Breakfast was a bit subdued, Albus noted for the umpteenth time today. He
surveyed the Great Hall, noting that without the Weasley twins causing
trouble, that meals were mild, and unpleasantly Chaos free.
Life had become boring, he reflected, ever since Voldmort was killed all those years ago at Godric's Hollow. It was too terrible that the cost of his fall was the death of an infant, the baby Potter. He looked to his left, watching Professor Potter pick at his food. Just the same as he did every day. Just by looking at him you wouldn't be able to tell that he was the one who had taken enough. Voldemort killed his son, and James responded with the killing curse in kind.
Albus swivled his head across to the Ravenclaw table, looking for the tuft of unruly red hair that marked the Potter's only surviving child, Mina. He sighed to himself, mentally kicking himself for having thoughts that it was 'boring'. 'The world is at peace. Everything is as it should be.' He would tell himself, but the mischief lover in him, which was always fulfilled while the red-haired bandits were here, and the Marauders years ago, was aching for something. anything to happen.
A faint red glow began to shine from the middle of the Hall. Albus looked to it, as did a few others, but no one else seemed to notice yet. The glow began increasing, becoming exponentially brighter with each moment. A sound, he wasn't sure what, began to hum faintly at first, but becoming louder and louder, until every eye in the Great Hall was focused, unmoving, unblinking at the source of the sound, the red light.
Albus soon recognized the sound as screaming, and moved down to the floor from the teachers table with his wand drawn, wondering what it could be.
He shielded his eyes as the glare became to bright and the sound to intense to stand it, and then all light and sound was just... gone.
He looked where the glare was, and there was a boy with dark black hair on his hands and knees, panting deep ragged breaths with his chin tucked down against his chest. A faint red aura was rising up from him, as flames would. Albus began to say something when the boy began screaming again. It looked like he was pulsing. In time with a heartbeat, he noted abstractly. The thing is, he never got as small as he was before with each pulse. The boy grew, his legs and arms becoming longer and thick with muscle, his torso filling out, his hair growing longer until it almost reached the floor. The screaming, which began at about a mid-alto range, had deepened into a low baritone. There was a pause in his screaming, and a sickening 'crack' and two halves of a pair of spectacles clattered to the floor between his oustretched hands. A series of tears were heard, and his robes began to tear apart at the seams, unable to contain his newfound girth.
Albus moved quickly, conjuring a blanket and draping it across him before all remnants of his clothing were torn to shreds. The aura faded away, and the boy. no, man now, took deep restorative breaths, never once moving from his position on the floor.
The headmaster, at a loss for words for the first time in his life, could only stare slack-jawed as the figure beneath the blanket raised his head to look at him, uttering three words that confused him even further.
"Am I dead?" he rumbled.
Life had become boring, he reflected, ever since Voldmort was killed all those years ago at Godric's Hollow. It was too terrible that the cost of his fall was the death of an infant, the baby Potter. He looked to his left, watching Professor Potter pick at his food. Just the same as he did every day. Just by looking at him you wouldn't be able to tell that he was the one who had taken enough. Voldemort killed his son, and James responded with the killing curse in kind.
Albus swivled his head across to the Ravenclaw table, looking for the tuft of unruly red hair that marked the Potter's only surviving child, Mina. He sighed to himself, mentally kicking himself for having thoughts that it was 'boring'. 'The world is at peace. Everything is as it should be.' He would tell himself, but the mischief lover in him, which was always fulfilled while the red-haired bandits were here, and the Marauders years ago, was aching for something. anything to happen.
A faint red glow began to shine from the middle of the Hall. Albus looked to it, as did a few others, but no one else seemed to notice yet. The glow began increasing, becoming exponentially brighter with each moment. A sound, he wasn't sure what, began to hum faintly at first, but becoming louder and louder, until every eye in the Great Hall was focused, unmoving, unblinking at the source of the sound, the red light.
Albus soon recognized the sound as screaming, and moved down to the floor from the teachers table with his wand drawn, wondering what it could be.
He shielded his eyes as the glare became to bright and the sound to intense to stand it, and then all light and sound was just... gone.
He looked where the glare was, and there was a boy with dark black hair on his hands and knees, panting deep ragged breaths with his chin tucked down against his chest. A faint red aura was rising up from him, as flames would. Albus began to say something when the boy began screaming again. It looked like he was pulsing. In time with a heartbeat, he noted abstractly. The thing is, he never got as small as he was before with each pulse. The boy grew, his legs and arms becoming longer and thick with muscle, his torso filling out, his hair growing longer until it almost reached the floor. The screaming, which began at about a mid-alto range, had deepened into a low baritone. There was a pause in his screaming, and a sickening 'crack' and two halves of a pair of spectacles clattered to the floor between his oustretched hands. A series of tears were heard, and his robes began to tear apart at the seams, unable to contain his newfound girth.
Albus moved quickly, conjuring a blanket and draping it across him before all remnants of his clothing were torn to shreds. The aura faded away, and the boy. no, man now, took deep restorative breaths, never once moving from his position on the floor.
The headmaster, at a loss for words for the first time in his life, could only stare slack-jawed as the figure beneath the blanket raised his head to look at him, uttering three words that confused him even further.
"Am I dead?" he rumbled.
