Written for the QLFC round 3
Team: Pride of Portree
Position: Seeker
Word Count (excluding author's note): 2184
The four houses of Hogwarts were a long-standing tradition, and the qualities they represented were recognised throughout the Wizarding World. Ravenclaw was the house for those who were the most intelligent. Slytherin represented the traits of cunning and slyness. Gryffindor was known for housing students who were noble and brave. Hufflepuff… well, Hufflepuff was the house for those whom nobody noticed.
Albus Dumbledore, Professor of Transfiguration, was one of the few who truly understood the purpose of Hufflepuff house. They were the backstage staff, always necessary to keep the world turning, but never in the limelight. They were the clerical workers, the shop assistants, the proofreaders, and publishers. They were used and abused, but never once complained. As long as there was work to do, there would be a Hufflepuff to get it done. Most people thought they were useless, stupid, and weak, but this couldn't be farther from the truth. They were just as strong and knowledgeable as they needed to be to achieve their goals, and were the most useful of all the houses. It was simply that, like house elves, they were so good at what they did, people barely noticed their presence.
Albus learned that becoming one of the greatest wizards of all time was difficult, especially when you weren't actually particularly skilled, powerful, or clever. When he was tasked with defeating his former friend, Gellert Grindelwald, he realised drastic measures would have to be taken if he were to stand a chance at winning.
Various heads of Hogwarts had long since hidden away all the books on dark and powerful magic that the school possessed. Luckily for Albus, he had compensated for his lack of raw power with tenacity and a nosiness that could rival Bertha Jorkins. It took Albus only a few short months to discover the Room of Hidden Things. Inside he discovered a small library, filled with the volumes that had been hidden for decades. He found the truth of just what magic could accomplish. He found solutions.
One of the purloined books detailed a ritual which could draw magical energy from another witch or wizard and transfer it to the caster, effectively increasing his or her power. The ritual warned that the victim would never be able to recover the use of their magic if it was drained completely, thus becoming a squib. Albus rejected this ritual immediately. It sounded all too similar to the ideas he and Gellert had discussed in their youth for removing Muggleborns from wizarding society.
After reading through the rest of the books and coming up empty, Albus returned to the power-stealing ritual he had initially rejected. It was the only way to boost one's power without also shortening one's lifespan immensely or killing another living being. Surely, he thought, as long as an adequate amount of care is taken, the consequences wouldn't be too bad. As long as the target's power was not fully drained then nobody would even notice. He decided that taking a little power from multiple people would work just as well as draining a lot of power from a single person.
Once Albus had decided on his method, the targets were all too easy to choose. Hufflepuff students were generally unremarkable; average in everything other than their determination to do their very best. The younger years had yet to access or display their full power, and so nobody would notice if they did not reach their true potential and their inclination to work hard would compensate for what they lost. Yes, first- or second-year Hufflepuffs were practically designed for having their magic siphoned.
In order to defeat Grindelwald, Albus had to steal a small amount of power from each Hufflepuff student to enter Hogwarts for seven years. He thought he probably could have managed with six years' worth, but after all, seven is a magical number. By performing the ritual once a month and using a different student each time, he increased his own power in small increments over time. Just as he'd expected, his own advancement was not seen as particularly remarkable and his colleagues attributed it to intense studying and practise.
Muggles say that hindsight is twenty-twenty, but after the battle with Grindelwald Albus found himself disagreeing. Suddenly, even people Albus considered to be close friends were telling the world that he had always been amazingly powerful, and really it had only been a matter of time until he solved the problem. Of course, he never corrected this story. It only served to further conceal the lengths he had gone through in order to succeed.
After the defeat of Grindelwald, Albus stopped performing the ritual. It was likely he would never again need to do so, but nevertheless he kept the book hidden, unable to bring himself to part with the secret to his incredible victory. A few years later he found himself incredibly grateful that he still had it.
After being promoted to the position of Headmaster, Albus felt the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders. Tom Riddle was hovering on the sidelines, recruiting people who were dissatisfied with the current state of the Wizarding World. Albus had always known that there was something wrong with that boy, however he had never taken any steps to prevent the inevitable. The similarities between Tom and Gellert were overwhelming, and yet Albus had still hoped he would turn out differently. Alas, it was clearly not to be.
With the threat of another, more powerful Dark Lord looming, Albus knew what had to be done. One or two students every few years would suffice at this stage; just enough to keep him the most powerful wizard alive. At the next Sorting Ceremony, Albus watched the new students, making careful note of those who would usually be considered unremarkable—the new Hufflepuffs.
A timid boy caught Albus' eye. He was smaller than his peers and sat hunched over, making himself appear even tinier. Shoulder-length brown hair hung down his cheeks, obscuring his face a little. When he was called up to try on the Sorting Hat, he looked as though he would prefer to run away. Naturally, the hat pronounced him a Hufflepuff before it even touched his head.
He's perfect, Albus thought to himself.
Albus made a point of involving himself in lessons that year. As Headmaster, he technically didn't have to do anything more than meet with the professors every term to discuss the overall progress of the students and any necessary changes to the curriculum. Most students passed their entire student life without ever speaking to the Headteacher, but clearly if he was to get the measure of the young Hufflepuff he had set his sights on, that would have to change. Hufflepuffs, after all, usually didn't make enough trouble to warrant being sent to the Headmaster's office.
The child, Albus learned, was named Argus Filch. He was the only heir of the Filch family, who were remarkable only in how average they were when compared to the rest. His father worked for an apothecary in Wales and his mother stayed home. All this Albus gleaned from the student records, as Argus was an incredibly quiet child. He would answer when spoken to, but he never volunteered more information than was absolutely necessary. His classwork was above average, but in no way exceptional. With no siblings to watch him protectively and the professors satisfied but not particularly impressed by his work, he was the perfect target.
Argus' first year passed uneventfully. Albus continued to watch him in class, but was never given a reason to call him up to his office. The boy was well-behaved and not generally targeted by bullies. He was well-liked within his class and seemed to be happy enough. All the usual reasons for Albus to summon a student were not applicable in this situation. Clearly, he would have to think of something new.
At the beginning of Argus' second year, Albus proposed that he begin interviewing all students to ensure they were getting the most out of their education. Unfortunately, the heads of house unanimously agreed that if one-on-one interviews were necessary then they should be the ones to conduct them.
In November, Albus suggested that perhaps he should reform the duelling club he had attended when he was a student. The professors thought that was a good idea, but disagreed that Albus should lead it. Clearly, they said, that would be within the purview of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
After Christmas, Albus mentioned the possibility of leading an introduction to Alchemy class. Both the professors and the Board of Governors thought this to be a wonderful plan, but the Board felt it should be restricted to students who had already passed their Potions OWL, as Alchemy shared many disciplines with Potions but was far more complex.
As he watched all his plans fail, Albus continued to watch Argus. He was turning out to be a better wizard than Albus had expected, receiving Exceeds Expectations in all classes except Charms, where he regularly received Outstanding grades. Albus knew that he should pick a new target. Argus was getting too old to be viable, and his professors were starting to notice him. His overall attitude and personality was making him a potential candidate for the prefect position in a few years, and the boy had expressed interest in pursuing a career in spell development, which always interested the professors. He also appeared to have a number of close friends who would probably notice if there was anything amiss. Unfortunately, Albus was nothing if not tenacious, and he had chosen Argus.
At the beginning of Argus' third year, Albus noticed a discrepancy in the boy's schedule. It appeared he had attempted to sign up for every elective course possible. The professors, admiring Argus' ambition, suggested the possibility of a Time-Turner. Albus, seizing his chance, insisted on personally interviewing the boy himself to assess his suitability for such a gift.
When Argus entered the headmaster's office, Albus offered him a drink. Obligingly, Argus took the cup and sipped from it immediately. The cup clattered to the floor as the boy's eyes closed, his body falling limp in slumber. Albus absentmindedly Vanished the cup and the accompanying liquid on the floor. After all, it wouldn't do to leave evidence of drugging a student where just about anyone could find it.
Albus pointed his wand at the sleeping child and began the long and complex incantation for the ritual. Argus' magic began to seep into Albus and merge with the power drained from previous students. When Albus reached the point where he normally stopped, he decided to continue. After all, the boy clearly had enough power to spare a little more than Albus usually took. It may harm his chances of being truly great himself, but it was all for the greater good.
The sudden thought of the phrase Gellert so foolishly threw around in their youth startled Albus. Suddenly, he realised what he was doing, and broke the connection, falling back against his desk. How long had they been connected?
A quick diagnostic charm told Albus that he had done the unthinkable. Argus' magic was all but completely drained. A spark still existed deep within him, but it was too small to possibly be coaxed back to life. Panicking, Albus entered the child's mind. Thankfully, he discovered that Argus had not cast a single spell since the previous term, following the rules to the letter, just as Albus had come to expect of Hufflepuffs. A Memory Charm covered up the rest. Satisfied that his tracks were completely covered, Albus plastered a serene smile on his face and woke the boy up.
Laughing off Argus' condition as the result of a tiring day, Albus quickly ran through some questions before awarding the boy the Time-Turner he would never have a chance to use. Less than a day later, Argus was back in Albus' office, listening to the matron and his stricken head of house informing him that he would have to be sent to St Mungo's for tests, and, if there was no cure for his sudden lack of magic, that he would not be able to return to Hogwarts.
Nobody ever suspected that Argus' magic had been stolen. The rare book had been hidden so completely, and for so long, that the ritual no longer existed in living memory, except within Albus himself. He destroyed the book, of course. It would not do to have someone else find it.
Albus made a point of checking in on Argus over the coming years. Argus' parents appreciated the concern and sadly informed him that Argus had refused Muggle education and instead remained at home, isolated and unhappy.
Many years later, guilt would convince Albus to hire Argus as the most useless caretaker Hogwarts had ever seen. At least I have never had to syphon power from another student, Albus thought every time he looked at Argus. And as long as there is never another threat, I will never need to again.