Day 1 Hogwarts.
12 hours ago
Home is where the heart is.
The golden whisps of magic lulled them into the hall.
Awed faces and wide eyes of the new students took in the ambiance.
The entire room was awash with spectacular vistas of gold & white. Glowing mage lights with no radiating heat illuminated the hall. Large walls with endless portraits and decorations stretched endlessly to encompass the entire hall.
Each of the four long tables had a massive banner above them denoting their heraldry. Around them, empty walls had magical lights dancing on them to retell the tales of the glory of each house.
Suits of the armor of legends past stood with resolute grim resolve, ready to defend their charges till the very last.
Above all, the hall was just that, a hall. Its warm beating heart was made by those who resided in it.
Gossip, chatter, and laughter ran amok among the students.
One table interacted seamlessly with the other. A few broke into impromptu food fights until prefects with faux sternness put an end to them.
Ancient ghosts of ages past merrily jostled from table to table, dish to dish. They sang songs and imparted "wisdom" upon students' requests.
Ghosts who shared a closer companionship with their wards also shared with them with which professor was off to a foul mood and whose homework had already merited detention.
Younger students shared their summer holiday stories. Older boys desperately tried to make it up with upset paramours over not writing enough during the holidays.
The scenes were the same yet seemed grander all the same to Harry. There was more life in Hogwarts.
He spied on different house friends sitting at each other's tables. A practice that had become a major faux pass during Harry's time. To his shock, there were even Gryffindor and Slytherins freely mingling with each other.
He stood at the very back of the line, hoping to not become an awkward gangly spectacle among 1st-year students who only made it to his waist.
He was finally back, home at last.
Despite having already gone through this tribulation, Harry still felt nervous.
It felt like a lifetime ago when he had once stood amongst these people as a first-year himself.
The hall started to fall into gradual silence and students orderly rearranged themselves.
The headmaster stood up and it took all he had in him to not flinch at the sight of someone other than Dumbledore standing at the lectern.
Unlike the unyielding strength Dumbledore displayed through his posture, the new headmaster was a frail balding old man.
He spoke in a raspy voice,
"Dear students! It fills my heart with joy to see your familiar faces gracing the halls of Hogwarts once again. I hope your summer break was a delightful blend of adventure and relaxation. As you step back into these magical corridors, I trust that the knowledge and wisdom you acquired during your time here will continue to guide you on your remarkable journeys.
Now, to our bright-eyed first-year arrivals, I extend a warm and enchanted welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Soon, the Sorting Hat will reveal your destined houses
Embrace this extraordinary journey that awaits you, as you delve into the mysteries of magical lore. Hogwarts is not merely a place of academic pursuit, but a sanctuary where dreams take flight and talents find their purpose."
A polite applause sounded off as Dumbledore escorted the headmaster became to his seat.
Dumbledore waved his wand and a stool with a hat materialized in front of everyone.
Step by step, students marched forward to be sorted and the line grew smaller. The hat roared its answer out to everyone, and applause followed.
Dumbledore took a moment to announce Harry's status to the student body and dropped the sorting hat on his head.
The hat was silent for a moment and then a voice spoke inside his head,
"Welcome back Mr. Potter"
Harry stiffened as his mind raced to find elaborate excuses.
"It has been a while or is too early? It is usually hard to tell under these circumstances. Time is such a fickle mistress, isn't it?" The Hat said.
"Will you tell anyone?" Harry replied.
"Relax Mr. Potter, your secrets are quite safe with me. The founders themselves ensured so. No devious brigand will have access to secrets that a child's mind possesses. Even if said secrets have the potential to alter the future forever."
Harry breathed a relieved sigh.
"I do agree with my sibling here, Mr. Potter. You have a talent for great deeds. I would highly recommend against missing opportunities you have been granted. Lightning doesn't strike twice, you know? Slytherin will give you the tools to accomplish what you must." The Hat said.
"The past is too complicated and changed here for me to do anything. I have nothing in common with these people." Harry said while glancing towards the Slytherin.
The hat snorted and rotated Harry's head towards his target. Morrigan Riddle sat in a politely bored manner as if the entire affair was beneath her, but still required courtesy from her.
"Of course, it's changed!" The Hat shouted inside his head.
"You seem to be forgetting, Mr. Potter, that our world faces an extinction event in nearly 50 years. The deck has been shuffled; the cards have been dealt. The house eagerly awaits its due."
The hat turned his attention towards Gryffindor.
"Lest due to ignorance of yester years"
An image of a large bearded and redhead flashed through his head. Revulsion towards Slytherins filled him.
"Cause you to lose all that you hold beloved in both worlds."
Harry's eyes met the sneering form of Charlus Potter.
"A last bit of advice, Mr. Potter?"
Harry mentally nodded in affirmative, his mind shocked by the hat's level of insight. In his rage at Riddle's existence, he had all but forgotten what truly caused him to seek refuge in this world.
The shadow of a mushroom cloud passed through his head, causing him to shudder.
"Power resides not in knowing all there is to know about potions or wand waving. Sometimes, true power is found in more mundane things. The ability to influence, win over, love, or forgive, all are more sacrosanct than wand waving. Power like that echoes in the very cosmos themselves."
Harry could feel the annoyed glares of students on him. His sorting had taken too long and was stopping them from their beloved feast.
"Mediate on my words, Mr. Potter. And without any further delays."
"SLYTHERIN!" The Hat roared out to the world.
A few claps sounded in the hall, mostly from his House.
A green crest of serpents appeared on his robes.
Harry, still shaken by the new revelations, missed out on harsh, calculating purple eyes staring at him from across the room.
He sat at the newly available space on the table and shook the hands of a few polite colleagues congratulating him on his sorting. A few seemed genuinely happy at his inclusion.
Harry paid them little heed at the moment. He had his marching orders and he intended to fulfill them.
He had spent too long mucking around with the likes of Rupert. It was time he had an upgrade.
The deck was set. The cards are distributed.
It was time to roll the dice.
Dawn.
He had left the dorms relatively early in the morning.
The night before had been restless. The blasted hat's words had resonated in his mind all night long.
Even the grand opening feast had been unable to take the ashy taste from his mouth. His inner voice had screamed at him to compose himself. He could feel the entire house had been assessing him the night before when marching towards the dungeons. None had struck up a conversation with him, but he chalked it up to everyone tired from the night's festivities.
Such an isolation served him well enough. He wasn't sure he would be in the mood to share things with anyone.
The library too had been thankfully empty. The librarian, whomever they were this time around, had not yet started their day.
He sat at the topmost desk with a window view overlooking the lawns covered with morning fog. He squinted looking at the view below. What distinctly looked like house elves frantically worked on the ground.
Harry found the view to be oddly therapeutic. It accurately reflected his mental state and situation.
The fog of war had completely engulfed him.
Worse off, he didn't have Dumbledore, Ron, or Hermione to help navigate these threats.
Gods above, he would have been much happier with even Neville or Ginny.
The faces looked similar, but the people were different.
Oddly enough he had taken to journalling since residing with Slughorn to maintain his thoughts. The man himself recommended it to Harry after catching him brooding one afternoon.
He broke upon a fresh inkpot and started writing.
New House: Slytherin
He wrote the new title and underlined it.
The new house was certainly a challenge. Whatever he had inference from Ron or Draco's unprompted rants, the House was based on tradition and ties. Most entrants knew each other from childhood days. Above all, rivalries and healthy doses of family lore, jinxes, and hexes were buried within them.
The result was an ambitious young offspring ready to dominate. A perfect candidate for Salazar's house.
Today marks another day of uncertainty in this new life. Everyone seems to have a history, connections, and allegiances, while I stand alone. The air is thick with rivalries, and I fear being caught in their crosshairs, an innocent victim of their conflicts.
While Slughorn did educate Harry in their little time alone, he had never mentioned any active situation within Hogwarts.
Then there was Tom Riddle aka Voldemort aka "Morrigan". His eyes narrowed at the last name.
The Tom Riddle of his time had been a monster without reapproach. His reign during school had been marked with death.
Moaning Myrtle, Hagrid, and more- Tom Riddle had already begun accumulating a considerable body count during his stay at Hogwarts. The nagging question is whether this "Morrigan" riddle will be the same. If so, what should be done with her?
Sudden visions of a large serpent slithering through dark spaces went into his mind. He saw himself catching spiders unawares. Beasts fled the forest at his approach. He saw Riddle look at him in terror before dropping dead. A puppet without its strings.
Harry paused and rubbed his eyes. He regained his composure and began anew.
The muggles had gone mad in his time. They attacked with things that had seemed downright bizarre to Harry. His time at Dursleys had never exposed him to such technology.
Those awful things were downright magic. Perhaps beyond magic. I have never seen magic bring down so many people at once. This perhaps is a threat far greater than Voldemort. At least I know what to expect from him/her. I have zero knowledge about the inner working of muggle armies and defense. I won't even know where to start.
Even his hyperactive imagination stayed silent at this one. This would merit further investigation at a later day.
Harry continued his journalling for another 20 minutes or so before the voices outside grew louder, breaking him from his reverie.
The school was waking up and it was time to start the day.
Lightning doesn't strike twice, you know?
This time it will be different. His 4th year had begun.
He will make it different.
Potions 101,
Harry couldn't decide whether it is returning from death or the new professor that made potions so understandable.
The overgrown dungeon bat during his last time seemed to be like a black hole that sucked in any joy that a learning environment could provide.
In contrast, Slughorn's jovial nature and teaching methods made a relaxed environment that encouraged student participation.
Also, the lack of gratuitous house point abuse was a bonus point for him. Also, he greeted Harry like a prodigal son who had returned home.
Mr. Petrov here joins us all the way from Russia! Please be courteous to our new friend and aid him to the best of your abilities.
The man had started them off with an introductory lecture that recapped the previous semester. This was especially helpful since a whole metric ton of stuff had happened to him between here and the last potions class.
Mental note to myself: Become powerful enough that assholes like Snape never make it to academia.
This was followed by quick drills as a now more serious Slughorn rattled off different ingredient varieties and their reactions.
Now class, if you will recall, mollyweed has a combustion reaction when exposed to water? How can we mitigate this reaction? Anyone? Miss Pennyworth?
Certain Professor, we can coat mollyweed in any type-c oil to prevent an instant reaction. Later we gently spin it counterclockwise to prevent it from gaining spark again.
Excellent Pennyworth! 6 points to Ravenclaw. Well deserved!
Apparently, today was to be a cross-functional class concerning Herbology.
Slughorn had proceeded to lecture them about "Terraflorix Enhancer". This was a fertilizer they will make in the next class and use for their Herbology lesson.
The new Hogwarts didn't seem half bad right now.
A newly determined Harry hung on to every word that Slughorn preached and took immaculate notes.
Well at least by his standards anyway.
Defense 101,
Remember the time when I said Hogwarts seemed better?
Scratch that. It was leagues better.
Harry couldn't help but wonder how many talented witches and wizards had spilled their blood in Grindelwald and Voldemort's wars, only for the standards to fall so below in his time.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was an honest-to-God Auror, albeit an ex-Auror. But that was beside the point.
An annoyed and begrudging sentiment rose within Harry, but he pushed it back down.
Professor Henry Goldman, the Defense professor, stood at the head of his class, emitting an aura that silenced the entire room.
Speaking in a low tone, causing the students to strain to hear him, Goldman didn't bother with introductions or even acknowledge his prestigious background. He simply started the lecture.
"This semester, we will begin with advanced defense tactics," Goldman droned. "More specifically, we will cover shield and rebound. In Auror terms, it is known as tag and hit back. The concept is simple: repel a spell with a shield charm and counter with your offense. Naturally, this tactic is preferred in open environments."
The class sat hooked to Goldman's lecture, even more, captivated after his strategic namedropping of the word "Auror." Each student fantasized about becoming elite I.C.W. hit wizards, leading squads on death-defying missions.
But their illusions shattered when the desks began rolling away, and Goldman announced that the fourth year would be practical-centric.
Students clutched their wands and cast nervous glances as Henry transfigured the entire class into a quasi-dueling arena.
Hopefully, it will run better than that dueling fiasco.
Goldman held his wand in front of him, adopting a loose stance. "The incantation for the shield spell is Portego. It is an advanced spell under usual circumstances," he explained, letting a dramatic pause hang in the air. "But you have been coddled long enough, and the circumstances demand more from everyone."
Goldman deemed that the subtle reference to the war raging was enough motivation.
"Begin" He whispered.
The training dummies came alive. The tip of their wands cast an eerie glow on their wooden faces.
Across the room, shouts and spell fire raged.
Students were flung back as they failed to raise their shields and the dummies were flung back.
Those who were flung back soldiered through pain and ran to the back of the line. Being in pain was better than being subjected to Goldman.
"Petrov!" Goldman called out and Harry stepped up.
A calm Harry walked up to the front. In another life, he too would've shared their anticipation. A new life of crime under Rupert, Harry now had much colder veins.
His gut roared at him to ace this. Slytherin will most likely take notice of this and respect him.
"Remember the movement and the spell. Visualize the shield in front of you and feel the spell rebound." Goldman intoned. His voice was monotone, but Harry could feel the frustration building under him.
Goldman was beginning to twitch and lose some of his monotone when he barked at the fallen students to toughen up.
None in the class had managed to raise the shield.
The dummy prepped itself and its wand's tip became lit and gathered magic.
Rupert and Harry bolted as the old lady woke and fired a barrage of curses at them. Her wand hand was steady despite her age and some spells nicked too close to them. Harry pointed his wand backward as they ran for desperate freedom and shouted.
PORTEGO!
The spell ricocheted off him and left smoldering ruins of the training dummy next to him.
The class was now silent. The new routine had drilled in them to step forward when the current student was blasted back.
Instead, they were now confronted with burning dummies. An anomaly as far they were concerned.
A few hesitant claps broke out before the rest joined in. It went on for a while before Goldman raised his wand and all fell silent.
"The shield was satisfactory. Keep practicing till the spell bounces right towards the caster rather than an onlooker." Goldman said.
Harry nodded respectfully and took his place at the back of the line.
A voice behind him whispered,
Don't worry, that's his impressed face.
Library
He grunted in exhaustion. The repeated raising of shields and blocking of shields had thoroughly drained him.
This was another new aspect of himself that he had noticed. He just didn't feel he had the same strength old he had. Old he could cause back-to-back Patronus and other spells and still be springy.
It would seem to be in the new world had drained some of that aspect from him.
He let out another tired grunt as he settled himself on the chair. He noticed his hair changing colors vividly and calmed himself. His tumultuous emotions had been causing his abilities to go haywire. He would prefer it if his metamorphic ability remained a secret for now.
It was bad enough, someone like Slughorn was aware of it. He shuddered at the thought of someone else finding out about it.
No, it was time to change tactics. Harry wasn't delusional enough to believe he could outduel any of Riddle's crew or Riddle herself. It was an even more hilarious notion to believe that he could do something about Grindelwald.
No, what he needed to do was forge a new identity for himself. Time with Rupert had taught him much of what his substance was. It was imperative that he capitalized on that.
He pulled out his journal and began scribbling his thoughts again.
My disadvantage? The sheer IQ curve of people like Headmaster and Voldemort. I can't hope to match that.
MY advantage? I know what they will do and when they will do it. I am an unknown entity and must utilize that. Stealth and swiftness will be the core here.
He thought about it some more. In his previous life, he had much control over his Hogwarts shenanigans. The marauder map and the invisibility cloak guaranteed him near-perfect reconnaissance should he venture out to sneak.
I have neither the map nor the cloak. I can't possibly imagine creating my cloak. I will have to perfect the craft Rupert had set me on. Also, I need to see if I can recreate the map. If Dad and his friends could do it, I sure as hell can.
Feeling his strength start to return to him. Harry felt motivation rush through him.
First order of business, he needed to be invisible again.
Charms it is then.
For a brief moment, he felt the presence of a redhead beaming down on him in pride.
Weird
Evening.
His trunk had been broken into.
For a house treasuring cunning, they sure were averse to subtlety.
His trunk was disheveled. Clothes had been mixed, books flipped, and ink bottles broken. Clearly not the work of a master thief.
Always mind yer surroundings 'Arry.
His "roommates" had quickly bailed when they saw him enter. None had been ready to have a confrontation with him.
Harry realized he had made a critical mistake. He was no longer in his time's Hogwarts with overarching mechanisms and support mechanics. For now, he was alone.
He repeatedly ran through processes of how other Slytherins might test him, he was wrong. He never bothered to think they would mount something as primitive and frontal as this.
All right let's see. Nothing is missing. They were looking for something here. No simple burglary. I doubt it was her. She wouldn't have left such a mess behind.
Harry looked around and started to sort his trunks. A hitched breath and Harry saw
Multiple people discussing break-in to embarrass him. They called him an uppity mudblood not fit for the green robes he wore. They approached his trunk and without a care tried to force it open. Angry yellow sparks flew at them upon their touch, and they were thrown back. The boys looked upon each other in horror as they realized the power they were dealing with.
A sweat bead trickled down his brow.
These visions, if one could call them that, had become more frequent. He squeezed his eyes shut as the beginnings of a migraine came to him.
Currum Lapsus
The words engrained themselves in his mind. Acting on instinct he pointed his wand at his trunk and began to lay wards and protective spells.
I dare them to try again.
He began to get up and leave the dorm room when something caught his eye.
A cigarette bud was lying in the very corner of his trunk.
Interesting.
This was something he could work with.
I wonder if this is the first volley fired by Riddle?
Day 2. Hogwarts.
Alchemy 101
Alchemy had a significant impact on his life when he first entered his new world.
Through Alchemy, he had his deepest desire reflected him in an enchanted mirror.
Through Alchemy, he confronted evil for the very first time with a small merry band of fearless fellows.
Through Alchemy, he had seen immortality. The ultimate prize of the Gods themselves. The ability to turn metal into gold. The apex of magical innovation and might.
Above all, through Alchemy, he had bonded with one of the most trusted people in his life. The man had become a mentor, grandfather, and guardian – all in one.
And now at another time, where he shared no such connection with him, Harry took the initiative to develop said connection.
Albus Dumbledore was the deputy headmaster and the alchemy professor of his time. He briefly recalled Hermione telling him that Dumbledore had been an apprentice under the legendary Nicolas Flamel.
Harry knew what lay ahead, and his world would need every bit of genius possible to survive extinction.
A beaming and younger Dumbledore stood at the head of the class. He still retained a fashion sense across the multiverse. While most wizards of his age and stature wore somber colors, Dumbledore celebrated life.
Today he wore robes of vivid red, coinciding with the natural color associated with alchemy.
If Harry never knew what the old man would go on to accomplish, he would have dismissed him as another brilliant nutter. In this timeline he was popular, but he still had yet to craft his magnum opus.
As the class settled, Dumbledore took the roll and began.
"Greetings everyone! I welcome you all to Alchemy 101. It is indeed a joy for me to welcome you all on this journey. It pleases me to see so many of you turning up in numbers despite this being a new course offered at Hogwarts. Rest assured, your trust in me is a privilege I will not let go in vain."
The professor had the class hooked. He spoke with the voice of a Roman senator Harry had read about in muggle schools. His voice coincided with every word he spoke. Attention was grabbed when he covered an important concept. Richness, baritone, and excitedness were in a perfect ratio.
Dumbledore spoke again, his voice resonating through the room. "Alchemy, my dear students, is the ancient art of transformation and transmutation. It is not simply about turning one substance into another, but rather a profound understanding of the essence and evolution of matter. Through alchemy, we seek to unlock the hidden potential in every element, delving into the secrets of their creation and growth. In this course, we shall explore the fundamental principles, delve into the mysteries of evolution, and unravel the intricate connections between the material and spiritual realms."
The students were hooked at the promise of mysterious knowledge. Many eagerly scribbled notes.
"In its basic essence, Alchemy is a way of life. It involves a deep study of things to understand their nature. You must study their evolutionary ark to see how they have come to be today, as they are" Dumbledore took a pause and stood in the room's middle. "Then and only then, will you be able to gain true mastery over an object." He let the class absorb this concept for a few seconds before continuing.
"As the potioneer seeks to turn herbs into potions, so too must we strive to transmute our challenges into opportunities for growth."
He strode through the class; ghostly visuals of complex diagrams and formulae were conjured in his wake.
Harry wondered if there was some alchemical significance behind this phenomenon. The voice, the presence, and everything- it was all too much to be a coincidence.
An annoyed feeling surged in him, and he saw it. Dumbledore's aura glowed and magic mixed with his voice's tones as it left him.
The vision left him as soon as it came.
Now Dumbledore was going over the basic properties of some potions and metals they were going to use in his upcoming class.
"In conclusion, always remember that Alchemy teaches us that every setback is an opportunity for a breakthrough, every failure a stepping stone on the path to transformation." Dumbledore and concluded today's lecture.
An audible groan echoed through the class as Dumbledore assigned them 2 parchment-long research essays on today's materials. Dumbledore merely chuckled in response to angry glares thrown his way.
With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the class.
Many students bolted, no doubt wondering if taking alchemy under him was a wise idea after all.
Harry stayed behind; this was his chance to initiate 1on1 contact with Dumbledore.
"Mr. Petrov, I trust all is well?" Dumbledore inquired from his seat, looking up with a gentle smile.
"Uhm yes, professor. Everything is going great. Great lecture by the way, I never knew there was so much to Alchemy." Harry said.
"I am glad you approve, Mr. Petrov! How are things with you?"
Harry, slightly nervous but determined to make a good impression, approached him. "Yes, Professor Dumbledore. Everything is going well. I've been studying hard to catch up with the Hogwarts curriculum."
Dumbledore nodded, acknowledging Harry's dedication. "A commendable work ethic, Mr. Petrov. However, it is essential to strike a balance between academics and leisure. I encourage you to partake in recreational activities and make friends your age. It's an integral part of the school experience."
Harry agreed, pulling out his Hogsmeade pass. "I understand, Professor. I've actually acquired my Hogsmeade pass and plan to explore the village during the weekends."
Harry presented the pass to the deputy headmaster,
"I was hoping to submit it to you."
Now was the moment of truth. He hated lying to him, but it was for the greater good.
Dumbledore ran his eyes over the pass until he paused.
"Mr. Petrov, you are aware that the pass has to be signed by your legal guardian?" Dumbledore inquired. His blue eyes now directly met his.
An involuntary flinch made him break the staredown. Dumbledore frowned at him as Harry replied,
"Yes, Professor. I currently do not have a legal guardian. My parents had met a tragic accident at a hunting party."
"My condolences, Mr. Petrov. But this still needs to be signed by a proper authority." Dumbledore replied.
"Yes sir, my mother sustained injuries but, on her deathbed, declared me emancipated since we didn't have any extended family." Harry meekly said and started nervously on the floor.
Harry hoped his "Disturbed by talking about the past act" would work this once on him.
A brief pause followed before Dumbledore continued,
"I think given the circumstances; certain exceptions can be made. I will have to take this up with the headmaster."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said and left the class.
Dumbledore stared at his leaving form. Harry was an enigma whose pieces didn't quite match up. He hoped the young man had no ulterior motives behind his presence here.
The Daily Prophet
Grindelwald Launches Titanic Siege on Stalingrad
July 8, 1943
In a dire turn of events, the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald unleashed his forces, laying siege to the historic city of Stalingrad. The titanic battle has begun, with hundreds of thousands of conscripts from across the wizarding world locked in a brutal struggle on opposing sides.
Grindelwald's nefarious tactics have taken a sinister turn, as he seeks to gain an edge by enlisting an army of dark creatures. Reports suggest werewolves, giant spiders, banshees, trolls, and even rumored vampire saboteurs are now aligned with his cause. The skies darken with the presence of giants, bolstering the ranks of Grindelwald's forces.
In response to this grave threat, the Allied forces have called upon the Goblin nation to provide increased support in terms of funds and manpower. However, the Goblins have responded with their characteristic sarcasm, questioning the profitability of such an endeavor.
Experts warn that the siege of Stalingrad is likely to endure for more than a year, with harsh winter conditions exacerbating the already desperate situation. As the Daily Prophet bears witness to this unfolding tragedy, we join the wizarding community in praying to Merlin, Hecate, and Morgana for a swift and decisive victory for the Allies.
Saturday
Hogsmeade.
Dumbledore joyously walked down the boulevard.
The sun was shining despite the overcast clouds, the air was cool against his skin, and all seemed well.
Aside from the weather, the occasion too demanded celebration. His new insight into the dragon's blood had finally merited a positive response from his reputable international peers. In another time, such a response would have been the subject at large conferences.
Now the war had turned away the attention of his colleague towards more practical matters. Applied magic, not theoretical magic, was the drumbeat of the times.
Still, he knew his colleagues had appreciated a break from the war. Good food and fine wine and brandy put many an irritated soul to rest. It was good they plenty of such in England.
England, or at least Eldermoor, had been relatively untouched by the fires of war. His colleagues had cast envious glances around and more than one had subtly tried to inquire of his intentions regarding Grindelwald.
Why everyone wanted him to be a part of war he wanted nothing to do with was beyond him.
His lackluster response had annoyed more than one of his colleagues and some had stormed out of the seminar.
Dumbledore frowned as he felt a burning in his chest and felt his senses tingle. The boulevard had now become suspiciously empty.
Perhaps not as untouched as he had hoped. He discreetly pulled his wand out of his wrist strap and gripped it.
5 souls.
His magic pointed out. The burning in his chest grew fiercer.
Poison. One of the attendees.
He winced as he tried to walk upright. Any sign of weakness and the assailants might attack him.
He needed time to recover. He cast a minor illusion charm and a part of Dumbledore marched onward. Meanwhile Dumbledore lunged into the alleyway nearest to him and cried out in pain as the burning reached an unbearable level.
Dumbledore lunged toward his purse and pulled out the stone.
Bezoar.
Outside he could hear shouts of combat as his illusion dodged the assailant's curses. It won't be long before they uncovered the deception.
It's a bloody phony!
Ah, they had uncovered it. No matter, Dumbledore felt his senses return to him as he took a swing from a flask. He got up and with a flick of his wands cleaned and ironed his robes to immaculate standards.
It was now time to greet his guests.
Anika was a muggle-born witch, born to a broken family. Her father had abandoned them when the weight of her mother's struggles became too much for him to bear. Left alone, her mother fought to provide for Anika, but the discrimination against muggle-borns in the wizarding world made it nearly impossible. They lived on the fringes, surviving each day with a heavy burden.
Her mother, Gods bless her, never resorted to dark arts against the Muggles to survive.
Tragedy struck when Anika's mother succumbed to a stroke induced by the stress of their harsh reality. It was a devastating loss, but it stirred something within Anika. She knew she wanted more from life. Power, glory, and wealth called to her.
She studied hard during her childhood so much so that she secured a spot at the vaunted Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And then she made her journey from the slums of Uttar Pradesh to Eldermoor. Her welcoming present was a bout of Flippendo fired at her by 5th Year Ravenclaws and Slytherins.
Nevertheless, she persisted.
Her exceptional magical talent garnered her recognition and respect from her peers. Year after year, she found herself on the Headmaster's list of talented students, only to be met with disdain from the purebloods. The divide in the wizarding world grew wider, and Anika found herself sinking into poverty.
Then one fateful night, Grindelwald appeared before her as she lay in a drunken stupor.
His presence alone was overwhelming, his charisma captivating. He painted a picture of a wizarding world trapped in a vice, crumbling under the weight of its own decay. He spoke of a vision, a new order where labels such as purebloods and muggle-borns were irrelevant, where their society could be rebuilt and thrive.
Our world is in a pincer my dear. Muggles squeeze us from the left. Purebloods from the right.
In that moment, Ashley felt the allure of power and purpose. She dropped to her knees and pledged her unwavering allegiance to Grindelwald.
The path forward was not easy. Her training within the ranks of the Grindelwald's army was grueling, pushing her to her limits and beyond. Her mentors threw in daily do or die missions.
From the opulent palaces & grand bazars of Delhi to ancient tombs of God Kings in Iran, her mark was felt by everyone. The terror of the left hand of Grindelwald will be felt by all.
Nevertheless, she persisted.
And now she was part of the Black Hand. Grindelwald's finest assassins and espionage experts. Willing to do his bidding or die trying.
Now, standing amidst her fellow Black Hand members, Ashley felt a sense of belonging. She was part of something greater than herself, an elite force entrusted with shaping the destiny of the wizarding world.
Her master could not have given her a better mission. Words failed to describe how much she hated that man below.
Dumbledore.
The man who gave her endless worthless sermons about being the bigger person. How only true love, dragon crap, could conquer all.
A man who had been given everything by the universe. Money, power, brains, charisma, & family- he had it all. Yet the fool, instead of making things better for all, using that power to move the wheel forward, was perfectly content to let the status quo stand.
A fate worse than death had settled around them. Stagnation.
Not even Muggle Darwin's evolution could work here. She cursed Merlin and Hecate for a thousandth time for bestowing all the gifts but that of foresight to a man like Dumbledore.
No matter, all will be fulfilled here. Her master had given her an equalizer. She would bring Dumbledore to justice.
Her quarry approached the boulevard below her and was closing near the ambush point.
The younger part of her screamed at her to run away. She stood no chance of even scratching him.
Anika aimed at her foot and whispered.
Crucio
Pain wracked shot through her body for a second, her pain receptors flared to life, and her adrenaline pumped. She lifted the curse.
Catharsis.
Her mind now clear, she zeroed in on Albus Dumbledore.
Anika swore an oath, she would either return to Grindelwald in a coffin or with Dumbledore's head. She wore her shinobi mask and prepped herself.
With a wave of her wand, five other Black Hand members appeared from the shadow and struck Dumbledore.
She had no delusions which option was more likely given the circumstances.
The five assassins lunged at Dumbledore, their wands slashing through the air with deadly intent. But the seasoned wizard moved with incredible speed, his reflexes honed by years of experience. He effortlessly dodged their spells, sidestepping curses and evading hexes with a dancer's grace.
Ashley, her eyes narrowed in focus, a man his age shouldn't be this fluid.
"It's an illusion!" she exclaimed, her voice sharp with urgency. Waving her wand in a wide arc, she chanted an incantation. The smirking illusion melted away, revealing the empty space it once occupied.
She could feel panic surging through the ranks. The element of surprise was lost. Anika, swiftly rallied them, her voice firm. "Stay focused! We adapt and overcome!"
Just then, a polite clap echoed from an alleyway nearby.
The Black Hand turned their attention to the source, their eyes widening as Albus Dumbledore stepped into view, a twinkle in his eyes clearly visible.
"Bravo," Dumbledore praised, his voice carrying a touch of admiration. "A meticulously planned ambush indeed. From the poison at the conference to cornering me in this empty boulevard. Quite impressive. I wonder, what methods did you employ?"
Anika's eyes twitched at the man's nonchalant attitude.
Kill him She whispered through her link and the assassins stepped into battle again.
In one fluid motion, 4 bone breaking hexes flew at Dumbledore and splashed harmlessly a few meters away from him.
Dumbledore stood unfazed and smiled encouragingly at them, like a grandfather encouraging his kids during a wrestling match.
Bile rose in Anika's throat.
I will flay that smile from his face.
She raised her hand, and made a circular motion and the assassins made to surround Dumbledore.
But the old man was in no mood to play defensive he calmly walked towards her. The man's absolute mastery of transfiguration was at display as he waved his wand in wide circular arcs above his head.
Anika raised her wand towards him as her teammates spells merely splashed against him.
His shields are too fucking strong.
Nearby benches and trashcans transformed themselves into huge marble knights that lept towards her teammates. Now the numerical odds were evened.
Her formation was disrupted as every man fought for himself. Dumbledore somehow seemed to extend his shields to cover his creations.
Dumbledore fire a stunner at her which she dodged. And returned fire with a void spell.
Time to up the stakes. These statues are impenetrable.
"Team, fire formation!" The Black Hand members sent their psychic acknowledgement as Dumbledore paused in his assault.
The black hand lept back from their respective battles raised their wands and shouted in unision,
FIENDFYRE
The statues were immediately ablase and melted away.
The five roaring fires combined into one and a tornado lept at Dumbledore who had lost his smile at the blatant use of dark magic.
The tornado collied with Dumbledore head on and rotated about his location.
"Burn in hell you piece of shit" She yelled as the man's body was incinerated.
Wait, no screams no panic?Anika thought to herself. She turned her senses towards the fire and felt nothing.
Maybe he is dead? The fire leaving no traces… He better be. Anika spied her friends in varying stages of exhaution.
The battle with the giants and the fiendfyre had taken a lot out of them.
Any other mage, they would have easily wiped the floor with them. These were exceptional circumstancess.
Her wards were broken into. An alarm triggered. Anika anxiously jerked around, if it was Aurors, they would have been surrounded already.
A Black Hand member fell screaming onto floor as he bleed from hundreds of cuts that materialized all over her body.
The fire's intensity faltered.
The mage's inivisble.
She cast her senses outwards as rest of the members mobilized themselves against the new comer. The magic waves reflected back to her and a shimmer in the air caught her eye.
Found you.
A quick firm jerk of her wand a wave of black light struck the obstruction fair and square.
The invisibility spell broke and it revealed a young wizard in casual robes. He shriked in pain as lightning charges tore through his being.
Huh, kinda cute. Pity he chose the wrong side.
Anika didn't notice as a portal appeared over the tornado of fire. The tornado was forcibly pulled into the void and expelled into the cold vacuum of space. It splittered and died out in an instant.
"Agents of Grindelwald! You will not harm my students!"
The black hand swivelled towards the origin of the voice and all hope left them.
A now furious Dumbledore stood with his wand pointed out towards them. Wisps of white energy flowed all around him. His eyes were merciless.
A brief look toward the student and a warm blue light engufled him. The curse was countered.
Another flick of his wand and massive lightning sparks erupted around two black hand members and they were instantly paralyzed.
Giving them no breathing time Dumbledore stepped up.
He fired a jinx towards the nearest black hand. The assassin raised a shield but the jinx easily shattered through it and his body contorted into a painful pose and kept him immobilized.
Then Dumbledore turned his attention to towards the remaining two. The two lept sideways but a light pole transfigured into a sentient chain and wrapped itself around the black hand like a hungry anaconda. His bones broke but he stayed alive.
Only Anika and Dumbledore stood.
If this was to be her end, so be it. She pulled out the equalizer her master had given and drank it.
Dumbledore narrowed his eye at the display, but didn't had the time to properly analyze.
AVADA KADEVRA Anika shouted.
Dumbledore was calm and the nearby asphalt crumbled to form a protective wall around him.
REDUCTO she shouted at the wall and splintered into a million pieces. She lept into the opening.
There was no Dumbledore.
Only whimpered cries of the brat who attacked them filled the air.
She widened her senses again, sending out pulses of magic but they turned up nothing.
A pop sound appeared behind her. And out of instinct Anita chose the moment.
Goodbye my lord.
A sound of a large ballon being exploded filled the air and blank ink scoured the area.
Dumbledore was covered in blue goo, staring in a horrifying expression at the suicide attack that she had just mounted.
A weariness took hold of Dumbledore and he immediately realized what she had done.
Water of Endless Sleep mixed with human blood he thought to himself.
Potent. Lethal. Tasteless. Tracless. Only requiring skin to skin contact.
In another life, Grindelwald had shared his passion for skin poison instead of ingesting ones with him.
Another wave of sleepiness threatened to take over him. The boy whimpered again.
Of course! He had weakend the wards to save him! The poor boy!
He still had time. Dumbledore knelt on the ground and closed his eyes, and thought about Hogwarts.
Fawkes, my friend. I beg for your assistance again.
He channeled the mental image of where the ward had been breached.
He crawled towards where the boy silently cried. He brushed his long hair out of the way and gasped.
Harry Petrov!
Finally, a response rippled through the silence. A plume of magnificent green and golden fire erupted above Dumbledore, heralding Fawkes' arrival.
As the phoenix's ethereal song reverberated through the air, a surge of revitalizing energy coursed through Dumbledore's veins.
He reached out, grasping the majestic bird's form alongside his weakened student.
In a spectacular display of magical light, they vanished from the scene, leaving behind the chaos and anguish, bound for a place of sanctuary and healing.
Another fire bloomed inside an office.
"Merlin's beard! DUMBLEDORE! WHAT IN HEAVEN'S SAKE?" An astonished Slughorn yelled as the duo materialized within the office.
Dumbledore looked his steely gaze with Slughorn and the potion's master immediately shut up.
Now was not the time for jokes.
"Horace, follow my instructions carefully and start brewing two vials of antidote. The Phoenix tears have undone most of the damage but we still require a proper cure." Dumbledore ordered.
And for the first time in decades, Horace Slughorn, Potion's master of Hogwarts flapped around and followed instructions like a first year.
A Few Hours Ago
Hogsmeade. Saturday.
Polka deftly moved behind the counter, her hands effortlessly arranging bottles and glasses. The bustling noise of students filled the air as she prepared for the impending rush hour. Her role as a fixer had its perks; she catered to the pompous and wealthy Hogwarts students, offering wine, cocaine, cigarettes, illegal books, and other trinkets. In return, she received a flat fee and access to magical ingredients and supplies from the school—a safer gig than any in the underworld. The brats were no match for her experience.
Especially now that dark wizards and vampires roamed freely in the Eldermoor underworld.
As Polka meticulously arranged a display of enchanted items, a chill ran down her spine. Her eyes widened, fixated on a young boy making his way toward her. His long hair had a tinge of red streaks to it. This meant he was in a bad mood.
It was Harry Petrov, the woman yelled,"I know nothing about Rupert! I'm innocent in his kidnapping attempt! Harry I swear!"
A smile crept across Harry's face, his long hair framing his enigmatic expression. He paid no heed to her plea, seemingly unperturbed. Without a word, he raised his wand and unleashed a stunning spell, striking Polka with a jolt of magical energy.
Her protests silenced, she crumpled to the floor, darkness enveloping her consciousness.
Polka found herself lying stunned on the floor, her vision blurry as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings. Harry Petrov, a figure with a youthful, feminine face, stood over her. Panic gripped her as he kicked her wand away, leaving her defenseless and vulnerable. He pulled out a folding chair and positioned it so that one end rested on her throat, effectively trapping her.
"Please," Polka stammered, her voice trembling with fear. "I know nothing about Rupert! I swear I'm innocent!"
Harry's long hair fell across his face as he peered down at her, a sofe polite smile playing on his lips. "Its been a while Miss Polka. Business seems to have treated you well," he replied, his voice calm.
Memories of her past dealings with Rupert and Harry flooded Polka's mind. They had been the ones smuggling Rakta root for her, a rare and banned substance, which she used to lace her specialty cigarettes. The underground market thrived due to the connections of the Black family's pet Aurors, who facilitated the illicit trade on the Minister Black's behalf.
The Noble Pureblood families had been economically and physically devastated by Grindelwald's war. Thus, Minister Black had passed bizzare laws banning multiple ingredients to let an expensive black market create itsself and fulfill demand.
He then extorted various smugglers and quickly filled his own family's coffers.
"There's no need for you to know everything," Polka muttered, desperation creeping into her voice. "I've only done what was necessary to survive in this world."
Harry's gaze intensified as he continued to study her, his silence unnerving. She hated his eyes. The boy seemed to have an aura like he knew things that would horrify the common man if they became known. He always smiled politely but there were dagger like teeth beneath it. Polka could tell.
Breaking the silence, Harry spoke, his voice gentle and chiding. "My dorm room was attacked recently, my dear" he revealed. "Someone doesn't seem pleased with a half-blood like me being sorted into Slytherin. They wanted to send me a message."
Polka's eyes widened as she listened, her mind racing to comprehend the implications. Harry intended to find those responsible and make them pay, before their actions escalated into something more drastic.
"Now," Harry's intoned, "imagine my surprise when I discovered a cigarette butt tainted with traces of Rakta root near my belongings." He leaned in closer, his eyes piercing into hers. "So, I expect you to present me with a list of names. Those who have recently purchased your special brand of cigarettes."
Polka whimpered against the restraints, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew that revealing her clients would not only jeopardize her livelihood but also expose her to immense danger.
A sinister look curled on Harry' eyes as he waved his wand, allowing her to speak once more. "I-I can't give up the names," she pleaded, her voice filled with desperation. "It would ruin me!"
"If you fail to provide me with that list within the next thirty seconds," he warned, his voice dripping with menace, "I will leak information to Dumbledore. He might find it interesting to learn about your involvement in the trade of inferii hearts to students. And once he's done with you, you can hand over your list to him from the comfort of Azkaban."
A chill ran down Polka's spine as the reality of Dumbledore's wrath and the harrowing prospect of a decade in Azkaban settled upon her. The room seemed to close in, the air heavy with impending doom.
Trembling uncontrollably, Polka quickly capitulated. "Okay, okay," she stammered, her voice strained. "I'll give you the list!"
Harry relented, releasing her from the restraints. She hurried to the register, her hands trembling as she fumbled with the secret compartment beneath the beer tap. Unlocking it, she revealed a thick, blue register, its pages filled with the secrets of her clientele.
Flipping through the register, Polka's tears mingled with her fear. She tore out a page, listing the names of Hogwarts students who had purchased her cigarettes in the past two months but had never returned.
With a shaky hand, she threw the list toward Harry, her voice choked with sorrow. "Th-these are the names," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Those who bought my cigarettes and never came back."
As Harry took the list, both he and Polka sensed a shift in the atmosphere. The air crackled with magical energy, signaling a significant event taking place outside the bar.
"What's happening?" Polka asked, her voice trembling with concern.
Harry's curiosity got the better of him as he headed toward the door, his appearance transforming with his metamorph ability. His hair turned fiery red, his eyes emerald green, and his jawline shifted subtly.
"Stay here. Go to your cellar." he commanded.
Polka wasted no time in complying.
Outside, a bizarre sight met Harry's eyes. A procession of wizards and witches silently made their way toward the Forbidden Forest. Their purpose and destination were shrouded in mystery.
"What in Merlin's name?" Harry muttered, narrowing his eyes at the peculiar display.
However, his attention was diverted by the sound of spellfire in the opposite direction. Intrigued, Harry's curiosity overpowered his sense of caution, urging him to investigate the source of the commotion.
Leaving Polka behind, her mind filled with worry and confusion, Harry moved swiftly, his steps guided by a combination of curiosity and the instinct of a quidtich seeker.
The echoes of spells grew louder as he followed the trail, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger.
At last source of sound made itself clear to him,.
Albus Dumbledore was surrounded by black armored assassins.
For a second time in a row Harry was stunned at the man's prowess.
He toyed around with the assassins. Summoning contructs Harry didn't believe possible. But it was happening. Their spells splashed harmlessly against him.
Got get 'em Profesor! Harry childishly cheered on the old man.
Then it happpened.
Harry's eye widened in shock as the assassins resorted to Fiendfyre and the old man disappeared from sight.
Dread settled in him.
No no no no no he can't be dead. He is Albus Dumbledore!
Still seconds trickled by and nothing happened. His mind made up, Harry thought of intervening. He paused as his instincts screamed at him to run away.
What the hell are you thinking Harry?! Dumbledore would have never run away to save his own hide!
They are too powerful another part of him spoke.
'Arry my lad, if are too powerful upfront, shiv 'em in da back! Another of Rupert's wisdom pierced in his mind. His mind made up towards intervention, Harry cast his increasingly sophisticated invisiblity spell around him.
He began to work on the ward infront of him. Ignoring all semblance of caution he decided to tear through it like a giant hammering at a rock.
Hold on, old man. I am coming!
Hogsmeade.
Saturday Evening. Dumbledore.
Dumbledore internally grimaced, hiding his annoyance behind a polite facade. "You are doing a good job, Auror Dean," he said with forced cheerfulness. "Please continue with your report."
"We have learned your assailants were from the Black hand!" Auror Dean excitedly stated.
Aberforth, unable to hold back his sharp tongue, snorted loudly. "Oh, Dean, do enlighten us. Were the Black Hand's outfit and tattoos not a dead giveaway?" he interjected sarcastically, earning a reproachful look from Dumbledore.
Auror Dean, maintaining his composure, ignored Aberforth's remark and pressed on. "Headmaster Dumbledore, the Auror Corps is in awe of your feat. Battling and defeating one member of the Black Hand is troublesome enough, but to defeat five, led by THE ASPEN no less, is nothing short of legendary."
Dumbledore politely interrupted, his voice calm but firm. "Thank you for your kind words, Auror Dean. However, if there is any information you have gathered about their current operations or whereabouts, I would greatly appreciate your insights."
Auror Dean shifted uncomfortably, his embarrassment evident. "I'm afraid that's still an ongoing investigation," he admitted sheepishly. "We have been occupied with defending the jinxed population of Hogsmeade, who unintentionally wandered into the Forbidden Forest. Centaurs, spiders, and even wolves have posed quite the challenge."
Aberforth couldn't resist his biting remarks. "Take your time, why don't you? It's not like we were in a hurry," he muttered sarcastically, his voice dripping with disdain.
Dean's face flushed with anger, his frustration barely concealed. He straightened his tie, attempting to regain his composure. "If you'll excuse me, Headmaster, I have other matters to attend to," he said tersely, before swiftly leaving the bar.
Once Dean was out of earshot, Aberforth couldn't resist a final jab. "Entrusting the investigation to a boy who can't even pass Potions twice. Eldermoor is going to the dogs," he grumbled, his frustration palpable.
Dumbledore's gentle voice cut through the tension. "Aberforth, please remember that Auror Dean is a skilled duelist and an honest man. We need honest men in these trying times," he reminded his brother, his eyes filled with understanding.
Aberforth grunted in response, his tone indicating his ongoing dissatisfaction. The two brothers fell into a momentary silence, broken only by the sound of Aberforth cleaning glasses and magically sweeping the floor.
After a while, Dumbledore's sad gaze lifted to meet Aberforth's inquisitive eyes. "What do you think, Aberforth? Why do you believe Grindelwald so rashly attacked me?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
Aberforth took a moment to gather his thoughts, his rough exterior slowly giving way to a more pensive demeanor. "You already know the answer to that, Albus,".
"Humor me." Dumbledore said.
Aberforth's words hung in the air, carrying a weight of both understanding and concern. Finally, he relented, sighing heavily he poured himself tea and said, "Grindelwald's siege of Stalingrad is precarious at best. His forces lack proper training, and the crack Russian troops receive support from various countries. Russia has granted temporary citizenship to various volunteer Aurors from Egypt, South America, United States, India, Australia, and Scandinavia."
He took a sip before continuing,
"The Black Hand, his so-called elite guard, are busy defending him against the relentless hunting parties of the HIT International Wizarding Council. What remains of the Black Hand is occupied with quelling the insurgency in occupied France."
He paused for a moment before continuing, his voice filled with disappointment. "Everyone seems to be doing their part to fight against Grindelwald, except the British. Minister Black holds their leashes and undermines the Auror Corps, slashing the budget and appointing political lackeys."
Dumbledore's patience wavered slightly at Aberforth's implications, but he maintained his composure. "Aberforth, I am British, and I am doing what I can," he said, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice.
Ignoring his brother's sad stare, Aberforth carried on, "To compensate for the manpower shortage, Grindelwald is courting giant spiders, trolls, and giants. But these creatures, deadly as they may be, lack the cohesion and strategic competence of trained forces. The Russian troops will break their ranks on the battlefield, unless direct intervention is needed."
"All the dragons are locked away tightly in Egypt and Britain, so Grindelwald can't get to them in time. Besides they are too wild. Taming them will take time Grindelwald can ill afford to lose."
Aberforth's tone grew darker as he continued, his words laced with bitterness. "And then there are the Vampire tribes. Fickle creatures, they are. They would rather feast on Grindelwald's blood than stand and fight for him. Loyalty is not their strong suit."
As his mind scrambled for further pieces of information to analyse, realization struck him.
"You thinkg Grindelwald will lose in Russia!" Aberforth accused Dumbledore.
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with pride as he listened to his brother's analysis. "Aberforth, you grasp the essence of the situation," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "You understand why I believe Grindelwald will ultimately lose at Stalingrad."
"Indeed, Aberforth. I have faith in the power of resilience and unity against tyranny," he affirmed, his voice filled with unwavering confidence.
Aberforth snorted at his brother's optimism.
"So what next? That still doesn't explain why he want YOU dead. Opening a war on two fronts is stupid." Aberforth said.
"That's quite simple really." Dumbledore said.
He explained that Britain and Eldermoor were among the most magically protected regions, their ancient wards tracing back to the days of Druids and the Roman Empire. The Founding Fathers and Mothers of Hogwarts had reinforced these wards, ensuring the survival of the castle through the ages, even against powerful adversaries.
Dumbledore continued, "Grindelwald wishes to infiltrate Hogwarts and Eldermoor from the inside out. By presenting himself as a non-threatening figure and potentially exploiting the civil unrest resulting from Minister Black's disastrous economic policies, he hopes to gain entry. The wards might not perceive him as a threat until it's too late. With that, he will have one secure base where his troop can train, rest, and heal. He can wage his war for decades to come with the Allies unable to attack him"
Naturally, he physical boundaries of rivers and oceans too played their part.
Aberforth dryly remarked, "You think highly of yourself, don't you?"
Dumbledore laughed lightly, his eyes sparkling. "I am merely presenting you with Grindelwald's thought process," he clarified. "But you are correct; I have insights that allow me to understand his strategies."
"Of couse you'd know how he thinks" Aberforth snidely commented.
Dumbledore glared at him.
Let the ghosts of past, stay dead.
Aberforth raised his hand in apology and relented.
A peaceful silence passed between the two before Aberforth begain again.
"Get an apprentice" Aberforth said.
"Why would I need an apprentice?" Dumbledore questioned, his curiosity piqued.
Aberforth sighed, his tone laced with annoyance. "You are brilliant, Albus, but lack emotional intelligence," Aberforth explained, his voice gruff yet sincere. " You underestimate the vastness of your knowledge."
He took another swing before continuing
"You can't be bothered to strike directly at Grindelwald, so he will keep sending more assassins, with increasingly complex plots to kill you. Statistically speaking, all it takes is for one to succeed. And if that happens, all your knowledge, especially the wisdom gleaned from that pompous Frenchie, Nicolas Flamel, will be lost. There is only so much that your research papers and books can carry on."
Dumbledore's expression softened as he absorbed his brother's words. Aberforth's observations struck a chord, resonating deep within his being. There was truth in what he said.
"In short, Albus, you need an heir. Someone to uphold your lofty once you bite the dust. Maybe teaching someone one-on-one will lift your spirits"
A glimmer of hope sparked in Albus' eyes as he absorbed Aberforth's words. He couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the prospect. "Aberforth, my dear brother, you've always been wise beyond measure," Albus praised, his voice brimming with genuine appreciation.
Aberforth's response was characteristically blunt. "Yeah, yeah, I knew I was brilliant already," he muttered dismissively.
Albus pondered for a moment, contemplating who would be the most suitable candidate for this important role. There were man but none matched the aptitude he and Grindelwald had in their youth. One named popped up in his mind.
Morrigan Riddle.
Dumbledore visibly shuddered at the thought of taking her on as an apprentice.
Sensing his brother's line of thoughts, Aberforth quipped,
"You only shudder like that when talking about her. What one teenager has ever done to make you like this is beyond me."
Albus decided against sharing the many suspected crimes of Morrigan Riddle with Aberforth.
"What about that dumb kid who thought you died and rushed in to save you?" Aberforth said.
A pang of sadness coursed through Albus as he recalled the young boy's valiant attempt to save him. "I'm embarrassed to face him again after he got hurt trying to protect me," Albus admitted, his voice tinged with regret.
"The kid's a right dumbass. Walking into a Black Hand battle like that."
Aberforth paused as if weighing his words before continuing.
"The kid might be dumb, but he's got heart. Used his wits to weaken that fiendfyre so you could conjure a portal to outer space. He's no Riddle, Flamel, or even you, but he's got a burning ambition and a noble spirit."
Albus felt a surge of gratitude for Harry's selflessness. He realized that although he had managed to control the situation and deceive Harry into believing he was dead, Fawkes would have found him regardless. Fawkes had broken through touger wards on his own.
He had been lurking beneath the FiendFyre, plotting his next move while Harry rushed. Harry's bravery and sacrifice had not gone unnoticed.
His sneakiness in using 6th year invisibility spells had not gone unnoticed by Dumbledore as well.
"I will discuss the proposal with him once he is released from Saint Mungos." Dumbledore stated.
"Many thanks for this heartening conversation, Aberfoth." Dumbledore said.
"Whatever." Aberforth replied.
As Albus prepared to depart, he reached into his robe and pulled out a pouch brimming with Galleons. He placed it on the counter, a gesture of appreciation for Aberforth's wisdom. With a wave of his wand, Albus disappeared, leaving Aberforth alone with the whispering wind.
Aberforth glanced at the pouch, his lips curling into a wry smile.
Saint Mungos.
Saturday Night.
Dr. Brown, a seasoned healer at St. Mungo's, stood by the bedside of his patient, Harry Petrov. The young boy lay still, lost in a deep sleep, his face bearing the remnants of the dark curse that had been cast upon him. It was a sight that evoked a deep sense of sadness within Dr. Brown.
He was a father of 2 and couldn't imagine what he would do if somebody had a cast a dark curse on his boys.
The physical damage caused by the curse was significant, but nothing that couldn't be treated or healed. What troubled Dr. Brown, however, was the state of Harry's magical core. The core, a vital component of a witch or wizard's ability to wield magic, was damaged beyond repair. Each witch or wizard was born with a core that pulled in magic from the environment and allowed them to cast spells.
The left side of Harry's core appeared to have been savagely assaulted, as if someone had taken a blunt axe to it. Wispy, tangled wires obstructed the passage of magic, impeding its flow whenever heavy-duty spell casting was required.
Dr. Brown sighed, his brow furrowed with concern. He had never encountered such a case before, and it puzzled him. How could a young boy endure such damage to his magical core? It was a rarity that left him feeling both perplexed and helpless.
Leaving the patient ward, Dr. Brown made his way to his office. He knew he had to prepare a detailed report on Harry's condition, especially for the boy's current legal guardian, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dr. Brown sat down at his desk, pulling out parchment and a quill.
With a heavy heart, he titled the report, "Subject: Harry Petrov - Assessment of Magical Core Damage." Dr. Brown meticulously documented his observations, describing the extent of the damage and the potential limitations it posed on Harry's magical abilities.
As he penned the report, Dr. Brown couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and sorrow. There was no known cure for such a damaged magical core, and the implications for Harry's future as a wizard were uncertain. It was a burden he wished he could lift, a problem he longed to solve.
He wasn't even sure if the boy could afford experimental treatment. His legal records showed him to be an orphan, a ward of the state. The closest thing to a guardian was Armando Dippet, the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Finishing his report he sealed it in a large envelope for owl delivery to Hogwarts. He prayed and prepared to leave for the day.
Saint Mungo. Bless the boy. Heal his hurts and fill his heart with your love.
Author notes: Please review :) Love it, leave a review. Hate it? Leave a review. Have suggestions? Always delighted to hear them. With that said, in case you didn't notice, this won't be a super Harry fic like the rest of my colleagues insist on making in the time travelling genre. This Harry will be more Deathstroke/Batman and less /Zatanna/Superman.