❝ FOR FREEDOM.
FOR T R U T H.
AND FOR LOVE. ❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍.
1978. Where a squib and a mischief-maker cross
paths at the crux of a war that would eventually
tear apart everything - and everyone - they...
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SLACK-JAWED AND awestruck, Juliette stood rooted to her spot. A small voice in the back of her mind whispered that she ought to greet the famous old wizard standing at her doorstep, yet she found herself incapable of doing anything but staring at Dumbledore, who did not seem deterred in the slightest by her less than warm welcome — or lack thereof.
"Good evening, Ms. Harte. I am Albus Dumbledore," he introduced himself rather unnecessarily, in Juliette's opinion. "I should, first and foremost, apologize most sincerely for not informing you earlier of my intent to visit. I happened to be crossing over London on my way back from an urgent business and, well, I thought I'd say hello. Is this a bad moment?"
Juliette stared, certain her hearing was failing her. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she shook her head, not trusting herself with words yet.
"Very good," said Dumbledore cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to Juliette's confusion. He gave his wand a flick, and the light extinguished from its tip. Then he pocketed the wand, clapped his hands together, and said, "Now, I'm going to assume you are a bit startled by my sudden, unannounced appearance, hence why you have not invited me in." She supposed she looked quite alarmed because Dumbledore raised a hand and shook his head. "No worries, no worries, Ms. Harte. Shall I take it that I am welcome into your charming home? I've brought a spice cake that I'm quite partial to. Perhaps you could fix us a pot of tea to go with it. Yes?"
Juliette thought she must have nodded because the next moment, Dumbledore had smiled brightly and swept past her and walked into the apartment. Juliette locked the door behind him, still numb from shock. Of all the people she could have ever expected to turn up at her door, Dumbledore had never even crossed her mind.
She followed Dumbledore into her own living room and watched him settle into the chintz armchair by the empty fireplace. She realized belatedly that an icy draught had settled into her apartment over the course of the day, and that the lone lamp in one corner of the room hardly provided sufficient light.
"Perhaps a little warmth would do us good," said Dumbledore politely as he pulled out his wand from his robes and, pointing it towards the fireplace, gave it a small flick. Before her eyes, a fire roared into life, its flames licking up the white walls and shining off of the many frames that hung across the wall nearest the hearth. The fire had drenched the room in a warm, golden glow. It illuminated the dark, gleaming wood of the coffee table and the curved feet of the armchairs; it brought into view the ivory upholstery of her furniture, the assortment of colorful cushions she had adorned them with, and the plush carpets Lynette had insisted she buy. However, the most startling thing illuminated by the magical fire was the aged, bearded wizard sitting on her sofa. Somehow, seeing Albus Dumbledore in bright light made the entire scenario that much more surreal.
