Dumbledore's POV – Morning of September 11, 1988
The morning began like so many others—far too early, with far too many parchments awaiting signatures.
I sat in my office, quill in hand, reviewing correspondence from the Department of Magical Education. Hogwarts governors were, as usual, demanding additional security wards, while the Ministry wished to tighten its oversight on faculty spell permissions. A tiresome tug-of-war between bureaucracy and common sense.
Fawkes dozed quietly on his perch, the only serene presence in the room.
Then I looked at a Ministry envelope on my desk.
I frowned.
The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes only sent direct notifications under very specific—and usually severe—circumstances.
I broke the seal.
**Accidental Magic Report:
Surge Level – High (Category 3)**
A rare designation.
My eyes scanned the details:
Child: Unknown wizard (later identified as: Alastair C. S–P)
Location: St. Mary's Home for Children, London
Notes: Extremely powerful magical outburst. Significant structural disruption. Ministry responders Kingsley Shacklebolt and Edward Mitchell confined incident successfully. Memory alterations performed.
Then, an additional line—handwritten, Kingsley's script:
"Headmaster, this child is exceptionally powerful for his age. Surged at eleven. Should be assessed personally."
I sat back in my chair.
A magical orphan child with an uncontrolled surge of that magnitude…
It was impossible not to draw parallels.
Tom.
Tragedy. Loss. Power awakening in pain.
It was a pattern the wizarding world had seen before—and rarely survived unscathed.
Yet this child's case carried a nuance the others hadn't.
His mother had died here, at his birth.
At an orphanage step.
A story strangely familiar.
My chest tightened.
I stood, folding the parchment carefully.
I could not entrust such a meeting to a Ministry clerk or a professor.
Not this time.
For the first time in decades, I would personally introduce a young witch and wizard to our world.
Robes would draw too many stares, and a phoenix hardly passed for a house pet in the Muggle world. So I chose a simple charcoal Muggle suit—comfortable enough, though tragically lacking the pockets necessary for a proper wand placement.
Fawkes watched me knowingly as I prepared to leave.
"I shall return shortly, old friend," I murmured.
With a quiet pop, I Apparated directly outside the orphanage gates, careful not to disturb the Muggles within.
Children played in the yard.
A woman hung laundry from a window.
Life was perfectly ordinary.
It was strange how magical destiny always chose such unassuming places.
The Matron
Inside, I found the matron—a stern yet kind-hearted woman—busily organizing paperwork at her desk. As expected, she eyed me with suspicion.
"Can I help you, sir?" she asked crisply.
I smiled pleasantly and gave a small wave of my hand.
A gentle Confundus Charm—nothing forceful, just enough to smooth the encounter.
"I am here on behalf of a prestigious boarding school," I said softly, "seeking exceptional prospective students."
Her expression softened, confusion melting into polite acceptance.
"Of course, of course," she murmured. "We do have two children who've… shown promise."
I nodded.
"May I meet them?"
She motioned toward the hall.
"They should be along shortly…"
Her sentence trailed off faintly, the charm steering her memory into place.
But my attention had already shifted.
Two magical signatures pulsed in the building—one familiar, restrained and simmering beneath layers of childhood emotion…
And another—bright, warm, balanced.
Two children.
Both powerful.
Both untrained.
Both standing on the threshold of an extraordinary life.
I waited.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Soft. Hesitant.
Then they appeared.
A girl with storm-grey eyes full of curiosity and wonder.
And beside her—A boy.
A quiet boy.
A guarded boy.
A boy with power coiled so tightly within him the air around him tingled.
A boy whose eyes held depth far beyond his years.
Eyes that knew loss.
Eyes that carried purpose.
Eyes that watched me with a caution most adults never mastered.
Alastair.
I offered them both a warm smile.
"Ah," I said gently, "you must be Alastair… and Miss Blake. A pleasure to meet you."
The boy straightened slightly, instinctively bracing himself.
The girl blinked with awe.
"Children," I continued, "we have much to discuss."
We moved to the small lounge—an old but well-kept room filled with mismatched chairs, faded curtains, and the lingering scent of tea. The children sat side by side on a worn sofa, Blake leaning forward in excitement, Alastair sitting with careful posture… too careful for a boy his age.
I took the armchair across from them.
They watched me with two very different kinds of anticipation:
Blake's eyes sparkled with open curiosity.
Alastair's gaze was guarded—sharp, assessing, almost adult.
It was the latter that intrigued me most.
And so, as was customary when evaluating young witches and wizards of unusual potential, I gently reached out with Legilimency—not to intrude, merely to understand.
A simple probe.
A light touch.
A glance through an open window.
But the moment my mind touched his—
I struck a wall.
Smooth.
Cold.
Natural.
Formed not through training, but through instinct.
A natural Occlumens.
Rare.
Extremely rare… and extraordinarily telling.
I could have pressed harder.
I did not.
Breaking such a barrier would damage the mind beneath it, and I would sooner tear off my own hand.
I withdrew at once, hiding my surprise behind a soft blink.
I turned my attention to young Miss Smith.
Another gentle probe—
And this time, I received fragmented impressions:
Alastair shielding her from older children
Shared laughter on the rooftop
Her joy when he smiled
A fierce, protective bond between them
A loneliness in the boy that she alone could touch
The barriers were present here as well—not Occlumency, but a child's half-formed instincts resisting intrusion. Admirable, in its own way.
More importantly, the girl's memories confirmed what the Ministry report suggested:
The boy did not merely possess power.
He possessed restraint.
Control.
Discipline far beyond his years.
And a heart that trusted only one person.
I leaned back, fingers steepled.
"I believe," I began gently, "you both deserve an explanation."
I spoke of the wizarding world, of the Statute of Secrecy, of the dangers of uncontrolled magic and the necessity for guidance.
I told them about Hogwarts:
The four houses
The enchanted castle
The curriculum
The purpose of magical education
Blake hung on every word, expression shifting from awe to delight to outright giddiness.
Alastair listened silently, absorbing information with unsettling intensity.
When I explained the enrollment schedule—that Hogwarts accepted students who turned eleven before September 1st, and that their letters would therefore arrive next July—Burning disappointment flickered in Blake's eyes, but she nodded bravely.
Alastair's face did not move.
But his shoulders eased, just slightly.
"And of course," I added, "you must not reveal any of this to Muggles. Magic is a gift, but a dangerous one when used or shared carelessly."
Both nodded at once—Alastair solemn, Blake eagerly.
I had nearly finished when Alastair raised a cautious hand.
"Sir," he said quietly, "if we're going to school next year… can we start learning magic by ourselves until then?"
The question was simple.
But the tone—Measured.
Strategic.
Too mature.
This boy was thinking several steps ahead.
I smiled softly.
"I understand the eagerness. However… magic without guidance can be unpredictable. Even dangerous. I cannot in good conscience encourage two Muggle-raised children to practice unsupervised spellwork for an entire year."
His eyes dimmed just enough to betray his disappointment.
Blake's shoulders slumped.
I continued before either could speak.
"However," I said, "I can leave you with something far safer—knowledge."
Their heads snapped up at the same time.
I reached into my enchanted case and withdrew several slender volumes:
A Beginner's Guide to Magical Theory
A History of Magical Britain
Etiquette and Conduct in the Wizarding World
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
Blake gasped.
Alastair's fingers twitched toward the books.
"These," I said, placing the stack before them, "you may study freely. They contain no spells—only information. Understanding magic is just as important as wielding it."
The boy nodded slowly.
A thoughtful nod.
A grateful nod.
The kind of nod that belonged to someone who had waited a very long time for a path to open before him.
I smiled.
Yes.
This one would be extraordinary.
And perhaps… dangerous, if not guided properly.
But not alone.
Never alone.
Blake watched him with open admiration.
He glanced toward her with a rare softness.
Whatever lay ahead for them—they would face it together.
As I rose to leave, I could not shake one persistent impression:
The wizarding world had no idea what was coming.