Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe.
Rise Of Lords
Chapter 1: Death of Lord and Boy Who Lived
1st November 1981 Surrey:
In the dead of night, amidst the tranquil streets of Little Whinging near Privet Drive No. 4, a solitary figure materialised from thin air. With flowing white hair cascading down to the middle of his back and a long, majestic beard reaching his stomach, he was dressed in robes and a hat that hinted at a life steeped in ancient wisdom. This ethereal presence belonged to none other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the revered Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Immersed in his presence, one can almost feel the crisp autumn air and the mysterious ambience that accompanies Dumbledore's arrival. It is as if the veil between the ordinary and the extraordinary has momentarily lifted, unveiling a world of magic concealed within our own.
Despite his advanced age, Dumbledore moved with surprising agility, swiftly extinguishing the nearest lamp post using a curious device resembling a silver cigarette lighter. Darkness enveloped the street, casting an otherworldly glow upon the surroundings. It was a visual metaphor for the secrecy and hidden dangers lurking in the wizarding world.
Approaching the entrance of Privet Drive No. 4, Dumbledore's gaze fell upon a peculiar sight—a cat perched near No. 3. Little did the casual observer know the significance of this feline presence in the unfolding events. It was a symbol of the intricate web of connections that would soon entangle the lives of those involved.
"Professor McGonagall, what a delightful surprise to find you here," Dumbledore greeted, his voice resonating with warmth and intrigue.
The cat sprang from the wall, transforming before their eyes into a stern-faced woman. It was Minerva McGonagall, the no-nonsense Transfiguration professor and a trusted ally of Dumbledore. Her appearance, a testament to the fluidity of magic.
"Headmaster, is it true that You-Know-Who has been vanquished, and that James and Lily have tragically perished, leaving behind their infant son Harry as the sole survivor?" McGonagall inquired, her voice tinged with disbelief and sorrow.
"Yes, I'm afraid it is true. James and Lily have been mercilessly taken from us by Lord Voldemort, using the most sinister of curses. As for young Harry, he miraculously escaped with nothing but a lightning-shaped scar upon his forehead," Dumbledore replied, his voice carrying a mixture of grief and resolve.
"Headmaster, surely you don't intend to place Harry in the custody of the Dursleys?" McGonagall exclaimed, her voice betraying a mixture of concern and disbelief.
"The Dursleys, despite their shortcomings, are the only family capable of providing him with the protection he needs," Dumbledore explained, his tone unwavering and firm. Dumbledore, too, felt the weight of moral complexity bearing down upon him. As he stood there, contemplating the fate of young Harry, his mind swirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions. On one hand, he understood the importance of familial love and the nurturing environment it could provide. He couldn't deny the ache in his heart, yearning for Harry to grow up surrounded by the warmth of a loving wizarding family.
However, Dumbledore was acutely aware of the dark forces that lingered in the shadows, threatening to engulf the world in chaos and despair. He knew the significance of Harry's survival and the role he was destined to play. The responsibility weighed heavily on his aged shoulders, and he had to make a choice that would safeguard not only Harry's well-being but also the future of the wizarding world itself.
In his wisdom, Dumbledore recognised that the Dursleys, despite their flaws, possessed a certain degree of normalcy that would shield Harry from the burdens and dangers of the magical realm. It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that Harry might not receive the love and acceptance he deserved within those walls. Yet, Dumbledore saw it as a necessary sacrifice—a calculated decision made in the interest of Harry's safety and the preservation of a fragile balance.
Deep down, Dumbledore longed for an alternative, a wizarding family eager to embrace and protect the Boy Who Lived. But he knew the risks, the potential for manipulation and exploitation that such an environment could bring. He couldn't let history repeat itself, couldn't subject Harry to the same fate that befell Tom Riddle—a gifted child who spiralled down the path of darkness due to neglect and abandonment.
And so, with a heavy heart, Dumbledore resolved to place Harry in the care of the Dursleys. It was a choice guided by caution, tempered by a belief that Harry's resilience and the seeds of greatness within him would eventually bloom, even in the most inhospitable of circumstances.
As Dumbledore pondered these thoughts, he knew that his decision would be met with criticism and doubt. But he also understood that sometimes, in the face of overwhelming darkness, sacrifices must be made, and difficult choices must be embraced for the greater good. It was a burden he bore willingly, for he had dedicated his life to shaping young minds and steering the course of destiny.
McGonagall's eyes reveal her inner turmoil, as she grapples with Dumbledore's decision. In the distance, a rumble echoes through the air, heralding the arrival of a motorcycle descending from the sky.
"Hagrid, you've finally arrived! And where on earth did you procure that marvellous motorcycle?" Dumbledore exclaimed with a sense of relief.
Hagrid, a hulking figure with a wild beard and contagious enthusiasm, dismounted the motorcycle with a wide grin. "Sirus Black lent it ter me, Professor, when I went ter fetch this little tyke," Hagrid replied, his voice filled with excitement and a touch of mischief. As Hagrid stood there, marvelling at the bundle of blankets in his arms, his mind buzzed with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The significance of this chance encounter was not lost on him, and he couldn't help but ponder the profound connections that lay woven within the fabric of their Black, lending him the motorcycle, was no ordinary wizard. He was a man with a complicated past, shrouded in mystery and dark deeds.
And then there was Dumbledore, the venerable Headmaster of Hogwarts. Hagrid regarded him with a mixture of admiration and trust, knowing that his guidance would shape the destiny of the young child in his arms. What did Dumbledore see in this baby, Harry? What made him believe that Harry's journey would surpass even his own? Hagrid couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and responsibility, understanding that he had become an integral part of a much larger history. As Hagrid cradled the sleeping child, he marvelled at the fragility and resilience of life. He knew that their lives would forever be entwined, and he welcomed the journey with open arms.
Dumbledore accepted a bundle of blankets from Hagrid, his wand delicately hovering over the slumbering infant nestled within. With a swish and a flick, he performed a spell, examining the child and revealing a lightning-shaped scar beneath a mop of black hair.
McGonagall peered at the child, gasping in recognition. "This is where...?" she trailed off, her voice heavy with unspoken words. Dumbledore nodded solemnly, hinting at a destiny yet to unfold.
"Yes, Minerva. He will bear that scar forever. Tomorrow, we shall consult with a skilled healer to ascertain its significance. For now, he shall be raised by his aunt and uncle, shielded from the tumultuous world of magic and the machinations of unscrupulous individuals. Harry, having defeated a formidable foe, shall play a pivotal role in shaping our world," Dumbledore declared with a mixture of reverence and concern.
He conjured a small basket and carefully placed the slumbering baby within. With a final flourish of his wand, he turned to his companions, his eyes filled with determination. "His exploits will surely eclipse my own. Some shall embrace him with open arms, while others shall seek to manipulate him. Stay vigilant, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, as if whispering into the winds of fate.
Nodding in unison, the trio—Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Hagrid—ensured the protective enchantments surrounding the house, satisfied that Harry would be shielded from harm. And then, as quickly as they had arrived, they vanished into the night, leaving behind a slumbering child unaware of the extraordinary destiny that awaited him.
In another part of the country, a figure with dark hair and piercing gray eyes crackled amidst the rubble-strewn streets, reveling in the chaos and destruction. Within hours, this malevolent individual would be apprehended, destined for Azkaban—a fortress of despair that housed the darkest of wizards.