A Peculiar String of Bizarre Dreams

Chapter 22: The Headmaster's Office

Harry arrives ten minutes late, in haste. His windblown hair conveniently revealing his lightening-shaped scar for my curious inspection. He quickly fixes his tilted spectacles and gestures for me to follow him.

We climb downwards and then upwards, crossing several moody staircases, and finally arrive in front of an unpleasant-looking gargoyle, which stands blocking the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

Harry confidently calls out the password, "Sherbet Lemon!" and the entrance moves open.

Out of habitual politeness, I knock softly on the door as we enter.

Dumbledore's office is incredible: Previous headmasters and headmistresses sleep quietly within their portraits, lining the walls of the circular room. Tiny and odd bits and bobs kept on desks are engaged in perpetual activity, emitting various coloured gases and noises. Dumbledore, seated at his desk, looks up from his work.

"Mr. Potter? Is everything okay? Had we arranged to meet?"

"Um no, Sir, we just wanted your help with something," Harry awkwardly replies.

"Oh yes, Jemmalyn Stone, I see. I'll handle it from here, Harry. Thank you for bringing Ms. Stone to my office. She would've wandered about the castle endlessly, left unguided."

Albus Dumbledore knows my name. What.

Isn't this fiction? Was there ever a student with my name among the first years? At this moment, I am unable to recall this information.

Harry glances at me one last time before leaving the headmaster's office. I look at him with hopeful eyes. One day, I'll come back and be bestfriends with everyone in this world.

"Ms. Stone, take a seat," Dumbledore instructs me.

I nod and sit on one of the chairs across his desk, while his blue eyes study me, from behind his half-moon spectacles.

I resume being awestruck for the hundredth time in this realm. My brain freezes and my mouth begins to feel dry.

"I know you're not from our realm," he probes me to explain my presence.

I swallow. "Yes, that's right."

I try to focus: This is Dumbledore, he knows things, I can tell him.

"I'm looking for a Bijou Maven in this realm."

At this, Dumbledore gives me a slight nod and stoically states, "That would be me, Ms. Stone."

Ofcourse, I should've guessed. I attempt to not look too surprised, even though I'm sure my face says otherwise.

I don't even bother asking this time, about how he knew I was coming. It's evidently a Bijou Maven skill but strangely these beings don't always know what I'm in their realm for. So, I rephrase my request:

"Right, of course. I was wondering if there was a way to make another Cloak of Invisibility."

Dumbledore raises his eyebrows at me. He looks surprised this time. I can imagine why though — not many know of the cloak and even fewer have the courage to ask the Headmaster of Hogwarts how they could go about making a clone of the infamous cloak. More importantly, why would a seemingly eleven year old want one?

"Umm, it's not for me. It's for someone back in my realm. It will be used for a good purpose, I promise you. She's a private detective and she's old. She would greatly benefit from the cloak."

I ramble on in explanation before I can stop myself, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkle back at me with amusement.

"I'm not certain if a cloak of invisibility would work back in your realm. But I may have a gem for you, which could do the trick."

He picks up his majestic elder-wood wand and utters, "Locomotor Obsidian!" and an oval-shaped black stone flies out of a shelf and lands on the desk before us. He then holds it between his index finger and thumb, and solemnly says, "Obsidian gives you stealth and invisibility. It should work well, for a detective. It is the most suitable for the kind and gentle-hearted who display extraordinary resilience."

That to me, describes Marion perfectly. I find myself extremely pleased. This realm has been perfect, and before anything goes awry — because eventually something does go awry in this world — I decide to leave.

"Thank you, Sir. I didn't realize I could ask you for a gem, considering it's fiction and all."

As always, I slowly become aware of what a fool I am making of myself, in front of Albus Dumbledore. Maybe my brain has turned into a puddle of organic mess, after being so starstruck.

"There are Bijoux Maven in every realm, Ms. Stone. This however, is not fiction. Every realm is as real as it can be when you're in it. It's reality, at its best."

With that, he covers his hand with mine, and leaves the gem in the center of my palm.

I paralyze for a moment, for a number of reasons: The gem is externally stunning and rests darkly in stark contrast with my skin. Dumbledore feels incredibly real. And was that a handshake?

I jump out of my chair and embrace the old man before he can object or resist. I catch a glimpse of his astonished face before I'm gone.

Dumbledore is incredibly real, indeed.