EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!
It's chapter two of Take Two!!
I honestly didn't expect to ever post this...
There have been varying reactions to this story—some people thought I should continue from Dumbledore's POV (well, -ish) and others thought I should jump around from one POV-ish to another POV-ish.
Personally, I like Dumbledore POV-ish the best, I think, and it's hard to write from POV-ishes that jump around from character to character. So, for now, at least, Take Two follows Dumbledore. However, in the future, I may or may not decide to put up ANOTHER version of the story, jumping around (I've already written the sorting and follow-up from Ron's POV-ish) so we'll see how that goes.
If you're particularly interested in a jumping POV-ish story, please let me know, because otherwise I probably won't bother...
I might start a new story instead—I've got an idea, but the plot is... ridiculously hard.
Nonetheless, FORGING REALITY is my MAIN story—any other updates are sporadic, as well as few and far between.
Hope you like it anyway!
Disclaimer: NOT MINE!! Maybe I should be more specific: Take Two is mine, Forging Reality is mine, the other version (whatever it's called and if and when it comes out) is mine, this plot is mine, my cookies are—you guessed it—mine. Harry Potter is not, nor is his fabulous world. You can have my homework, though, so long as I get it back in time—completed—and it's good enough to get A (preferably A+)!!
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Only through extreme, mind-bending strength of will did Professor Dumbledore refrain himself from skipping as he led the way down the corridors to the Great Hall.
It wasn't that he feared for his old bones sake—for they were quite up to the task, as proven the previous Thursday.
Nor was it public opinion that kept him bound—he had long since given up on hiding his eccentricities.
No, it was merely that if he skipped, he knew that he would sing, and if he sang, then he would focus on the words and emotion flowing through the music, rather than on the puzzle he was currently contemplating—which was the reason he wanted to skip in the first place.
He loved puzzles of any and every sort, and now that he had a new one to work on—the children trailing distractedly behind him—and the newest clue—whatever the Sorting Hat would reveal—tantalizingly close, he longed to allow the light and cheerful feeling to express itself in his walk.
He reigned himself in, however, and before too long they reached the Great Hall, where he left them.
"If you four would make yourselves comfortable," he said lightly, smiling, "I will go ahead and introduce you to the school. Do come in when I call your names, however, for it wouldn't do to leave you out here for too long."
When he'd received their assent, he turned sharply on his heal and allowed himself to grin madly before carefully schooling his face.
He opened the door and made his way to the front of the hall before addressing the crowd.
"Students and teachers," he called loudly, and a respectful silence quickly fell, "Staff and Ghosts and, of course, Poltergeist, may I have your attention, please."
He already had, of course, but he felt it polite to not exclude anyone. And, naturally, his persistence would help impress upon his audience the importance of listening to him, rather than worry over the newest plight in their social lives...
"This year, our beloved halls of Hogwarts will play host to four transfer seventh year students."
Immediately, hushed voices and whispers erupted, and he smiled lightly.
Oh, to be young and impatient...
"Indeed. It has been decades since precedent, but I feel it is time to open our halls once more. Our newest friends were previously homeschooled in the charming village of Worcester, but you shall have to ask them for specifics, if you so wish. And so please welcome: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Hermione Granger!"
Although Dumbledore prided himself on his subtlety, he knew he needn't have bothered. The students would ask the transfers about themselves regardless, and portraits do have ears...
He was getting ahead of himself, perhaps, but he had to take advantage of the few clues he had. And it wasn't like he pressed the portraits very often—only when he feared there was a breach in security. He didn't at the moment, but it was nonetheless comforting to know they would fill him in if they overheard anything suspicious.
The four transfer students entered the Great Hall just then, the same steely determination in each of their eyes. Curiously enough, only Miss Granger was seemed awed by the size and grandeur of the hall—the others ignored the impressive architecture and bewildering ceiling as if they had spent every day of their lives in here...
They followed Harry to the dais, and once they had—finally—reached it, Dumbledore, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice, called, "Harry Potter!"
He was cheating, and knew it. Through no stretch of the imagination could "Potter" come alphabetically before "Granger" or "Weasley," and he knew now that Miss Granger was the oldest of the four, Miss Weasley the youngest, so he didn't even have that excuse.
But the fact remained that Harry was the one who had most piqued his curiosity, and Dumbledore simply was not a patient man when faced with the newest pieces of a puzzle.
In any event, Harry now sat on the stool, with the patched and frayed Sorting Hat perched on his head, only the barest flickers of emotion flickering through his eyes.
There was a little bit of confusion, Dumbledore thought, but it might just as well have been apprehension—no, it was definitely confusion, and it was growing. Definitely not the normal reaction of a magic-raised child to have to a talking hat...
He shifted ever so slightly for a better view, careful not to turn his back to the students, and suddenly, Harry's face reddened. Inspecting his gaze more closely, Albus saw that he was looking out over the crowd of students as if only just realizing that they were there and he was the object of their attention.
Silly, really, as the students would likely find him as much an enigma as Dumbledore did... But then, Harry did not know that yet. And students rarely saw what they did not expect to see—again, silly.
The Hat remained silent, confirming Dumbledore's suspicion that Harry would be extremely difficult to sort.
To which house would he belong?
If their story was true, than Gryffindor seemed a likely candidate. After all, it must have taken immense courage for him to lead his friends as he did, assume all responsibility for them...
The flush quickly faded from Harry's cheeks, leaving only wide, shocked eyes, and puzzling Dumbledore even more.
The Hat was still silent.
If, of course, their story was false, then Slytherin might be a more likely candidate—arrogant as it might sound, it took no small amount of cunning to lie to Albus with a straight face. Or at least he thought it did—could his old age be affecting him more than he thought?
If at all possible, Harry seemed to be getting more and more surprised by the second—what could that Hat possibly be telling him?
Albus continued his previous thoughts from where he had left off. Ravenclaw might be home for the young man—there certainly had been intelligence in those dark green eyes, as the quest for a lemon drop had attested.
Or would Hufflepuff be preferred? Such loyalty to friends was hard to come by, especially in the midst of a war that had so many questioning loyalties. The doubt might be rare among school children, but their schooling had come from parents in a war-torn world, if their story was to be believed...
Of course, they might all be sorted into different houses—it seemed highly likely, even. Miss Granger was ideal Ravenclaw material, certainly, and Miss Weasley gave off a particular feeling that strongly reminded Albus of a Hufflepuff...
Should they each find themselves in different houses, would they allow the rivalries to separate them as well, or would they stand strong in their friendship? For how long?
Suddenly, Harry mumbled, "Thanks," in a disbelieving tone of voice, but before Dumbledore was given a chance to interpret it, the Sorting Hat called, "GRYFFINDOR!"
Looking dazed, the young man made his way to where the Gryffindors sat, his gaze sweeping up and down the table as if searching for a friendly face. He neednot have bothered—they all beamed and cheered enthusiastically.
More curious than ever, Dumbledore called Mr. Weasley, who was sorted into Gryffindor before the Hat fully touched his head; then Miss Weasley, who wore it for a short ten seconds; and finally Miss Granger, who was sorted within thirty seconds; and all four followed Harry to the house of the brave.
Encouraged, ever so slightly, by the knowledge that they belonged in his old house, and more frustrated than ever with the lack of proper information, Albus pasted on a cheery face and tried to give the appearance of enjoying his meal.
As soon as he could, however, he rushed to his office to store the evening in his penseive—using every ounce of presence of mind he possessed to keep from bursting into song and dance as he went.
Before retiring to bed, after hours of mind-numbing paperwork, he carefully asked the portraits in his office if they had heard anything strange from their fellow portraits.
Had his eyes been playing tricks on him, or had they truly averted their eyes as they assured him that no, they had not?
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The next morning simply could not have come fast enough, and Dumbledore was the first to reach the Great Hall for breakfast. As such, he was forced to wait two hours and twenty-seven and a half minutes before the objects of his curiosity finally arrived.
Was that a small white feather in Mr. Pettigrew's hair? Yes, it must have been, because Mr. Black had a couple on the back of his cloak, and there was one sticking out of Mr. Weasley's ear...
A pillow fight, then. Goody! That sounded like immeasurable fun. Perhaps he could convince Filius and Hagrid to join him in one later on the day? Hagrid was wonderfully strong and Filius such a small target that the game promised to be good... But no, they had gone easy on him when they had played twister a week past.
Perhaps the House Elves, then? He could always order them to try to win, which is always more fun for all involved...
He watched out of the corner of his eye as the Marauders and their newest dorm members dug into their food. It was a sight he saw a good number of times each day, from many of the teenagers around the Great Hall, and he wished dearly that a conversation would begin.
An interesting phenomenon happened within minutes, however, as the seventh year Gryffindor girls entered the hall discussing concerts and music, and sat down, curiously enough, beside Harry, Mr. Weasley, and the Marauders.
(Though it might sound as if he was purposefully eavesdropping—which he was—they were talking loudly enough that his chronically sensitive hearing could hear from their seats in the Great Hall. He respected their privacy, certainly, but it was up to them to keep it.)
It must have been Miss Granger or Miss Weasley who led them there, as Miss Evans would certainly not choose such a place to sit, and the other girls knew well enough, from past explosions, that such a seating arrangement was bad for their health and eardrums.
Nonetheless, the conversation continued, until Miss Evans turned to greet Harry and Mr. Weasley, saying, "Oh, hey guys! How's it going?" and caught sight of the objects of her all-too-often spite.
She clearly glared at the Marauders, then obviously and pointedly turned her attention to Harry and Mr. Weasley.
Harry, looking put-off, said, "Oh, erm, pretty good. You?"
Albus couldn't see her face, but he had to strain to hear her as she said softly, "Don't worry, I'm not mad at you. It's just... the Mauraders and I don't get along very well."
Ah, and the understatement of the year award goes to—
Poor Mr. Potter (James Potter, that is) scowled darkly, but didn't speak up, taking his vengence out on his pancakes instead.
"I see, but..." said Harry, looking awkward, "Why not?"
"Because they're always bullying people and pulling humiliating pranks on people, and their really arrogant—"
Her rant had changed over the years, but had always had the same essentials—namely, their arrogance and bullying—but that did not stop her from giving it with as much gusto as if it was the first time.
Dumbledore sighed. So much for a warm, friendly welcome to the transfers. He repeated this sentiment when he saw how uncomfortable her rant was making them.
"You know, he's got a lot of good qualities, too."
Dumbledore was unsure who was more surprised when Harry cut off her tirade—James, Lily, or Albus himself.
"Oh, right!" Lily said, once she had regained herself, with a cutting bit of vicious sarcasm. "I s'pose you're thinking of how he's a brilliant Quidditch player! Or that he's got such a sense of humor!"
Despite the fact that he knew there was more to James Potter than that, Dumbledore was in agreement with Miss Evans—what could one teenager know after one mere night?
"Actually, no." Harry responded, astounding them all, "It was more that he's fiercely loyal to his friends and those he cares about, he's strong-willed and brave, devoted and passionate."
There was silence.
Complete and utter silence. Not really, actually, but everyone who had been listening certainly fell silent.
Especially Miss Lily Evans. With a clatter, her fork fell, unheeded, to her plate.
Eventually, however, she found her voice. "That doesn't excuse his bullying people."
"No, it doesn't," Harry acknowledged, inclining his head slightly, "But it does mean that there's more to him than what you've said. Just give him a chance to prove it. That's all I ask."
Miss Evans, and most in present company, turned to look at Mr. Potter (James Potter, that is) who looked dazed.
—so maybe Mr. Potter hadn't asked Harry to put a good word in for him—
Although he could not make out the exact words from where he was seated, it seemed the Mr. James Potter was stammering a question—probably why Harry was standing up for him or how he knew Mr. Potter so well.
Something that Dumbledore dearly wanted to know as well, but it was not to be.
Harry and his fellow transfers tensed up immediately, before Harry replied stiffly, "I'm not bad at reading people," and grabbed his book bag, leaving the Great Hall and many shocked eyes behind.
So many questions! The clearest being: What next?
Routinely, Dumbledore then listened in on other conversations—it was always good to know what was happening in the school.
Four different girls, from four different House tables, confessed, giggling madly, that Gilderoy Lockhart asked her the previous night to be his girlfriend. Professor Mandlebrook gushed at how her students loved her class. A group of fifth years hurried to complete an essay for their first class of the day...
Albus sighed.
At least something was normal.
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He grimaced unhappily as soon as his back was turned from the grouchy man.
Why oh why did Barty Crouch take such an aggressive stance?
Albus was reading the signs, and it was obvious that it would not be long—a few years, tops—before the man was elected to Minister of Magic, and then where would the world be?
At the whim of a power-hungry, extremely prejudiced man, that's where. Perfectly kind, good, normal young men like Mr. Remus Lupin wouldn't live to see their next birthday. Anyone so much as suspected to have said something in favor of Tom Riddle's beliefs would be sentenced to Azkaban.
But none of that would help the war—it would only turn some of their own most able allies against them, and only increase the paranoia.
While it was easy enough to take a stance against the man's policies, in the hopes that some of Albus's supporters would follow suit, and educate people, especially the children in his school, of the foolishness of the decisions, Barty Crouch was simply to popular too oppose from the get-go without losing public support.
And when he and the rest of the Order were outnumbered by Death Eaters twenty to one, public support was something he needed.
He'd have to talk to Instructor Radon and Professor Mandlebrook to see what their stances on werewolves and vampires are, before requesting them to cover such topics. It wouldn't do to have them convince the children even more that they were monsters to be destroyed... Perhaps an in-school assembly would do the trick, should all else fail.
By now, he had reached the Entrance Hall of the Ministry of Magic, where he turned sharply and gratefully apparated to Hogsmeade—he never did like the stifling atmosphere that power created. Smiling politely at those who greeted him, he strolled the rest of the way to the castle, lost in his thoughts.
He found Minerva waiting outside his office, looking severely agitated.
"What is it, m'dear?" He asked kindly, immediately running over worse-case scenarios and their appropriate regulated responses in his mind.
If the students are under attack by outside presence, immediately lock down and prepare evacuation to Hog's Head.
If threatened by inside force, isolate and eradicate the threat in whatever way possible—protect the students by lock down, preferably in the Great Hall.
If someone is severely injured beyond our Mediwizard's ability, there are always Healers on call at St. Mungo's, and a simple portkey should suffice to bring them here...
"That new student—Harry Potter," she began, and Dumbledore abruptly broke off the train of his thoughts to appraise her demeanor carefully. He gathered nothing more than that she was extremely distressed.
"Yes?"
She wrung her hands.
"He has... knowledge, that doesn't make sense for him to have! It's bizarre! Unreal—"
The threat, if there was one, was not imminent, then.
"Minerva, my dear, come on up to my office, have a cup of tea, and please, calm down. You're not making sense as it is."
She glared at him for the interruption, but obediently, if reluctantly, followed him up to his office. Ignoring the tea he'd placed before her, as he had suspected she would, she started again, this time—thankfully—coherently, "Today's lecture was on the use of Transfiguration in a duel. I was asking around for suggestions, and when I called on Mr. Potter, the transfer I mean, he listed multiple things."
Albus nodded patiently for her to continue, failing to see the cause of the agitation, and took a long sip of his tea.
"Among them," her voice cracked, "was to block the Killing Curse."
Dumbledore choked on his tea, only just managing to keep from spewing the delightful amber liquid all over his deputy headmistress and close friend.
It was a long while before he found his voice. "That is most impressive. Have you any clue from where he came by this knowledge? They had claimed they were home schooled, and this isn't widely known, even in schools."
"No, Albus, he didn't say. But what does it mean?"
"I wish I knew, Minerva. I wish I knew."
She politely excused herself, going to her office to grade papers, and Dumbledore watched her go. When she had left, he murmured to himself, "I wish I knew, and I will find out."
He pulled out his penseive from the cabinet and added the encounter, then dove within its mysterious, silvery depths to relive everything he could think of that related to his four newest enigmas. While watching the interview scene, he was struck by something that he hadn't caught sight of the first time around—something with momentous importance.
When he had first found them outside his office, and had turned to lead the way up the steps, he had missed a very important exchange. Miss Granger had raised her eyebrows in an almost threatening way at Harry, as if to warn that he had better know what he was doing, and he had smiled weakly back.
Meaning...
"Definitely not Death Eaters, then," Dumbledore mumbled aloud to himself, "because they would have known their orders, if that had been the case..."
Their story wasn't true, either, he realized with a start, because Miss Granger had claimed that they couldn't bear to drop their education, but here she was not even knowing what they were doing at Hogwarts in the first place.
But what was true?
As the memory progressed, he watched as they took their tests and he graded them, then winced in shame as his memory self accused them of not caring about the Weasleys' deaths.
His breath caught, however, as he noticed something else: as he saw himself slowly turning to face the window, a tear forming in his eye, the real Albus zeroed in on Harry's expression. Harry was watching memory Dumbledore as well—and understanding. As if he knew what demons plagued him. As if he could sympathize.
Looking right through Albus as if he was as transparent as water.
Only one person had ever known him so well, as Albus had purposefully kept himself from getting too close to anyone ever since.
And that one person was locked up in Nurmengard.
Gellert Grindlewald.
Albus glanced at his watch—still an hour before the staff meeting—and rose slowly to his feet.
Perhaps the newspaper clippings at the library had some information on an attack on Worcester.
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Thanks to all of my reviewers—this is for you!
If anyone's wondering, this starts off almost entirely focused on Harry and co., because Dumbledore is almost entirely focused on them. As the plot progresses, however, Dumbledore's "world" and life in general will take precedence, and this will follow how Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione affect him and everyone around him and so on.
Sooooooooooooo... Did'ja like it?
REVIEW!!
Please?