Wool's Orphanage, an established orphanage in London.
It was a square building surrounded by high railings. The interior looked worn, yet impeccably tidy and spotless.
The orphanage's founding date was uncertain, and despite its long history, there was little else noteworthy about it—neither famous merchants, politicians, or scholars had emerged from here, nor did it attract many donors or potential adopters.
It was merely an ordinary, dilapidated orphanage nearing bankruptcy, with Mrs. Garry, its administrator, being an ordinary old lady.
Yet, in another realm of this world, a society inaccessible to mortals, this orphanage held an extraordinary reputation, a reputation that would surely grow louder from this day forth.
Today, June 11th, 1991, the orphanage welcomed a special guest.
"Knock, knock, knock—"
The sound of knocking reached Mrs. Garry's ears.
Nestled in her armchair, she put down her sewing and hurried to the door, albeit slowly.
"Who could be visiting such an old orphanage on such a rainy day?"
She pondered, grabbing a black, old umbrella from a shelf near the door and opening it as she walked towards the entrance.
Standing at the door was an elderly man, tall and lanky, with silver long hair and a beard that reached almost to his waist. He wore a purple cloak over his robe and held a grubby black umbrella. His robe was soaked, and droplets clung to his half-moon glasses.
Mrs. Garry was already 60, but she felt the old man was much older than her. Remarkably, despite his age—which could be her father's in her eyes—he seemed much more vigorous. His beautiful blue eyes sparkled with vitality.
"Oh, please come in," Mrs. Garry fumbled with a large key from her keyring, struggling to open the somewhat rusty orphanage door. "The weather has been terrible lately. The children's clothes have been hanging for two days and still aren't dry."
"Tell me about it." the old man agreed, following Mrs. Garry into the orphanage. He looked around, a hint of nostalgia flashing in his eyes.
"It hasn't changed at all, still so tidy." he remarked.
"Of course," Mrs. Garry proudly handed the wet old man a clean towel from a cabinet. "It's always been like this. Although we can't provide luxurious living conditions, we do our best to give the children a good living environment, just as Mrs. Cole did before. Unfortunately, not many people come to help us or these poor children." As she spoke, the gossipy old lady couldn't help but complain again.
"Have you been here before? I don't seem to remember you." she inquired curiously.
"Oh, that was many years ago," the old man recalled. "About fifty-seven… or fifty-eight years? I'm not sure. Mrs. Cole was the one who helped me then."
"So you must be over 80?" Mrs. Garry bustled around making tea for her guest, casually asking.
"Believe me, I'm older than you think." the old man finally dried his beard and hair with the towel and engaged the somewhat lonely old lady in conversation.
After some time, the chatty old lady remembered the main reason for his visit. "So, sir, you… Oh, how rude of me, I forgot to ask your name."
"Albus, Albus Dumbledore," the old man replied. "I'm the headmaster of a private school. I'm here to find a boy named Ting Ye."
"Oh, Ting Ye," the old lady's cloudy eyes seemed to brighten when mentioning his name. "Little Ting Ye is our pride here. There's no smarter or more sensible child than him. I've watched him grow up. I've seen all kinds of naughty, poor children, you know, that's part of my job, but I've never seen such a clever and sensible little adult before."
Mrs. Garry's face radiated immense pride and joy as she chattered on. "Little Ting Ye started talking when he was one. He never cried or made a fuss with us again, whether he was hungry or bullied by bigger kids. He always tried to face things alone. Oh, he's such a strong child."
Mrs. Garry refilled Dumbledore's tea cup and continued, "This child loves reading. He learned to read as soon as he could recognize words—newspapers, magazines, dictionaries, novels... he reads everything. He's so smart and learns quickly. He could read newspapers fluently at three..."
As if introducing her own proud grandson, the old lady spent a long time describing the ten-year-old boy named "Ting Ye." Dumbledore listened patiently, gradually forming a basic impression of the child: intelligent, sensible, eager to learn, diligent, kind, etc. Although he knew there was some subjective bias from the old lady, the impression was generally perfect.
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