A/N:
Ten years ago, I started writing a story in which Seto Kaiba was a teacher at Hogwarts. I was thirteen years old.
In that time, I have rewritten it twice, graduated High School, and I am on my final semester to become a teacher myself, on my final test to get a license. By the time this is over, I may be ten years into teaching myself. Who knows?
As for a need to not play coy, I know that Rowling has revealed herself to be a rather disgusting person, and I understand if you do not want to engage with this as a matter of moral obligation. I am making no excuses for her. For me, however, this is less an act of fandom, and more an act of catharsis—to exercise this story in my head that has been haunting me as my first story I have shared with the world. I am making no money from this, and I am giving no money to Rowling, nor will I ever promote her works beyond using her characters and setting as a playground for my own themes and ideals. Take solace in the fact that I am never supporting her, nor her work ever again—only my own lived experiences.
It will be updated slowly, and planned meticulously, as my piece of work that I have come back to a decade later. I have also shifted the focus—rather, it will be focused on the adults, with the children discovering their works in the process, as I am indeed no longer a child the way I used to be. (Perhaps the issue with Harry Potter teachers is that they never had proper training. A world of emergency certified teachers...terrifying.)
Without further preamble, this is my first fanfiction. Shadows, Wizardry, and Pink Toads.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was quite used to magic, and the rules of magic. Some things, no matter how sacred, could not be broken. The laws of time were final, the laws of death were just as final. And the laws of the human soul were so absolute and final that they were considered magic completely beyond forbiddance, magic that would pervert the very laws of man itself.
As a supreme Warlock of Witch and Wizardry, as Headmaster of Hogwarts and all that came with the magic of such a world, Albus Dumbledore had spent a good portion of his life dedicated to the study of magic, and the study of the laws that governed the known universe. Indeed, while magic would seem to muggles to be the study of the completely impossible, the thaumaturgical arts were no less concrete than all the laws of science that muggles held to dearly.
Perhaps it was arrogance of mage society-no, certainly it was the arrogance of mage society-that held them to such higher standards over muggles, and their science. To hone and develop magecraft was. Indeed-the true magic of the world lay not in the spells that any wizard or witch could preform, but in the mystical arts that could make miracles happen.
Miracles were the one magic that Albus Dumbledore could never understand.
And so it came to pass that Albus Dumbledore, in his study of the true magics of the world-the craft that could never be attained, even if given infinite time and resources by all the mages and scientists of the world-that Dumbledore delved too deeply into the evil that all men could become if truly left unrestricted, and he found himself giving up and backing away, once he saw the darkness that humanity could attain if not for the acceptance that some things-if not any miracles-should be completely left alone.
Nobody could truly warp reality, grant a wish, or raise the dead. Nobody could truly force love upon another person, nobody could truly turn back time and travel faster than the speed of light. Nobody could break the conventions of science, and it was an arrogant fool's wish to try.
It was, perhaps, fate that would lead a man like Albus Dumbledore to encounter and hire a man like Seto Kaiba. Maybe it was fate that decided to teach Dumbledore that dreams should not so easily be abandoned, or to teach a man like Dumbledore that some men were truly worthy of such a task, even if it was not the case for himself. Or maybe it was just a cruel irony that laughed at him in this way.
Nevertheless, things still tended to surprise him. Whether it be the braveness of man in the face of death-a more abstract concept, really-or something that was more concrete, such as the mysteries of the deepest magics.
The Age of the Gods, a thing that ended so long ago, was one filled with the deepest magic. It was an ache among wizards to return to such a time, an age filled with wizards who could reach the true miracles of the gods-magic from before the time of science. Deep, ancient magic-the kind that many encountered in a tombkeeper's job-was something that Albus Dumbledore had heard of before, but not that something that he was familiar with.
Which found Albus Dumbledore, in a middle of an ancient desert, sitting at an old, wooden table across from a young man.
The man sitting across from him could not have been much older than his early twenties, with dark skin and long hair that reached somewhere around his mid-back. Wearing some kind of colorful robe with gold and blue embroidery, and a veil over his hair, he seemed to be writing something in papyrus and ink, not looking at Dumbledore as he did so.
"Well, I must say. I have never been a guest in a house like this before."
The words were full of good humor, something that Dumbledore was quite adept at, blue eyes twinkling from behind the half-moon glasses as the other man continued to write. He seemed to be utterly engrossed in his work for a few more minutes, before he glanced back up, and Dumbledore got a good look at his face.
It was quite a grave one-unusual, for a man his age-and his eyes were deep and dark, speaking of an age far greater than the young face that he showed. Folding his hands in front of his face, the young man leaned forward, so that he could properly get another look at Dumbledore himself-and the Supreme Warlock got the impression that the young man was regarding him with just as much seriousness that Dumbledore regarded him.
"Introduce yourself. You are in company much higher than yourself."
Dumbledore chuckled, removing his hat and holding it in his hands-a sign of politeness, even if he was quite sure that the other man would not understand, considering his style of dress, and the style of the home around them. Something made of sandstone and marble, something stacked high with papyrus and reeds-it gave him the impression that he had stepped back into the realm of the ancients, far before he had ever been in this world.
"I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. I am a recipient of the Order of Merlin, First Class, and held the title of Grand Sorcerer. I am quite serious about being the most skilled wizard in the world these days-or at least the most skilled wizard in all of Europe in these modern times."
The corner of the other man's mouth tilted upwards, and he rested his chin on his interlocked fingers.
"Very well, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I believe some sort of arrangement can be made for the both of us-a mutually-beneficial arrangement."
"A mutually beneficial arrangement?"
"Indeed."
He removed another scroll from his pile, flicking his wrist to do so. The scroll floated to him, the runes lifting off the surface to enwrap themselves around the man. He lifted a brush to continue his work.
"I am Mahaad, the Keeper of the Valley of the Kings, the High Magician of Egypt, the Priest of the House of Life. I am the right hand of Pharaoh Atem, son of Akhenaden, and leader of the eighteenth dynasty of Kemet, the last of the eighteenth dynasty. I am the most powerful wizard to ever live in history, gifted with true magic to rule over life and death, and exist in physical form long after death by manifesting my soul on this world. I am one of the followers of Set, of the domain of the dead, and my land has been breached by your people-the people of Europe."
A kind of chill overtook Albus at those words-not just at the titles and epithets, but at the fact that he knew for a fact that the words were true. His mind immediately flashed to muggle museums, to the curse-breaking of the Weasley family, and of the fact that he was not the first to try and beat death itself-and he knew that he would not be the last.
"If such a thing is true, then why call me here? Could you not simply return to the world yourself, and take whatever it is that has been taken from you?"
"Albus Dumbledore, you know as well as I do that some things are sacred, and that even users of miraculous power such as myself are not able to completely break those rules. As much as I would like to cross the sands of space and time to take what has been taken from me, I am still beholden to those rules. And that is why I have come to you."
"To me? And what is this mutual benefit that you think I would seek from you?"
"Indeed. What I offer is the elimination of the intruder from the land of the dead onto your world, and a cleansing of a pure soul that has been taken by evil. I am a purifier of evil magic, and I clean it from this place. You know as well as I do that evil has latched onto innocence, and that it must be cleansed before the dead can return to where they need to rest."
Albus Dumbledore, if he felt any kind of shock from the offer given to him, did not react. Instead, he leaned forward, regarding Mahaad with a manner in such a way that the other had given him before.
"And you would have me believe that you are doing this purely out of a sense of duty, spirit? That there is nothing you personally gain from making a kind of deal with me?"
"Of course not. What I seek is the return of my King to the land of the living. He is pure of heart, and kind in soul. With you and I working together, the Gate of the Afterlife will be returned to its resting place in Egypt-you and I both know of the magicians who have stolen it from my tombkeepers, and have placed it in your government's chambers. With it returned to me, your Tom Riddle will be defeated, and my King may live as a normal man."
"And how do you plan to accomplish that?" Albus Dumbledore's brows rose. "Should I believe you about your King? And how would you have me plan to return your gate home?"
"I will be working with you, as a History of Magic teacher." Mahaad's lips curled. "And I have someone who will be happy to work with you on the mortal side of things, to take down your Tom Riddle, and to help me return my King to this plane. Someone who is also responsible to the Gate of the Dead being opened, and who has the duty, alongside me, to shut it. He will be useful in dealing with the mortal aspects of things. Whence I have returned to you as a spirit, you will meet him."
"And who is that?"
Seto Kaiba was not amused.
Since his excursion to the afterlife-which had taken about six months to recover from, and even longer for his younger brother to recover from the shock of him dying from, before he'd been revived-he had spent a majority of his time working on his company, being convinced by Mokuba that he needed to take time away from his Dimensional Gate to spend time on his stocks and his family more than his research.
Which, he supposed, was probably healthier. If only for Mokuba's sake.
And yet-and yet, things like this always seemed to happen to him.
"You are aware of the fact that I know literally nothing about wizardry, aren't you? And that I can't teach for shit?"
"And yet, you are happy to start investing in schooling students. Teaching is not much different from that."
The man's eyes twinkled in a way that made Seto Kaiba want to call security, as he was quite certain of the fact that Pegasus's eye twinkled in the same way before he had taken Seto and thrown him in a cellar.
"No, it really isn't. What the hell do you want from me, since I know it's not this shit. I have a company to run."
The wizard's mouth curled further, if possible, and Seto wanted to strangle him right then and there. And stomp on him, for added measure.
This man-wizard, if he was to be believed-had shown up, right in the middle of Seto Kaiba's office, taking a seat as if he'd own the place. He'd handed over a letter, explained that he was a wizard, and, right on the spot, offered Seto a teaching job.
Seto didn't even know how to teach. He was barely graduated himself.
Dumbledore leaned forward in his seat.
"I need you close to my students, so that you can protect them from someone who has also cheated death, and someone who has the power to keep doing it. When that is out of the way, and his power has been reclaimed, you are going to be allowed to use a little bit of it yourself to reach your goal of reviving the Pharaoh for good."
Seto's brows rose, and he glanced toward's Mokuba's room, where the other one slept.
He pulled up a seat.
"I'm listening."
A/N:
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