Sweet Tooth | Albus Dumbledore

Chapter Two

It took Albus a moment to speak. "You – you were on fire."

The boy wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead. Now that Albus could see his eyes, he saw they were a soft golden brown, almost exactly the colour of toffee.

"Yes I was. I –"

He looked down at his torn, ashen shirt and bare chest. Pink flooded into his cheeks. "Can I get a shirt?"

"I....yes?" Albus said helplessly, and the boy went back into the house. When he emerged a minute later, he was buttoning a cream shirt so creased it would have made his mother wince.

"I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm William Honeyduke."

"Albus. Albus Dumbledore."

He gave a smile, and Albus noticed that one of his teeth in the bottom set protruded a little above the others. Rather than making him ugly, it only seemed to add to his oddity and overall strange attraction. Albus offered his hand over the fence and William shook it heartily with his own warm and rough one. "Nice to meet you, Albus Albus Dumbledore."

Albus dropped the hand with slight reluctance. "May I ask now why you were on fire?"

The smile returned. "I like to make sweets."

"Sweets?" Albus echoed. Sweets were a luxury the Dumbledores were rarely allowed. He had never thought that people made them before, but now he felt rather stupid, because of course they must. They hardly popped into existence of their own accord, after all.

"You make them? In your house?"

William shrugged. "I used to, at home. But now we live with my grandparents, so it's a little more difficult-"

There came a shrill shriek from inside the house. "WILLIAM! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY STOVE?"

William's smile disappeared, and he grimaced. "Damn it! Can I hide in your garden?"

"I – what?"

Before Albus knew what was happening, William had quickly climbed over the fence, grabbing Albus' arm and dragging him over beside the half finished shed, hunkering behind planks of wood and peering out. Albus hardly knew what to say, breathless and light headed. He looked over William's shoulder to see the old lady who lived next door – presumably William's grandmother, shuffle out into the garden. She had always seemed a jolly sort of lady – plump and white haired, wearing glasses and with a walking stick.

"Thank goodness," William murmured with a smile as she turned back inside.

"Do you often destroy your grandmother's stove?"

William shrugged, turning around in the narrow space against the wall. The warm summer sun shone onto his face, making him squint, the freckles on his nose standing out. "I did get toffee stuck to it once. Had to spend the whole afternoon scraping it out. Nan's not a bad sort, really. It's usually her who comes up with how to make my stuff safe."

"Safe?" Albus repeated, slightly alarmed.

"Yes. My fudge used to, well, explode. I was aiming to make it a special product, y'know, taste my exploding fudge! It explodes with flavour!"

Albus was blinded. He had been used to summers filled with boredom at home, and now this bright, enchanting creature had sprang out of nowhere. He waved his hands enthusiastically as he talked, narrowly avoiding hitting Albus in the face. "But it exploded too much and Nan had to help me-"

"Al?" said an interested voice. "Who's this?"

They both looked up to see Ariana peering at them, a grumpy cat in her arms.

"This is William," Albus said, standing and wiping his trousers. "William Honeyduke. This is my sister Ariana."

Ariana grinned at him. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Likewise," said William, standing and looking over next door, where a man was looking out the window. He did not look a jolly sort. In fact, he looked quite the opposite.

William's smile slipped. "Ah. Well, it was nice to meet you, Dumbledores, but I have to go...."

With that, he hopped back over the fence, Ariana watching him curiously. "What an odd boy."

"He is definitely very odd," Albus agreed.

"Fairly handsome. The tooth ruins it."

Albus disagreed, but decided not to say this out loud as they walked back up to the house.

They usually waited until their father was home to have dinner, and he was back just before five.

Their mother was irritable. "Where has Aberforth gone? Ariana will you go and fetch your brother?"

Ariana rolled her eyes but pushed her knitting off her lap. She had been taught by a neighbour, Bathilda Bagshot, and was supposed to be currently knitting a pair of socks. However, his sister was impatient, and held none of the skill Bathilda did. Her socks resembled anything but.

She was thirteen, and prone to being a little of a drama queen. She stomped to the back door, threw it open, and called, "ABERFORTH! DINNER'S READY!"

Kendra frowned. "Ariana! I didn't ask you to tell the whole town."

However, their father was laughing as he sat down. "I think he's definitely heard you now, Ari. Good day, Albus?"

Albus shrugged. "It was all right."

Ariana sat down and leaned over the table. "But what about the mysterious boy, Albus?"

His father frowned. "What?"

Albus cursed his sister. It was fine that she understood, but she knew full well that their parents wouldn't.

"Just a new boy I met today, Pa," he said as Aberforth came in, stinking of dung and receiving a scolding from their mother. He sulkily clomped upstairs to change.

"He's moved in next door with his grandparents."

"Oh yes, I think Bathilda mentioned something like that," Kendra put in, pulling her chair into the table, then speaking as Aberforth came back down. "Wash your hands, dear – yes, she said the Cliffdon's son in law and their grandson were coming to stay."

"Not his mother?" Percival asked, pointing his wand so the pepper shot up the table towards him. Aberforth sat beside him, reaching for the gravy.

She shook her head. "The poor woman died of dragon pox when the boy was young. Dreadfully sad. Doretha and Charles were terribly cut up about it, I remember. She was their only child. What's he like, Albus?"

"All right," he said, trying to sound casual. "A bit strange."

"I saw him this morning," Aberforth said through a mouthful of potato. "Odd looking bloke. He was wearing yellow braces."

Percival made a little noise that showed clearly what he thought of yellow braces, but as Albus went to bed that night, they were all he could think of.