This was his third visit to Phantasma on Coney Island. It was so much more than a circus or carnival.

He was alone today. The others in his group hadn't wanted to come again. There were other things in New York they wanted to see.

Curiosity.

Disbelief that the stories Percival Dumbledore had told him of the masked child he'd seen kept in a cage one summer in France when he had been a child were true.

His father had been flummoxed to discover no masked child had ever been enrolled in Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. He had assumed they would be about the same aged so get their education at approximately the same time. He'd expected to hear about the odd, masked wizard. He never did.

Albus assumed it was a fairytale, a cautionary story to ensure Percival's children wouldn't run away from home or think that the grass was greener elsewhere.

There was no doubt that there was magic at use here in Phantasma.

And out in the open.

Muggles would have no idea what was going on, and if the masked man wasn't raised magical he would have no idea that he was woefully close to violating the Statute of Secrecy.

Albus knew.

His father had told him that the boy had what he'd realized later was so much unbridled power. He'd been kept in a cage, part of a traveling circus with a circus manager who was abusive and gluttoness. The boy could have gotten out at any time his father told them, but obviously hadn't known that. His father, being only a boy himself at the time, hadn't understood what was happening, that the magical boy was being kept against his will.

By the time he was old enough to realize. Well, it was too late, but Percival Dumbledore had never forgotten that boy. Very little impressed his father.

It was the 1840s when his father had seen him, so the wizard would be in his seventies now, Albus supposed. With a successful business on his hands that muggles came to in droves. An environment where he could produce magic under the guise of illusions.

Albus and his friends had taken in the burlesque performance their first night here. Rumour was that Mr. Y wrote all of the pieces for the show. Despite the performance's content, the talent and ability of the writer was obvious. So, this man, this wizard didn't just possess magical abilities.

"You are here about a job I'm told," a voice from behind him said.

Albus turned toward the voice. It was his ruse for getting a meeting with Mr. Y. The other man was tall, very lean (almost unhealthily so), with skin not quite pale, almost yellowish (another thing pointing to lack of good health), and looked far older than the seventy he'd assumed he was. Despite it being July he was covered in, surprisingly, robes. A large hat sat atop his head despite being indoors. And the mask covering, hiding, his face.

The robes surprised Albus. Muggles did not wear them from what Albus had seen. Did he know he was a wizard after all?

"Actually, Mr. Y, I would like to show you something if you will allow me."

"Oh?" the masked wizard said. He was clearly amused, the tone and the smirk evident despite the mask told Albus so. He supposed he wasn't approached in such a fashion often. From the rumours about this place, he wasn't swimming in associates.

"My father met you many years ago, a time I presume you would rather not think about. He saw you … perform. My brother, sister, and I were raised on stories of that encounter. The masked boy who could do magic."

"The time you speak of was a lifetime ago. I prefer never hearing about my time spent with Javert and his tour again."

"I'm not here to discuss your past." He cleared his throat. "We all have things we'd rather not discuss let alone think about."

"Go on," he prompted.

Albus wondered if this man, Mr. Y, Erik from his father's story, knew anything about his heritage.

"Have you ever heard of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic?"

The school's name intrigued the other man, but there was no recognition. At seventy or so he was good at concealing it, but it was hard for him to disguise when the word magic had been spoken aloud.

"No, should I have?" There was that amusement again.

"I think you should have, based on what my father told us, yes." He shook his head, realizing he wasn't going about this very well. He cleared his throat then. "Let me start over, please. Mr. Y. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I would like to introduce you to the world I think you were kept from. A world you were born to be a part of."

"Why?"

He was curious but suspicious. The fact that he hadn't ordered him out of his office aside. Even with the mask Albus could see interest, intrigue in the older wizard's eyes. This man who stood before him was guarded, alone, but shrewd and probably saw more than Albus gave him credit for. He held himself confidently but guardedly.

Albus didn't get intimidated by much. This man, though, magically trained or not, Albus had the distinct feeling that he wasn't someone he wished to cross. He had a look that told him he'd done many things in his life that he would prefer not to discuss or think about. He recalled the things his father had said about the boy. What lay beneath the mask. The manager of the traveling circus his father had seen him at had likely abused him. Albus shuddered the things that might have been done to this boy to beat or squelch the desire to run away out of him.

It was easy to assume his father had exaggerated the disfiguration of this wizard.

And yet. Here he was face to face (figuratively speaking) with a man Albus had never presumed was actually real.

"Call it paying off a debt to my father. The three of us thought he was telling tall tales when he spoke of you. I believe if he ran into you here and now he would do exactly what I am offering to do."

"Your father is no longer?"

"I'm afraid not. Neither is my sister." Best not dwell on that. He brushed the back of his hand along his jaw. "Mr. Y if I may be so bold and risk sounding insane. My father believed you were a wizard. Observing what I have the past few days of your work at Phantasma I believe that you are, too, and I'd like to show you the world that you belong to."

"I belong nowhere."

"Oh, but you do."

"Who sent you?"

"No one sent me."

"My business is legitimate."

Albus huffed. He had obviously gone about this all wrong. He probably should have gone to someone in an authoritative position here in America, but he'd been so shocked at hearing rumours that the masked wizard his father told him about was real.

Well, here he was, obviously not doing well. This man had a birthright and all Albus wanted to do was tell him about it.

"Give me an hour, Mr. Y, and if you are not convinced then nothing lost." An idea came to him. Something he could do here and now to hopefully get the older wizard to come with him. "In order to convince you that I am not attempting to fool you."

He pulled his wand out from its holster under his sleeve. He spotted a book on a nearby table, waving his wand and pointing at the book in question. "Accio book," he murmured. It flew slowly into Albus' waiting hand. He handed the book to the older wizard who was looking at him more than just a little curiously now.

"Expelliarmus," he said, pointing his wand again at the book that the other wizard now held. The book fell from the older man's hand.

Lastly, he cast a Lumos.

"I can tell that you are a man of knowledge, someone who likes to learn all that he can. There is a whole world open to you that you have been unaware of until today. My father thought you had great potential as a boy. I'd like to help you achieve that potential."

"You are little more than a boy yourself."

"You are right, but tell me you didn't feel it in the air when I cast those spells."

"I did."

"Not everyone would."

"And they would accept me?"

"Well, you are obviously too advanced in years for school, but there are private tutors. I do not know your age or your heritage, whether you come from magical bloodlines or non-magical ones. Those of non-magical bloodlines are referred to as muggles. Here in America they are No-Maj. In France, where you are from, yes? They are referred to as Non-magique."

"My mother was not magical," he said, sounding very confident about that.

"Anyone would want to teach someone with your raw abilities and you could live to be one hundred or more."

The clenched fist after those words told Albus that was not news he wanted to hear.

"You don't like that idea, I can tell. I will not attempt to guess what your life has been like, but just think of it as a longer opportunity to learn." His eyes widened slightly at that. It seemed the wizard truly liked the idea of learning. Yes, judging by all that he had accomplished here with Phantasma he was a man who knew many things.

"And you can show me this here?"

"In New York, yes. I can take you from here if you agree to trust me to travel magically. If not, we can take the long way by foot. The choice is yours, Mr. Y."

The room was silent aside from the ticking of a clock that Albus could not see. The older man was clearly thinking it through. If he was as disfigured as his father indicated, chances were this man had very few reasons to trust and very few people who'd shown him kindness. Likely, he would be more than just a little suspect of Albus' offer.

He'd had to do it, though. He hoped it would … soothe his father's soul to know that this wizard had been introduced to the magical world even if it was sixty years after the fact.

"Erik," he said. "What do I have to do?"

"Just grab onto my arm, Erik, and you may want to close your eyes."

The older wizard nodded, doing just that.

~The End~

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com