It was difficult to put Dumbledore's current state of mind into words.
He stood there holding the hygiene item, something he could count on one hand the number of times he had ever seen in his life, staring at Iain for a very long time while silently swearing to use every connection he had to find the best healer imaginable for the boy.
It was entirely possible that during that terrible carriage accident years ago, when the boy before him had still been a newborn, some sort of irreversible injury had been left behind in his brain.
"I don't think I'll be needing this."
Dumbledore, no longer looking mournful in the slightest, smoothly returned the item to the young wizard without drawing attention to it.
"Too thick? Shame the ultra-thin overnight kind hasn't been invented yet."
Iain checked his stock with visible regret.
"..."
Dumbledore gave him a long, profound look, then turned and walked once more toward the front door of his house.
The door itself did not appear especially heavy.
And yet after a brief inner struggle, the most powerful wizard of the century looked as though he had finally gathered enough courage to push it open. The hinges gave a soft creak.
It was not a grand house.
It looked nothing like the "Dumbledore residence" Iain had imagined. There were no towers, no guards, none of the Gothic spires he associated with Hogwarts in his mind.
It was simply an ordinary, warm house, the sort of place that looked as though an old man had lived there for many, many years.
"So this is your home, Professor?"
Curious, Iain followed him inside.
Fawkes lifted from Dumbledore's shoulder, traced a golden arc through the air, and landed on the mantel above the sitting-room fireplace, where he began calmly grooming his feathers.
"There are several empty rooms upstairs. With the exception of the locked room on the second floor, you may choose whichever one you like. The bedding is in the cupboard at the end of the corridor."
Dumbledore casually removed a teapot from a shelf and poured both himself and Iain a cup of deep red tea.
"Right, right. I'm always very well-mannered when I'm a guest in someone else's house."
Iain did not ask too many questions. He nodded and promptly drank down the tea Dumbledore handed him.
"I have some personal business that requires my attention, so it will be a little while before I can take you to purchase the things you'll need for your magical studies."
"Until then, please make yourself at home."
Dumbledore looked at the staircase for a very long time, his mood not especially good, though he still politely explained the situation to Iain. Then, using the excuse that there were still matters he needed to deal with, the professor left Iain and Fawkes alone in the house.
"You are free to explore. Fawkes will look after you in my place."
After that brief instruction, Dumbledore stepped toward the fireplace and vanished into a strange burst of flame.
"Wow. So that's Floo Powder!"
Iain's eyes lit up. Everything in the magical world was new and irresistibly attractive to him.
Fawkes let out a soft cry, spread his wings, and glided silently up the stairs. Iain followed behind, and before long Fawkes had led him to the second floor.
The corridor was not very long. Dark floorboards ran beneath his feet, creaking softly as he walked. Several paintings hung on the walls. Not magical portraits like the ones at Hogwarts that moved and talked, but perfectly ordinary Muggle paintings. Mostly landscapes. One of them showed a distant view of Godric's Hollow.
Another depicted a cat stretched lazily across a windowsill in the sun.
At the end of the corridor stood one more door. Its lock was brass, very old-looking, but sturdy. This was clearly the locked room he had been warned not to enter.
"Better not. Curiosity doesn't just kill cats. It can also ruin small wizards."
Iain suppressed the impulse and gave up on applying his police-record-worthy lock-picking abilities.
Instead, he turned to the next room over, the one that was not locked, and pushed the door open.
The room was not large, but it was neat and orderly. A single bed stood against the wall with pale blue sheets and a pillow plumped up nicely. On the bedside table sat a lamp with a cream-colored shade, its edge marked by a thin crack. The window faced east, giving a view of distant hills and a strip of woodland.
By the window stood a wooden bookcase, its varnish patchy with age.
Perhaps this room had once belonged to an adult woman.
Iain could not say why he felt that so strongly. Maybe it was the color of the sheets, maybe the pattern on the curtains, maybe the faint trace in the air of a presence long faded but not entirely gone.
He could not explain it.
He just knew.
"Looks like I've got a gift for prophecy too."
Iain set down his suitcase and pulled Handsome Tabby out of his coat. The tomcat's fur had been rubbed entirely out of order. He batted at Iain's wrist with one paw, then leapt onto the bed and immediately began inspecting his new territory.
Fawkes flew in through the doorway and perched atop the hanging lamp, tilting his head down to watch Handsome Tabby. Handsome Tabby looked up too and spotted the phoenix, whose whole body glowed with a faint golden light.
Obeying pure feline instinct, Handsome Tabby immediately chose violence. He sprang upward to catch the bird, launching himself from the windowsill toward the lamp.
"??????"
Fawkes simply lifted off with absurd ease, landed on the coat rack on the far side of the room, tilted his head, and let out a puzzled cry.
"Mrrrow!"
Handsome Tabby missed entirely, snagged the curtain with his claws, swung there in midair for two beats, then fell in a thoroughly undignified heap onto the bed.
After scrambling back up, he merely shook out his fur and charged at Fawkes again.
And so one cat and one bird began their chase.
Watching the scene, Iain naturally made no attempt to intervene. He had things of his own to do. For instance, crouching down to open his suitcase and begin checking through his belongings.
Clothes. Toiletries. A few spare batteries. Several grenades. Two landmines...
In the end, Dumbledore still had not allowed Iain to bring the Gatling gun or the pistol.
The rare ores had also been left behind in the orphanage yard.
"Hm? What's this?"
Iain found an envelope. It bore no address, no name, and it definitely was not something he had packed himself.
"Mrs. Hawke slipped it in there for me, didn't she?"
Opening it confirmed his guess.
Inside was a loose stack of money, several hundred pounds in all. Mrs. Hawke had clearly been worried that Iain might have no pocket money at his magical school.
It isn't much, but it should be enough for you to buy a bit of food along the way. Write to us when you get to school. And please don't fall in with the wrong crowd.
There were only a few short lines on the note inside.
Not many words.
But they were full of feeling, and they left Iain silent for a very long time.
"I grew up in a home full of love, so I absolutely won't become a dark wizard."
Plainly, he was still a little hung up on the fact that his first magical talent seemed to be Dark Magic.
He rummaged through his bag, pulled out a sanitary pad from a hidden compartment, and wiped his eyes with it.
This sort of free supply was far better than buying tissues.
Careful thrift was an instinctive quality in every orphan.
The things worked well, and could be reused too. Pure cotton, after all. Wash it, dry it, and next time you could still pass it on to someone else.
No one would ever be able to tell it had once been a pad.