hesitated. "I apologise, but I fear I am unable. I possess no funds for tuition. The house my parents left me, I have no intention of selling, for it holds precious memories."
"Of course!" Dumbledore was pleased. A child who loved so deeply always warmed his heart. "Mr Owen, the Ministry provides educational subsidies for such circumstances. All expenses at Hogwarts shall be covered by the Ministry, with an annual scholarship of two hundred Galleons besides."
Owen's eyes lit up instantly. "Then I accept, sir."
"Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Though term has ended, I believe you might acquaint yourself with the castle's environs."
"Thank you. How shall we travel? Will it take long by carriage?"
At this, Owen glanced at the various potato dishes upon the table. Unappetising though they were, if the journey proved long, he might bring several to sustain himself.
Dumbledore smiled and winked. "Not at all. Wizards have our methods of travel."
Owen accompanied him from the Ministry. At Dumbledore's instruction, he gripped the old wizard's arm tightly. Before he could speak, the world spun violently. When it stopped, he dared not open his eyes, for doing so would surely make him sick.
"The sensation is unpleasant, but you will grow accustomed to it."
The old wizard remained cheerful, as though the boy's discomfort delighted him?
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