“Professor Dumbledore?” Harlequin peeked into the Headmaster’s office from the top of the spiral staircase. “Are you in here?”
“Ah, Miss LaCroix,” the old wizard’s friendly voice greeted her from the landing above, “to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
Hel couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, “most professors don’t seem to find my visits a pleasure.”
“That is a shame,” Dumbledore replied descending from the landing, “perhaps it would help to keep them young if they did.” The witch couldn’t help but smile. “Now, how can I help you my dear?”
Nearly lost in all the wonders present in the office Hel had to shake herself back to the matter at hand. “Professor Moody said, er, well, suggested,” the witch furrowed her brow.
“Yes dear?”
“That perhaps, I might inquire as to a bit of history on myself.” In a rare moment, the witch seemed unsure of herself. “Not so much parentage, per say,” she began again. “I’m happy with the Cirque, they are my family, but…Being a Slytherin and all…”
The wizard peered over his half-moon spectacles as he took his place at his desk. “You are wondering how, if you were raised by Muggles, or were Muggleborn…”
“Yes,” Hel shook her head, “I mean it doesn’t really mean anything to me but, I suppose knowing might be good. For the future.”
Opening one of the drawers of his desk, Dumbledore brought out a very thick, very old looking book. “There is a book,” he began “that writes down and keeps track of every witch and wizard born, as well as which school they will most likely attend. Of course, it is still the choice of the family. This,” he laid a hand upon the book before him, “of course is only a reproduction, and only for Hogwarts. But I do believe we can find the answers you seek.”
“I don’t want to know my birthparent’s names,” Harlequin began, “that is okay, right?”
Dumbledore nodded, his blue eyes twinkling, “of course my dear.” He opened the book, “February 14th, right?”
“Yes,” Hel nodded, it had only been since the arrival of her Hogwarts letter and the later visit with Professor McGonagall that she’d even known that much about herself.
“Ah, here we are,” the old wizard adjusted his glasses, “the only time I’ve ever seen a name scratched out and a new one written in.”
Curiosity tugged at Hel and she raised herself up on her toes, attempting to catch a glance, earning a slight chuckle from the headmaster. Straightening himself up, he clasping his hands before him, Dumbledore looked up at the witch. “There is no doubt about it. You were raised by Muggles, but you my dear are a pureblood.”
“Really?” The witch had to admit that she was slightly shocked, she hadn’t figured she would be Muggleborn, being placed in Slytherin like she was, but she hadn’t expected to be more than a half-blood.
The headmaster nodded, “so, is there anything else I can help you with?”
Hel paused, thinking a moment. “Why does it matter? I don’t feel any different. I mean, I’m not any different.”
A heavy sigh escaped the man. “As it should be my dear, as it should be. Alas, some people, witches and wizards alike, are not as tolerant and accepting. That information,” he continued, looking at the witch, “will open doors for you that unfortunately wouldn’t be open otherwise.”
“That’s stupid!” Hel spat, “I don’t want any doors opening just because someone perceives my blood is better than someone else’s. If I can’t open the door as a Cirque Freak, then I don’t want to go through it.”
The headmaster chuckled, “as it should be my dear. Though, I think you’ll find that this bit of knowledge could also be a thorn in some of your housemate’s sides.”
A broad grin crept along the witch’s features. “I think I like the way you think Professor.”
The man chucked again. “Now, if there is nothing else my dear, I believe you will find Miss Macnair waiting for you.”
“Oh yeah,” Hel laughed, “You’re probably right.” The witch turned and scurried off towards the stairway once more, stopping just short of the exit, “thank you Professor,” then quickly fled down the stairs and off to find her best friend. |
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