I don't own anything to do with Harry Potter
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
The silence in the room was almost deafening. Albus sat at his desk in stunned silence. The only other occupant of the room was the phoenix sleeping on its perch in the far corner by the window. Fawkes seemed content to leave Albus to his silent thoughts tonight. He couldn't understand where things had gone wrong. Albus was sure everything was going as hoped, that the boy would be placed into Gryffindor where he would find friends in the Weasley and Longbottom boys. Young Harry would need friends and support for the long road ahead of him, the support he would most assuredly NOT find in the house of Salazar.
But what could he do now? It was well beyond his capabilities to have the boy removed because he "felt it wouldn't be best". That abominable hat. Albus's eyes found the flopped over thing on the shelf and wondered why it had ruined his plans so. Not to mention the nightmare Severus was sure to pose for him. He was sure he would need to do something about the man before years end to curb his irrational hatred. Although perhaps the boy being so far from his Gryffindor heritage would dissuade Severus from his normal temperament.
Looking down he allowed his eyes to rest upon the book on his desk. It wasn't an overly large or imposing tome, but one he had retrieved from his ancestral home earlier that day. Honestly, it was rather anticlimactic for Albus. He so loved a good show, but this, he'd just walked in and opened the safe and took it. He supposed it was better this way. The book was dark indigo, almost purple, and covered in small star-shaped sigils. The book in front of him was probably worth more than some of the smaller family's might be worth. To Albus, it meant more to him than anything else he owned or could own. It was the Dumbledore family grimoire. Of course, he had read it years ago, but perhaps he had missed something. Albus had always hesitated to retrieve it from its resting place. Not because of what it was, but what it signified to him. He and Aberforth were the last of their name. He was sure neither of them would be having children to pass their legacy on to either, not that he particularly cared for his legacy to live on, but he knew that he was condemning his family name to fade into antiquity.
Grimoire were sacred things in the wizarding world. Jealously guarded and coveted by those that didn't have them. Magic cultivated by the families and passed down from generation to generation, each generation adding to the tome. Not just spells, but magical theory, techniques, potion recipes, alchemical knowledge, and even prophecy were all things to be found within grimoires. It was what, he believed, played such an instrumental part in making him the world-renowned wizard that he was. More than that it was also the last thing he had of his father. When Percival Dumbledore was taken to Azkaban it had almost broken Albus. He had idolized his father. Not a particularly famous, powerful, or note-worthy wizard, but he was a great man who had taught him and Aberforth to see the finer nuances of magic that allowed him to ascend to the title of "The Great Albus Dumbledore".
Merlin how he hated that cursed name.
What was so great about him? Sure he had achieved much in his long years, but he lost so much. He had failed his brother. He had failed his sister. He had failed Gellert. He had failed James and Lily. He had failed Tom. Albus knew he had to change some of his plans. He would find a way to protect Harry. He couldn't fail again. Not with so much on the line. He would protect the child of destiny, and if need be, he would allow himself to regress to his old ways. It would seem that magical Britain was rapidly setting the stage for the future. If the stage was being set for a future conflict then Albus would do his part. He would take up the mantle of puppet master again, if only for the greater good. Albus did always love theatrics.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
Harry awoke the next morning the most well-rested he'd ever felt, in the softest bed he'd ever laid in. It was amazing what a difference a real bed made. Harry noticed he was the first one awake, and that Theodore Nott and Blaise Zambini were still sound asleep. Thankfully Malfoy and his stooges were in the other first-year dorm. Getting up and preparing for his morning shower Harry mulled over the events of the previous night. They had all been treated to a rather intense speech from their head of house. Told they would be ostracized from the rest of the school by virtue of being in the house of serpents, and that they must all stick together in the presence of the rest of the school. They could have their differences, and would be permitted to have their altercations in private, but were to be united in the school at all times.
That all seemed fine and dandy to Harry, he had no intention of causing any trouble or having any adventures at school. He just wanted to learn more magic and find a way to finally be his own person. Finishing his shower he dressed in a set of clean school robes and set off for the main hall. He was joined by Tracey as soon as he had entered the common room.
"Morning Harry!" Tracey chirped as she skipped over to him.
"Good morning Tracey, you seem happy today" Harry replied.
"Of course, it's our first day of classes today," she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"True, where's Daphne?"
"She went off to the owlery; she'll meet us at breakfast. Come on let's go before the ponce shows up" she giggled behind a hand while she spoke. As they ascended from the dungeons to the main hall they made small talk about what they were looking forward to this year and at Hogwarts. Tracey was excited to be able to give potions a go, stating that she loved to cook and they couldn't be that different. Harry wasn't sure about that but didn't speak up to dissuade her. Instead commenting that he was excited for charms and to learn more spells for improving their everyday life. They were stopped outside the doors to the main hall by a lofty voice behind them.
"Ah Mr. Potter, Ms. Davis, good morning to you both." Harry turned and found himself having to look up to see the tall wizard behind him. He was tall, with a white beard longer perhaps then Harry was tall. The most striking things about the headmaster were his deep blue robes with stars on them. Then there was the way that his eyes seemed to sparkle in the light.
"Good morning Headmaster" Harry spoke cordially, but curious as to why they had been stopped.
"Might I have a word with you Mr. Potter?" the headmaster asked gently. Harry knew it was not a question. Nodding to Tracey he stepped aside with the headmaster, curious as to what he could have possibly done to be singled out already.
"Calm yourself, Mr. Potter, I merely wish to express that no matter what any might say regarding your sorting that my office is always open to you and that I hope you will look past the altercation you had with the Weasley boy on the platform." Harry snapped his eyes up to meet the elder wizards. "Yes I know about that, and no you're not in trouble. I'll be speaking to Mr. Weasley as well." The old man must have been reading his face as he had answered the questions before he could even ask them. Then Harry thought of something else that bothered him.
"Sir, why would my sorting matter? And I don't assume your offer of an open door is given to every student sorted into Slytherin?" Harry watched the man intently. Hoping he would reveal something in his answer.
"Of course I do my child, and your sorting matters as much as everyone else's does to them and their families; but of course, you have the distinct disadvantage of being famous among the wizarding world and famous among your peers. The attention that while perhaps unwanted, is nonetheless present." The Headmaster finished in that same smooth kind voice. Harry wasn't sure he liked or believed his answer. "I'm not sure why my sorting or my life would be of any matter to anyone else, but thank you for your offer Headmaster. However, I have to assume the hat placed me where it did for a reason" Harry hoped he sounded sincere. He was far too tired of all this nonsense with being the-boy-who-lived.
"My child I wish only to help you. How about this, I'll share with you a secret for your first class. I was for a short while the transfiguration professor here, and do have a Mastery in the art as well. Now then, when you start with the matchstick and the needle, think smaller. We are after all Mr. Potter, just a collection of smaller parts. Have a good day Mr. Potter." And with those words, the headmaster strode away with a kind smile on his face. Harry was conflicted, he hadn't wanted the man's help, but he wasn't nearly arrogant enough to turn down advice from Albus Dumbledore of all people. So without much time to ponder the advice, or why the headmaster seemed to want him to patch things with the Weasley boy, or why his sorting should matter to the headmaster, Harry went inside to find Tracey and enjoy his breakfast.
After a better meal then Harry could ever remember eating before and explaining his brief encounter with "The Great Albus Dumbledore", He, Tracey, and Daphne set off for their first class. He had hoped Daphne would begin to warm up to him but was told by Tracey that this was her "warm" attitude. That kind of scared him honestly. Soon they were standing in front of the transfiguration classroom waiting to be let in. at exactly nine the door swung open to reveal the stern-faced witch from the sorting already waiting for them at the front of the room.
"Take your seats please children, hurry now," the woman said, not rudely but forcefully. They all got the impression she wouldn't tolerate any foolishness in her classroom.
After they were all seated and quiet she began her speech. "Transfiguration is the art of turning one thing into another. Be it the simple process of turning a matchstick into a needle, something you shall all attempt today, or as complex as transforming the facial features, turning yourself into a shark, or even turning a part of yourself to stone, metal, or glass. What you must all know from this point on is that transfiguration will be some of the most dangerous magic you shall all encounter in your time here at Hogwarts. There is danger in turning yourself or another into an owl, and not being able to return. Or transfiguring a stick into a snake, and allowing that snake to escape only to attack another student. Transfiguration will also be among the most used of your everyday spells, as conjuration is among the higher levels of transfiguration, but I'm sure you'll all agree invaluable. The hardest part of transfiguration will not be memorizing incantations, or learning wand movements, but rather within your own mind. Magic is intent. You must know what you want to change, and how you want it to change otherwise all the foolish wand-waving in the world won't make a difference. You'll find all magic is governed by this intent. If you wish it, magic can make it so." As she spoke the class hung on her every word. For most of them, this was their first formal introduction to how magic worked. This would be the foundation that would be built upon for the rest of their magical educations. "There is still much we do not know about magic, but we have also learned so much. For centuries wizardkind has studied and learned all we could about magic in the world around us. Still every day we learn more. All that knowledge, all that history, all those accomplishments, all of it started with a room like this and some students like you. You are the future of our society and I will expect all of you to do your very bests to learn in my class. Now we'll begin with the first lesson." After that she demonstrated the wand movement and incantation to turn the match stick they were each given into a needle.
Harry sat and looked down at the desk he was seated at thinking of the professor's words. Intent governed magic she had said. So was it as simple as wishing it would change? Harry doubted that very much. He had read ahead a little in the transfiguration book and had already read the section about this spell, but something still seemed to be missing from his understanding. Harry waved his wand and said the words and gave it his first attempt. The match stick wiggled a little but nothing changed. Then Harry remembered the words of the Headmaster "think smaller" he had said. But how much smaller? It was only a match stick after all. Was he meant to shrink the thing somehow? No professor McGonagall would have said something if that was the case. Smaller, what could he have meant by smaller? Looking around the room harry saw that no one had made any progress yet. Perhaps the best attempt yet had been made by one of the Ravenclaws who had turned half of the match stick a silver color.
Harry nearly jumped out of his seat at the explosion behind him, just two desks away. He looked back to see a smoking crater in Tracey's desk, and small pieces of wool flying away from her. As one hit him in the face he was suddenly struck by an idea. What if he didn't try to change the matchstick at all? What if he went smaller? What if instead of trying to change the entire matchstick from the outside in, he changed it from the inside out? Start with just parts of the matchstick, the elements themselves maybe? The wood first, the iron and sulfur all into metal, then made it into a sharp point perhaps. Harry took a long few moments to visualize what he wanted to happen. Trying to visualize the change, cell by cell into the desired shape and element. Harry felt a building pressure within himself as if his very being was being condensed, and then a sudden release of the pressure. Like a balloon popping. Looking down he was surprised to see a matchstick that was now nearly two-thirds of the way transfigured into a needle.
"Well, I never…. That might be perhaps the best first try I've ever seen Mr. Potter. I've seen perhaps only three students do as well. Five points to Slytherin! And another five perhaps if you can finish before class ends." Professor McGonagall exclaimed excitedly. It would only take Harry four more tries to get it right.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]
Gellert had always hated theatrics. He knew that it served a purpose, but it always seemed so unnecessary. For someone who devoted himself so fully to the pursuit of truth and knowledge, it grated his very being to be sitting in the audience of the theater. He knew that deception, shock and awe, and misdirection were all invaluable skill sets to have and he utilized them often enough, but he didn't enjoy it as a past time.
Gellert idly wondered if he should give up on the meeting and leave the rather pricey box seats he had been told would stand as his meeting place with his ever-elusive contact. He was sure it would surprise almost no one to learn that there were several shadow groups and organizations always moving in the shadows for some reason or another. Always trying to push some agenda or another; He hated it all. At least he had had the gall to be open and honest about his plans from the beginning and worked in the light. He hated that he had to use these underground syndicates at all but he was only one person after all.
He felt him before he saw or heard him. Gellert no longer consciously used magic to feel his surroundings; it was just a part of who he was. It was only thanks to this that he didn't react to the tendrils of ice he felt grip his spine; A creeping chill that seemed to claw its way out from within himself. Gellert looked away from the play happening on stage and towards the man seating himself in the box beside him. Neither spoke at first. Both seemed content to sit in silence. The man looked to be perhaps in his early thirties, with short curling wisps of black hair atop his head and the beginnings of stubble on his square chin. What unsettled him were the man's eyes and the way he carried himself. Eyes of molten gold stared at him, unblinking and all-seeing. It would not be the first time he would meet with this man, but he hoped it would be the last. He did not fear the thing across the table from him. No, he had killed worse monsters and lived, but he knew it would be troublesome to continue to involve himself with the man.
Deciding to break the silence first Gellert spoke "Hello Grigori, it's been some time.". Grigori smiled wider than any man should be able to exposing rows of yellowing and rotting teeth, and Gellert was once again reminded that the man across from him was no longer fully human. "Hello old friend! I have missed you! Always so much fun when you are around. So much excitement to be had for old Greg." The man seemed to be trying to speak everything in a single breath, with a thick Siberian accent. "So what can I do for you my friend! Of course help has its price, but you knew this yes?" Gellert did not miss the threat in his jovial tone.
"Of course old friend the piper shall have his due." Gellert knew he was making a very dangerous deal. Again. "Tell me, old friend, what can humble Greg do for you?" Grigori fixed him with those molten gold eyes of his, sharp as a hawk. It was time for business at last.
"I need to know what Albus Dumbledore is planning. I need to know about the coming storm." Gellert would not mince words here. He would have the information he needed to save the wizarding world. Grigori seemed to be considering his words very carefully. Minutes stretched on around the two but Gellert knew better than to interrupt the wizard before him if he wanted his answers.
"I can find out these things. I can show you these things. The cost is five" Grigori smiled his broken yellow teeth at him again.
"Five is too much, three will do" five would perhaps be too steep of a price even for such coveted information. Gellert waited only a moment while Grigori considered his words before he was rebuked. "I'm sorry old friend; five is his demand for this thing you ask of us".
Gellert felt cold fingers whisper across his spine again. He knew he had no choice. "Very well, tell Rokita I accept the terms". Grigori smiled at him, but this time he seemed almost sad "We know". As he spoke he pulled from within the inner pockets of his coat a small bowl and a small knife. Placing the bowl on the table before him and motioning for him to take the knife Gellert knew what was expected of him. He grabbed the knife and for the third time in his life initiated a ritual with a Russian wizard and the demon he shared his body with. He cut the stump of his right arm and let the blood flow into the bowl. He made very sure that he didn't spill any, and to clean the knife before returning it to Grigori. The Russian wizard looked down at the bowl for a moment as if in thought, before bringing it to his lips and drinking deeply of the blood in the bowl. Gellert took the moment to heal the bleeding stump that was his right arm again.
Grigori set the bowl down and looked up at Gellert. Gone were the molten gold, and in their place blood, red and black stared back at him. And then it spoke to him, gone was the accent, devoid of any emotion. "Hello, again Warlock. You are growing desperate in your old age. Why not accept me or another of my kind? You could live forever you know? Gain the years back you've squandered on petty deals." He could hear the mocking in the words of the demon, but he needed the knowledge.
"My mind and body are my own Rokita, and I do not fear death. It will eventually claim us all." Gellert spoke calmly. "Very well warlock. Look and see. You ask of the storm coming. I will show you." The voice of the demon rumbled. It bounced within his skull, deafening the sound of the theater below them.
Lifting his eyes back up to the demons Gellert felt the world around him crumble. He saw the world begin to spin past him. He saw a house and a boy under a staircase. He saw a train and a surge of magic a child couldn't control. He saw a stone and a mirror and the reflection of a snake. He saw then a man with no face standing in a book store. He saw the faceless man in a classroom. He saw a snake in a pipe slithering. He saw a child wielding a sword. He saw soulless wraiths prowling the ground. He saw a black dog following a bus. He saw a hippogriff chained to a post. He saw a shining silver stag. He saw a rat and a dog and a wolf, all fighting under the full moon. He saw a goblet and the raging inferno within it. He saw a graveyard surrounded by mist. And finally, he saw the shadow of death that loomed over the graveyard.
As fast as it started it was over and he was once again seated at the table in the upper box of a theater in modern magic Moscow. Staring back at him were the molten golden eyes of Grigori Rasputin. He felt the change within him. The withering drain of his life force being pulled from him. The weight on his shoulders grew heavier, and he knew he would not have the time he had hoped to accomplish his mission. Grigori stood and bowed to him. "Goodbye Gellert, I'm afraid this is the end of our friendship. We will not meet again. Rokita says he had hoped you would have considered his offer, and that you are wasting your talents. Auf Wiedersehen old friend." With that last goodbye, Gellert knew he spoke the truth, and that he would never again speak to the man who controlled Russia from its very shadows, and the demon who traded life for prophecy.
[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]