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"There I am," said Dumbledore brightly, pointing ahead of them to a tall figure crossing the road in front of a horse-drawn milk cart.
This younger Albus Dumbledore's long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing.
"Nice suit, sir," said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled as they followed his younger self a short distance, finally passing through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked once.
After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.
"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here." "Oh," said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance.
"Um. . . just a mo' . . . MRS. COLE!" she bellowed over her shoulder.
Harry heard a distant voice shouting something in response. The girl turned back to Dumbledore. "Come in, she's on 'er way." Dumbledore stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Harry and the older Dumbledore followed. Before the front door had closed behind them, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind, and she was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked toward Dumbledore.
". . . and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs and Eric Whalley's oozing all over his sheets — chicken pox on top of everything else," she said to nobody in particular, and then her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just crossed her threshold.
"Good afternoon," said Dumbledore, holding out his hand. Mrs. Cole simply gaped.
"My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today." Mrs. Cole blinked. Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, "Oh yes. Well — well then — you'd better come into my room. Yes." She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.
"I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future," said Dumbledore.
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