Committed to Change


The clouds roamed unsteadily under the full moon, the cool if calm wind made the leafless branches rustle with a clattering sound, and my self imposed task was quickly going to hell with the soundrack born of my charges' pained moaning.

As fast as I could, I had made use of gouging and levitation charms to prepare a firepit, over which I immediately unshrunk my pewter pot. Silver would have probably been better.

I summoned to me a bucket that I left near a small creek that ran just besides my shack, pouring cristalline water in the cauldron while I started to think furiously, trying to ignore the muggles' trashing motions: "Water as a base... lycanthropy is a temporary metamorphosis, not a simple change of Shape, it is a curse, so it is malignant somehow... tied to the moon... the hunt..."

I used my wand to stoke the brilliant flames under the small cauldron before I raised my eyes, staring unblinkingly the the celestial body that offered some faint light: "The moon... everchanging, mercurial, I could twist it to indicate the Hunt, but lycanthropy already twists that part, making humans the only target of the werewolf... Okay, this is better than nothing..."

I started to rummage in my pockets placing the contents on a near slab of stone. Useless, useless, useless... I needed something that could be tweaked into assuming the properties of silver: purity, innocence. If gold is for royalty, silver stands for Nobilty, to be detatched and above the rest of the world, unaffected by lesser things. A memory of crystalline innocence.

I had no knowledge of Alchemy of any sorts, so actually transmuting something into silver was out... the moon triggered the change, and if... and if...

Silver used to be necessary to make mirrors, and calm water could act as a mirror of sorts, I already had the water, now I only had to turn it into a sort of mirror capable of opposing the moon's influence, and hoping that it would be enough to halt the curse. Just like I was trying to imbue 'Luck' into the Felix Felicis under the lead of Slughorn, I needed to imbue 'reflection' into my concociton.

It was vastly different from your common potion, the story of which contained an 'effect', instead I was trying to give it a 'propiety'. Symbols and Meanings. I reminded myself.

"Dried Pine Nettles to fortify, to infuse the potion with the tenacity of those that withstood the winter, Dogroot, and Tentacula Velenosa Shavings to bind..." I started muttering to myself while I carefully prepared the ingredients before delicately placing them in the pewter pot, "Snowdrop Petals to counteract the toxicity and issue both the calm of a stretch of fresh snow and hope when it's crust is broken, stirring with a willow branch, because it can keep living when planted in fertile soil."

My eyes darted towards my charges, who were slowly but surely slowing down in their pained trashing: my time was running out. "Three counterclockwise turns, to stabilize and oppose the natural progression of the wound, Seven clockwise, to grant potency and meld together the mixture."

I repeated the stirring sequence three times, forcing myself to keep a steady rythm, grinning despite everything when I witnessed the potion turning from murky brown to steely grey: "And to breath life into the little hope of the snowdrop, without blatantly opposing the course of nature" I told to myself while I slipped the vial of sunlight from my neck, relishing in its warmth, "a drop of a summer's afternoon, of warmth and acceptance of the costant turning of time. In particular, to hold back the preparation, and to offer a focus in order to mirror the full moon, granting its opposite effects."

Once the warm light dropped into the steely greyness of the cauldron, the liquid inside went from steely grey to perfectly blank, only for the mixture's surface to turn into a mirror an istant later. I leaned back from the cauldron, looking at the full moon that was temporarly covered by a wisp of clouds: "C'mon, c'mon..."

When the wind finally unveiled the moon, my potion mirrored it, turning into a water like substance that had a silvery sheen to it.

Let's hope it actually makes sense. Without waiting furhter, I poured from the cauldron over the cursed wounds of the muggles, sighing in relief when I saw the bleeding drop to a trickle and then completely stop.

The night stretched itself without mercy, each minute feeling as long as an hour, each shiver and twitch of the two muggles almost sending me in a panicked frenzy.

Yet, as the moon made its course in the sky, the wounds of the muggles stopped bleeding, and the dittany slowly started to close.

I sighed in relief, only then noticing the dull itch on my back. Frowning, I brought a hand over the interested area, lifting it only to find it wet with blood. There wasn't much of it, but I immediately remembered of the werewolf that for an istant had landed on my back.

With a grimace, I took off my patchy overcoat, woolen sweater and shirt, shivering briefly in the cold air of December until I stoked the flames in the firepit, and I blindly dripped what was left of my concociton on my back.

Apparently, cursed wounds didn't translate to cursed scratches in clothes, because I was able to repair them easily enough, even if I suspected they would remain frailer than what they were before.

Now what? I asked myself. I had no idea whatsoever about how the government treated random werewolves beyond a general suspect born of my metaknowledge, but even then, was I willing to just drop the recently cursed muggles to their own devices in the middle of ht ehalf conquered France in WWII? Was I going to simply pop them back to the attacked rural village and then forget about it?

Sitting on a tree stump near the firepit, surrounded by the slowly quieting muggles, I didn't even stop to be overjoyed by my successfully improvised potion, even if I was... relieved, that I had managed to save those two from being mauled completely, there was still the rather big problem of what to do now.

At the very least, I'd need to explain their condition, and I could only hope that they spoke English, because I sure as hell didn't speak French. Then I would need to set them up in living conditions where they couldn't by mistake maul an innocent. All of that considering that the world was at war and that we were at the end of December. Just to be sure, I'd have to sneak out of Hogwarts during the rest of the year, if only to check up on them after the full moon.

Since I was already taking on myself a werewolf sized headache, I might as well research their conditions and try to come up with Wolfsbane, if not an outright cure. If nobody ever managed it though, I suspected that I would meet failure on that front.

Without even realizing it, it came the dawn, and I made yet another decision.

These will be fucking tyring months.


17th of May 1942

Albus moved quickly up a ramp of stairs and across the corridors, his long strides carrying him with ease across the known, if ever-changing, layouts of the castle, that he could feel in his own bones. And as he moved, he thought.

The world had always appeared in precise lines to his mind. Since he had memory, events, people and magic moved in a majestic and elegant dance that was reasonable and accurate, thusly relatively easy to predict.

It was even easier now that he was teaching at Hogwarts, its microcosm easy to predict: in September, teachers wouldn't be yet exasperated with their charges, while the students would be trying to find a rythm. By november there would already be heads looking forwards to the Winter Hols, while January was characterized by a sharp increase in the partecipation during lessons, which would stabilize only to be balanced by a furious study in sight of the end of year examinations, condition that was only exasperated for O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students.

Albus smiled faintly at the empty corridoors, his eyes roaming through the windows over the school's Grounds, brimming with students that chose to study under the sun, trying to bleed off the tension with some easy games and casual use of magic.

Actions were easy to foretell, easy to prepare for, motivations, on the other hand, were not. He sighed while he walked the long corridors of Hogwarts, the dying sun of the afternoon slashing long cuts of warm light on the otherwise cold stone. Be it winter or summer, some areas of the castle proved themselves singularly stubborn about following the reasonable temperatures of the environment.

Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore had been a precocious child, a brilliant student, a bright scholar, a great professor, and generally speaking, a wizard that the world could scarcely believe existed, given his eclectic mind and the excellence that tended to follow any given direction that his curiosity offered him.

Big dreams, big head. The genius reproached himslef with the distracted habit that he had enforced every day on himself since the death of his sister. Never again would he allow himself to fall to the temptation of power, never again would he allow himself to try and lead a movement to better the world, given the extraordinarly disastrous consequences of his last and thankfully only attempt.

Truly, falibility wasn't something he had ever considered before Ariana's demise. It wasn't like failure ever happened to him. Oh, sure, there had been difficulties, even pitfalls, in his studies and projects, but those had merely been the interesting aspects that only stoked his curiosity more and more. The same curiosity that brought him to look around for the Hallows, that brought him to join hands with Gellert for the first time, that pushed him and raised his ambition so much that he actually managed to study both under and as an equal of Flamel himself, eventually discovering how to coerce dragon's blood in many uses beyond the ones generally accepted.

Unbound curiosity and foolish pride, how ill had they served him.

Oh, how he despised his boundless mind. Wouldn't it have been better for everyone, if he had been just another Dumbledore? Surely, it would have been better for Ariana.

The powerful wizard sighed as he crossed the corridors of Hogwarts, smiling gently at the recently returned students that roamed the castle, his quiet turmoil hidden deep under countless other thoughts that spanned from his lessons to his years since he realized that his quest for power could only bring ruin to all.

Given his undeniable skill, in more or less whatever field he choose, he had to consider carefully, even gifted as he was with an extraordinary brain, each and every course of action. Given the consequences of his actions back when he was just out of Hogwarts, he simply couldn't bring himself to lead people. There was just... no. He could not. Given the magnitude of his influence as a scholar, and the span of friendships he had somehow grown over the years, finding bright and good people that he could only admire, were he to take action, he would drag the whole of Magical Britain to war.

Naturally, he understood that war wasn't decided by individuals, but by great tactics and minimal deploy of forces, just enough to stop the enemy, but even so... he couldn't.

Oh, Gellert was a peerless wizard, there was no doubt that in battle he could take on dozens of mages without risking himself, but he was only a man, and the conflict that he had initiated, exacerbated by the recent explosion of WWII among the muggle population, spanned in all of the magical world. It was an ideologic battle that Gellert couldn't win until his movement took over enough members of the ICW.

Wizards were not prone to large scale conflicts. Oh, there were countless bloody feuds, among families and clans, and even frosty relationships between countries, but that was born by the natural tendence of wizardkind to hoard knowledge, not from outright malice. The Statute had worked for a long count of years, and challenging what amounted to the greatest legal conquest of wizardking wasn't something that could ever gain enough traction to move the masses through simple rethoric.

The Statute had been the last 'nail in the coffin', so to speak, that forced wizardkind to band together.

People were comfortable in their routine. A shift of the paradigm so vast and outlandish as the one proposed by Gellert could be something appreciated around a pint in a tavern, as a whimsical dream, but not something that wizards would normally risk their lives for. After all, hiding from the muggles was infinitely easier than actually attempting to take them over. What would be the point? Yeah, wizardkind could then use magic openly... but for the most part, they already did. Wizards and witches spent most of their time in magical settlements, following their careers and forging ahead their lives much like any muggle did.

Few outlandish personas researched out int the wild this or that, walking sections of the jungle that were cordoned off from muggles, or in hidden towers that granted both privacy from the no-mag, as they were called by the MACUSA, and safety from snoopy colleagues.

And yet, between Gellert's charisma and the natural propensity of wizardkind to follow powerful mages, his old companion's side had grown considerably in the past decade, partially feeding off the situation in the muggle world.

Albus sighed as he took yet another turn, his mind processing his thoughts faster than most could follow, idly wondering about the whys and the hows that had birthed the current climate worldwide.

Did he dare seek out a confrontation with his old companion? No, he couldn't, victory or failure would nevertheless bring War to Britain, and he simply couldn't bring himself to make that step. Could he nudge things so that many people would be saved? Yes, the young Scamander was a good example about how he could do so.

The Transfiguration Professor sighed to himself once more as he squarely refused the ever-so-tempting option of trying to take the lead. It would be for the good of many, but the Greater Good was something that he now saw as the poisoned snake it was. He couldn't. I must not.

Teaching was all he could do. It was a genuinely good thing, an innocent thing, one that allowed him to stay away from the so sickly sweet power that awaited him beyond Hogwart's walls. Teaching allowed him to hope. To have faith in the next generations, and to try and bring that hope and faith out in those rare souls that were receptive to it even in their teens.

Teaching also allowed him to spot other students like himself or Gellert had once been. Timely intervention could save countless people after all, and steering those particular students away from the pitfalls that had costed him Ariana, even if only by making sure they knew he was keeping an eye on them: that too was a good action. And one that allowed him to feel like he was doing his part to help without putting others at risk.

That line of self-reflection brought him to think of one Tom Riddle, and the confusing presence in his life of one Rubeus Hagrid. Far too scatterbrained and generally obsessed with magic, he was an element that brought a positive note, at least in Albus' opinion, into young Riddle's life.

The general carelessness about rules would have squarely placed him in Gryffindor, his tendence towards study into Ravenclaw. Yet, he ended up in Slytherin, and by his quickly becoming one of Horace favourites, despite his young age, it was abvious that he possessed a cunning mind, while his general temperament made him well suited to break off the walls that Tom Riddle had built around himself. Or at least to barrel through them ignoring Riddle's protests.

Truly, it was a good thing that Tom had been forced to accept the company of Rubeus, who was so singularly talented in potions that he managed to keep his interactions with Riddle engaging, so wild in his approach to any given rule that it kept the young parselmouth from growing bored. Oh, Albus was keeping an eye on Rubeus, that was for sure, it was his job as an educator, and while he would have preferred to see the younger Slytherin more inclined to the regular kind of friendships that Albus had observed during the years, he couldn't truly complain.

Mr. Hagrid was, with the exceptions he occasionally made for singularly talented other students, extremely withdrawn. There was no malice to it, no hidden ploy to come out on top, simply... the unusually tall wizard did not care. The disinterest was concerning in a way, but he had proved himself more than capable of interacting with his peers, even if he tended to be either curt or dismissive.

The singularly tall student had taken the habit of disappearing for hours on end during the weekends, suspiciously matching the sortings into Hogsmeade of Tom Riddle, but since Hagrid hadn't been seen into the village, there had been no reason to investigate, even if he tended to appear to class with heavy bags under his eyes more often than not.

Albus distractedly stroked his beard, letting his thoughts move lightning quick among his considerations. Horace had proven himself well suited to interacting with those two, if only because he offered the discussions about esoteric or advanced branches of magic that both Tom and Rubeus appeared so eager to learn. Since he came to Hogwarts, Riddle had completely abandoned his previous misbeaviours, likely judging it a wonderful exchange for the opportunity of learning magic.

Albus took yet another turn, nearing his office, when he came into hearing of one of his favourite students: "... hink you had to be here."

"Why wouldn't we?" another voice, a male's, laughed as an answer: "Your research is sound! I want to assist so we can celebrate properly!"

"Indeed." a third voice added, making Albus' step falter minutely.

It would happen to anyone, if those that were occupying his most recent thougts were suddenly in eavesdropping range.

"Well..." Miss. McGonagall's voice faltered in the empty corridor that led to Albus' office, "... thank you."

"And he also wants to see if his theory is sound, using you as a Trojan Horse to ask his questions." Riddle's tone was amused, if controlled.

"I'm just curious to see if my method could work better!"

"And you couldn't ask Professor Slughorn?" Miss. McGonagall's voice had turned curt at the hasty defence of Mr. Hagrid, who seemed unconcerned about the dangers of annoying a witch.

Especially one as talented as young Minerva. Albus felt his lips twitch as he imagined the upset face of his student.

With that thought in mind, the Head of Gryffindor House blinked in surprise at the exchange he just heard, and once his eyes landed on the three he had been hearing, he almost stopped walking completely.

Waiting on a wooden bench right in front of his office's door, was the unreasonably tall form of Mr. Hagrid, his Slytherin tie loosened and his white shirt sleeves rolled up just shy of his elbows, showing the slightly tanned colour of his skin.

Tom Riddle was standing with his full uniform by the windows, his sharp features kissed by the sun even as he kept himself partially turned towards Minerva, the third and last member of the small group.

Miss McGonagall, very much like Tom, was the image of propriety, wearing even her witch's hat while she stood right besides Albus' office.

As soon as Albus' eyes landed on her, she noticed him, and immediatey straightened herself, minutely checking for non-existent imperfections in her attire before smiling primly at the Transfiguration Professor.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir!"

"Good afternoon."

"...'fessor..."

The trio of mismatched greetings came in a chorus composed of an eager voice, a carefully respectful second, and a genuinely amicable, if deeper third.

"Well, good afternoon." the Transfiguration Professor strode forward with raised eyebrows, "What might you be doing here in this sunny day, hm?"

"Well..." Miss. McGonagall took a small step forward, her eyes meeting briefly the two Slytherin students before returning to the tall profesor's form, "if it's not a problem, and if you have time..."

"She's ready to become an animagus." Hagrid's voice cut in, stopping her from going forward, "And it would be better to have a master on the craft on hand before taking the plunge, so to speak."

"Rubeus!" Minerva hissed in his direction while Riddle seemed to be smothering a grin under the palm of his own hand.

"What?" Hagrid shrugged while rolling his eyes: "You were going to take hours to ask, and since you want to respect the law, might as well do it quickly."

"She was being respectful and polite." Riddle earned himself a flat gaze from the unusually tall Slytherin, which seemed to say 'your point?'.

Albus chuckeld at the dynamic, it was an endearing exchange, and one that did wonders for the grim turn that his thoughts had taken: "Is it true? You've researched how to become an Animagus? It's extremely complex, even more so considering your age, Miss. McGonagall."

The witch, still galring daggers at her tallest companion, simply offered to Albus a thick roll of parchment and a potion vial, one that had been painted black as to hide the contents from the inquiring eyes outside: "My research and the potion I've brewed."

Albus carefully took both before gesturing to his office: "Well, I'll ask you a few things and we'll test the potion, if all is in order, I don't see why I shouldn't be able to make time to assist you in this fantastic endeavour."

The four mages made their way into the office rather quickly, and Albus twitched his wand without really thinking about it, conjuring a trio of comfortable armchairs in front of his desk, on which he delicatedly placed the potion he had been given.

Once they were all seated, the Transfiguration Professor unrolled the parchment containing his student's research, his blue eyes quickly scanning the document, finding it rather well done, if only from a presentation's Point of View. "Since the secondary components of the potions are mostly to keep the mixture from poisoning you, and to tie together the Changing Principles, I'd say we focus on the main ingredients, and once I'm satisfied you know what you're walking into, we'll check the potion itself." the teacher spoke idly, his eyes darting on his three students before returning to the parchment in his hands.

"Well, the chrysalis of a Death's-Head Hawk Moth's purpose is rather straightforward..."

"Yes, professor!" Miss. McGonagall smiled egerly, "The crysalis is the centre of the potion, it symbolizes metamorphosys, and the..."

Albus nodded minutely as she explained her understanding of the process, of how the times of this particular breed of Moth were ideal to symbolize Change, given their strict relationship with the moon.

The extraordinary professor felt his lips peel back in a smile when he was told that to keep a Mandrake Leaf in the mouth for a month, Mr. Hagrid had suggested a sticking charm to the underside of Minerva's tongue: it was a good thing that the Gryffindor witch had the sense of doing the charm herself, another's will interacting witha piece of the potion would have had disastrous consequences.

"For the dew taken from a plant untouched by human hand, I avoided keeping the plant under a glass bell, because the 'never touched by human' actually is related to the Meaning of Pure Wilderness, and I thought that while the letter of the procedure would have been followed, the spirit of it would have been completely shredded." Miss. McGonagall explained, with her two Slytherin friend inching minutely forward on their seats.

"It was indeed the correct choice, Miss. McGonagall." Albus praised her, not bothering with witholding a chuckle when Rubeus turned an expecting hand towards young Tom, who pursed his lips in distaste, only to place a Black King chesspiece into the large hand of the younger Slytherin.

"Oh?" the Transfiguration Professor mused, "I fear that your procedure has been the reason for a betting spree."

"Ugh, don't I know it." the Gryffindor wich sighed, briefly pinching the base of her nose, only to quickly return to her explanation of the process. She eagerly explained how the Crystal Phial that contained the potion had never been exposed to light in order to keep the assimilating process Hidden, because the exact nature of the change had to happen away from the eyes of man.

"I did the necessary spell every dusk and every dawn, to armonize myself with the potion while exploiting the nature of the change from Night to Day and from Day to night." Minerva explained, her eyes pointing straight in front of herself, as if she was actually reading her own research, "They're moments of transition after all."

Once Albus was satisfied that indeed the young witch understood every part of the process, and thusly was perfectly aware of the inherent risks, he nodded thoughtfully, his awareness gently spreading over the balck vial on his desk, his touch far too passive and light to interact in any way with the potion. "And why must the potion be taken during a Lightning Storm?" he finally asked.

"It ties together the whole process." Minerva nodded to herself, likely expecting the question: "The storm is Wild, and yet controlled, since the only expression of nature happens through Lightning, which is extremely focused power. And it is also chaotic, with the thunders and winds and whatnot. So it has a dual expression of itself, exactly how the Animagus is attempting to have. Controlled and Chaotic, Human and Animal."

Albus was about to ease Minerva's worry by confirming that he would help her with the last part of the process, when Rubeus cautiously raised his hand: "Could the same be achieved by using the eye of a cyclone?"

"And what would be the uncontrolled part of the cyclone?" Albus asked with a raised eyebrow, "Only the edges of the wind funnel. It is true that the eye of the cyclone is absolutely calm, and likely representing order in your mind, but the cyclone itself is a circle, something that doesn't lack a well defined shape."

At the frown on the unreasonably tall Slytherin student, Albus added: "Do not mistake chaos for violence, Mr. Hagrid."

"So even a hurrcane wouldn't work."

"Indeed it would not." Albus nodded, a faint smile blossoming on his lips as he saw Riddle extend his hand towards Rubeus, who returned the Black King.

"Don't be smug, Tom." Hagrid grumbled as he haded back the chesspiece.

"And portkeying to a location too far from where the ingredients had been taken would be disarmonious with the rest of the potion, likely ruining the whole process." Minerva added her two cents in, eager to return to the main purpose of the meeting.

"A very correct assumption, Miss. McGonagall," Albus nodded with a wider smile appearing on his lips: "I don't see any reason to stop you from going forward in this venture: luckily, I have a friend on the isle of Mann who's been busy in the last years with the study of the weather, and there will be a lightning storm a few nights from now, I'd be very honoured by the chance of being your escort."

While Rubeus hollered in joy, Tom smiled faintly at the success of the witch, and Minerva eagerly thanked her head of House, whose mind was overjoyed by the interaction among the three students in front of him.

Mhhh, maybe I'll become an animagus myself. Albus considered distractedly, his exceptional mind going over both the discussion he just had, and the notes he had perused while he questioned Miss. McGonagall about her understanding of the process. He had never seen the usefulness of the process himself, having many better ways to hide in plain sight when it was necessary, but seeing the overjoyed faces of his three students made him reconsider, for a brief moment, the possibility. He had never bothered because it was a process of doubtful usefulness, all the while being very time consuming.

Then his mind returned to a particular section of the meeting: '...since you want to respect the law...'. The blue eyes of the Transfiguration Professor turned briefly over the large form of Rubeus Hagrid, carefully reconsidering what he knew of the young man. He didn't seem malicious, not at all, simply... unconcerned by the law. And if on one hand it was a good thing that the young Slytherin managed to break through Tom's shell, on the other there was the unavoidable risk that they would both go gallivanting, uncaring of the limitations ut in place by the governmants.

Oh, Albus agreed that many laws were too restrictive for wizards of a certain calibre, but many others were necessary for the safety of everyone. How will they know which laws to ignore and which to follow?


AN

First part (Hagrid POV):

I don't get why people are against Hagrid helping someone only because he could. I mean, he states in the very first chapter that he wants to change the world for the better, and the only things he has done besides going with the flow are sacrificing his old man (pragmatic, if not evil), messing with Tom and Minerva mostly for self gain, and endearing himself to Slughorn.

That is a standard sequence for someone looking for power, which isn't a bad thing onto itself, but power for the sake of power sounds a lot like a Dark Lord's bullshittery.

He is in Slytherin, but it doesn't mean that he's an asshole, or that he has to take Tom's role, or Grindelwald's. He's a guy trying his best, and when it is about magic, his best is very good, on the human side... eh, this may very well be the first decent thing he has done yet.

Obviously he is going to figure out a way to make use of the two werewolves (or to speak in a more politically correct manner: he will find out a use from his relationship with the two), but that doesn't mean random ass torture to extract their souls. Like everyone, the muggles want to live their life, stuff that they cannot do as werewolves in the French countryside during WWII.

So, he did something undoubtedly good. For the first time since declaring to himself the wish to change the world for the better. Balancing his karma? Following his gut instead of cool logic that dictated that he simply fled? Maybe. But I'm trying for a character that isn't absolutely robotic here, cut me some slack.

I've used this chapter to wrap up the second year, dropping in a POV that should help shining some light on how the world is slowly starting to react to Hagrid. Opinions?

Dumbledore part:

I finally dropped in some characterization for Dumbledore, but as I've said, there is some difficulty with integrating Fantastical Beasts and Where to Find Them with actual canon events that were reported in the Harry Potter series.

The first movie, I could somehow accept, there are next to 0 references to the actual timeline, so it could sit snugly in whichever period of my choice.

However, in the second movie, Grindelwald somewhat rallies wizardkind by showing off a prophecy of Hiroshima and Nagasaki' bombings, and Kowalski (the muggle) says: "Not another war." like WWII hasn't started yet.

Then there is McGonagall, who is already teaching at the time (it really doesn't work, because we know for sure that Grindelwald was defeated in 1945, and that Tom was at school as I've already explained).

Then there is the whole section of the movies dedicated to this Obscurial (random ass kid that somehow is a Dumbledore), a phoenix pulled out of nowhere, Nagini (what the fuck), and a blood pact. Oh, yeah, they place Dumbledore to teach Defence, and the Ministry of Magic, which I would assume would do its best to avoid confrontations, given its insular nature, somehow can legally place magical shackles on Dumbledore (I'm reminding to everyone that at the time Dumbles was simply an extraordinary scholar, there wasn't any reason for the clout of extralegal power that is implied by the second movie).

Simply put: the second movie is a clusterfuck.

I may take pieces from it, mostly passing off-screen those events, so that we can avoid breaking dreams and expectations.

Anyway, besides the rather large parentesis about my choice regarding the material to use for the fiction, how did Dumbledore appear? Did it work? He's a supergenius which feels guilty, and he's used to fast yet long spirals of thought.


How did it go? Opinions?