Tea With The Black Dragon - Chapter One

I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

Hogwarts - Spring of HP's 6th year

Dumbledore gently untied the rolled parchment from the post owl and gave the bird a small treat, eyeing it with curiosity. It was a monstrous Great Gray owl, the size of a small dog, and it pounced on the small piece of meat with ferocious enthusiasm. Even Fawkes, who once braved a basilisk to help Harry, regarded the bird with some concern.

The old wizard turned his attention to the letter, recognizing the Durmstrang seal stamped in black wax. The seal vibrated beneath his fingertips, a warning of additional charms placed on the letter for privacy. Bushy white brows rose in surprise. Long had it been since he had received a missive from his old friend and classmate, Theophilus Pines. This would prove to be interesting. He suspected the password to break the charms hadn't changed, and smiled at the thought that Pines, being who he was, had changed little as well. "Gold bars," he murmured and the wax seal snapped apart, unfurling the tightly rolled parchment.

Dumbledore's assumption was correct as he recognized the tight, neat scrawl of Durmstrang's Potions master. He relaxed back into his chair, eyes narrowing with thought, and began reading.

Dumbledore's mouth quirked. High praise indeed, considering the source. The girl must be truly brilliant in the subject to earn such compliments from this particular Potions master. Theophilus was a hard taskmaster, no more inclined than Severus was to make any positive remarks concerning his students. He continued reading.

Albus found it amusing that someone could actually write a sneer into the word "esteemed".

Dumbledore located the illumination at the end of the letter and tapped his forefinger against it. The picture dissolved to reveal a photograph of Miss Draven. He whistled softly under his breath. The girl was lovely. He did indeed remember her mother, Helena. Blonde and vivacious, with a cherubic face, she had been pretty but nothing more. Her daughter must have inherited her looks from her Muggle father. Her braided hair was dark, contrasting sharply with a complexion as pale and smooth as fine porcelain. She had a facial structure, that while still in the first bloom of womanhood, revealed the promise of refinement with age. He admired the delicate cheekbones and straight, elegant nose, but what caught his attention most was the stubborn set of her chin and her eyes. A deep gray beneath expressive black brows, those eyes gazed back at him with a hint of laughter and a serene wisdom that belied her years. Albus was intrigued by that unusually old expression, so at odds with the young face, and he wondered what kind of life this girl had led in the Muggle world before coming to Durmstrang.

Like Theophilus, he was at a loss to figure out how she escaped Malfoy's notice until now. Lucius was well respected at Durmstrang and received with much greater warmth and fanfare during his visits there than anything displayed when making an appearance at Hogwarts. And he agreed with the Potions master. She was now in imminent danger. Lucius loathed anyone who wasn't a pure blood, but it wouldn't stop him from pursuing this girl to satisfy any nefarious interest he had in her. Gauging by the photograph of Miss Draven, those interests were not difficult to discern. Malfoy's various escapades were known but not publicly acknowledged by the Durmstrang staff. He was, after all, one of their benefactors, both extremely wealthy and influential within the Ministry of Magic, and the wizard community as a whole.

Dumbledore considered Miss Draven's dilemma. It was to her credit that, as a half blood, she had not only endured her time at Durmstrang, but also obviously excelled in many of her classes. Durmstrang was not Hogwarts and housed such dangers within its ancient walls that it made Hogwarts look like a simple country cottage, with Fluffy as its big, friendly mutt to greet you at the door. Even Lucius, who despite his greater popularity there and the school's reputation for teaching the Dark Arts, had chosen to send Draco to Hogwarts. A reluctant and silent acknowledgement that his son did not possess the strength of character needed to succeed in a place where survival of the fittest was often the rule of the day. Albus had little doubt that after six years as a Durmstrang student, Miss Draven would easily adjust to the more congenial atmosphere of Hogwarts.

The headmaster tapped a finger against his chin for a moment, then leaned forward, grabbed his quill and a sheet of clean parchment, and began to write. For a few moments the only sounds in the room were the scratching of a quill tip on paper and the steady hum of Fawkes' voice as he swayed on his perch.

Once he finished, Dumbledore sanded the parchment, rolled it tightly, stamped his seal to bind it and muttered a quick charm. The giant owl, which had finished its treat and waited patiently for the reply, stretched out its foot so the missive could be tied to its leg. With a soft hoot and the silent flap of enormous wings, it flew out the open window to return home.

Albus rose to make his way to the dungeons with news he was certain would annoy his own Potions master to no end.