The Park, Saturday morning

[not_called_icky]

Was this a dream? Ichabod Crane had woken up in an unfamiliar room that he certainly did not remember falling asleep in. Quickly he had fled the building and now found himself in a park. All this was quite disturbing, especially as Ichabod was supposed to be on his way to the village of Sleepy Hollow to investigate some particularly grisly murders

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[not_every_mage]

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was certain of precisely two things this morning.

The first was that he wasn't at Hogwarts -- which, as he distinctly remembered falling asleep in his bed in Gryffindor, was rather a problem.

The second was that there were entirely too many Muggle contraptions around for him to trust wherever he was. He frowned as he gazed at the landscape, jingling the sickles in his pocket and wondering how on Earth he was going to get home when he didn't have so much as a grain of floo powder.

The pink birds distracted him, anyhow.

"Hullo," he called to the other man. "D'you have the first idea what those birds are?"

[not_called_icky]

Ichabod looked up. "I believe they are called flamingos," he said. "Although I have never seen one myself before." He eyes the stranger a little suspiciously. "Forgive me, but I seem to be a little lost. Do you by any chance know the way to Sleepy Hollow?"

[not_every_mage]

"Oh! I've heard of those," Albus said with a flash of recognition, and watched the queer birds for a moment before he turned his attention back to Ichabod. "But not of Sleepy Hollow. Is that in Scotland?"

[not_called_icky]

"Scotland? Certainly not that far. It is still within the state of New York."

Was the boy perhaps a little confused?