Chapter 11
29th of August, 1991
Hogwarts
Severus Snape stalked down the empty corridors of Hogwarts, his black robes billowing behind him like a storm cloud. The start of term was in two days, and he savored these fleeting moments of peace before the halls would be overrun with insufferable students. His solitude had already been shattered by the absurd summons from Dumbledore, delivered via a ridiculous contraption—a tiny, trumpet-wielding mechanical owl. The brass bird had zoomed into his quarters, flapping wildly before landing on his desk and blaring out the message in a voice far too loud for its size, causing Snape to nearly hex it on the spot.
As he rounded a corner, he spotted Minerva McGonagall leaning against the wall. Her normally pristine robes were slightly askew, and dark circles underscored her sharp eyes, making her look uncharacteristically disheveled. She took a swig from a flask before noticing him and quickly stowing it away.
"Severus," she greeted, her voice thick with an unusual weariness.
"Minerva," he replied with a curt nod, eyeing her with mild concern.
They walked in tense silence, but something about the shadow trailing Minerva caught Snape's attention. Without warning, he whipped out his wand and fired a red beam of light with lightning speed.
"Stupefy!"
A figure tumbled out from the shadows, the disillusionment spell unraveling as it rolled with surprising agility for its age. Standing up, it revealed the gnarled features of Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. His magical eye whirled madly before fixing on Snape with a fierce glare.
"Alastor!" Minerva exploded, her Scottish brogue thicker than usual. "What in Merlin's name are you doing stalking me? And how did you get into Hogwarts?"
Alastor grinned, his scarred face twisting into something almost sinister. "Albus keyed me into the wards, obviously."
Minerva rubbed her temples, her patience visibly fraying. "Of course he did. But that doesn't give you the right to skulk around like a demented ghoul. If Albus trusts you enough to key you in, maybe you should trust him too!"
Attempting to grab Alastor by the ear, Minerva lunged forward, but he dodged with an impressive roll, landing in a crouch with unexpected grace. She sighed heavily, while Snape resheathed his wand, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant admiration for Alastor's reflexes.
Alastor sneered at Snape, his voice dripping with contempt. "Still hiding behind that greasy hair and your past, eh, Snape?"
Snape scowled. Moody and Snape had the same patron, but they could not, for the love of god, stay in the same room more than ten minutes before insulting each others. Alastor was still suspicious of the ex-death eater.
"Enough, Alastor!" Minerva snapped, her face flushing with anger. "Save your paranoia for someone else."
As they continued towards Dumbledore's office, they approached the gargoyle statue guarding the entrance. The usual stern guardian had been replaced by an outlandishly cartoonish Hydra, each of its five heads adorned with exaggerated features—one with a massive, goofy grin, another with bulging eyes, and yet another with an enormous tongue lolling out comically. The entire ensemble looked more like a bizarre carnival attraction than a serious security measure.
"Password?" one of the Hydra heads demanded in a high-pitched, nasal voice, while another head rolled its eyes dramatically.
"Nyaaaa...," Minerva muttered, her face a picture of distaste at Dumbledore's eccentric choice.
The Hydra gargoyle spun around with an overly theatrical flourish, almost toppling over in its enthusiasm. The spiral staircase behind it began to unfurl, each step popping out with a faintly ridiculous sproing sound.
The trio ascended the spiral staircase. As they reached the top and stepped into Dumbledore's office, they were greeted by an astonishing sight: the entire room had been transformed into a vintage gym. Gone were the ancient tomes and mystical artifacts; in their place were weight benches, dumbbells, barbells, and even a punching bag hanging in one corner. The walls were adorned with motivational posters of famous Muggle bodybuilders and athletes (but one was strangely empty - maybe the athlete was invisible ?), their muscles glistening under the enchanted ceiling, which now resembled the bright blue sky of a summer day.
In the center of this bizarre setup, Albus Dumbledore lay on a bench press, his bare torso gleaming with sweat. His skin was tanned and taut over well-defined muscles that bulged and flexed as he lifted a hefty barbell loaded with weights—an impressive 160 kilograms. His short, neatly trimmed hair and beard gave him a rugged, almost gladiatorial look. Dumbledore's body, though aged, was a testament to disciplined training and an unyielding spirit. He looked like a hero from an ancient epic, strong and unyielding.
Minerva spluttered, her face flushing a deep crimson. "Albus, what in Merlin's name—" she stammered, struggling to find her words.
Snape's jaw dropped, his usually impenetrable facade shattered by the sheer absurdity of the scene. He blinked rapidly, trying to process what he was seeing.
Dumbledore set the barbell back on its rack with a satisfied grunt and stood up, towering over them with his muscular frame. He wiped his hands on a towel and turned to his visitors, a broad smile on his face. "Severus…" he greeted warmly, his voice rich and resonant. "You've arrived just in time. I've got some good news for you. And I see you brought company. Alastor, Minerva ?"
Alastor Moody, usually the embodiment of suspicion, forgot to be suspicious in front of such a display and let out a low whistle of admiration. "Hell yeah, Albus!" he bellowed, his magical eye spinning with excitement. "160 kilos at your age? That's bloody brilliant!" He approached the bench with a wide grin, extending his hand for a high-five. Dumbledore, his muscles rippling with each movement, met Moody's hand with a powerful slap.
Minerva, still flustered, found herself unconsciously licking her lips as she took in Dumbledore's transformed physique. She blinked rapidly and then, in a flurry of movement, transformed into her Animagus form—a sleek tabby cat. She wound her way around Dumbledore's legs, purring loudly and rubbing against him in a show of feline affection.
Moody's instincts kicked back in, and he unsheathed his wand, pointing it at Dumbledore. "Hold on a second," he growled, his tone - again - full of suspicion. "You're not acting like yourself, Albus. How do we know it's really you?"
Snape, still recovering from the shock, stepped forward more cautiously. After all, Albus was his boss, his protector, and his patron. "Headmaster," he began, choosing his words carefully, "your recent... transformations and behavior have been quite uncharacteristic. It has raised some... concerns among us."
Dumbledore chuckled, a deep, hearty sound that seemed to reverberate through the room. He reached for a whey shake on a nearby table, downing it in one go. His neck and shoulders flexed impressively as he drank, his muscles rippling with a power that seemed almost mythical. He then draped a towel over his broad shoulders before sitting down on a weight bench, his presence commanding and serene.
"Indeed, I have changed," he began, his voice filled with an energy that matched his newly sculpted physique.
Minerva - back in her human form-, Alastor, and Snape held their breath, their eyes locked onto him, anticipation hanging heavy in the air. The tension was almost palpable.
Dumbledore stood up.
"I'VE BECOME MANLY!" he declared, striking a series of poses that highlighted his impressive musculature. His biceps bulged as he curled his arms, his chest expanded in a powerful display, and his abs were a testament to his rigorous training. The spectacle left Minerva speechless, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. Snape's mouth hung slightly open, his usual composure shattered, while Moody let out a low whistle of astonishment.
Finally, Dumbledore sat back down, taking another deliberate sip from his whey shake. The atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically, the playful energy giving way to a somber seriousness. The weight of Dumbledore's next words seemed to hang in the air, thick with foreboding. Alastor's face hardened as he took a cautious step back, his magical eye fixed intently on Dumbledore, while Snape gulped, feeling the gravity of the moment settle over him.
"Furthermore, my friends…I believe Voldemort may be back," Dumbledore said, his voice now grave and steady. "I've found evidence that suggests he has not entirely disappeared."
The revelation hit them like a physical blow. Minerva's eyes widened in shock, her body trembling slightly. "Albus, you can't be serious," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Moody's magical eye stopped its restless spinning, locking onto Dumbledore with an intensity that bordered on ferocity. "Are you certain, Albus?" he demanded, his voice rough with suppressed tension. "What have you found?"
Snape's normally impassive face showed signs of fear and disbelief, his eyes searching Dumbledore's for any hint of reassurance. "What kind of evidence?" he asked, his voice strained.
Dumbledore took a deep breath, his eyes reflecting a mix of determination and sorrow. "There are traces of his magic, subtle but unmistakable. I felt too old, too weary to confront the threat as I was. Thus…for the sake of our world, I needed to regain my strength. So, I delved into alchemy, creating something that grants me the energy to face what lies ahead", he lied effortlessly.
Minerva's eyes widened further, a flicker of fear crossing her face. "Altering your own body through Alchemy, Albus? That's dangerous!"
Dumbledore sent her a stern gaze, one that instantly chastised her. Minerva felt like a student being reprimanded by a professor. Indeed, he was Albus Dumbledore—he knew what he was doing. She lowered her eyes, chastened and silent.
Moody stepped forward, suspicion etched on his rugged face. "Is it the Philosopher's Stone?"
Dumbledore laughed, a deep, resonant sound that dispelled some of the tension. "No, Alastor. It's another mixture—one that improves rejuvenation and regeneration of the body, but it's not the Stone. I'm afraid I don't have the genius of Nicolas"
He reached for the whey gourd and opened it, revealing a liquid that sparkled with a greenish light.
Minerva took a cautious step closer, her eyes fixed on the gourd. "Albus, is this... safe?"
Dumbledore nodded, his smile reassuring. "I am confident, Minerva. The changes you've seen are side effects of the alchemy, nothing more. It has not altered my mind or my spirit, only invigorated my body. I feel Youthful!" - he screamed the last word, and felt, for whatever reason, as if he wanted to grow bushier brows and wear spandex.
Moody, still wary, lowered his wand but kept it at the ready. "And if Voldemort is truly back, what's our next move?" he asked, his tone a mix of skepticism and determination.
Seeing the apprehension - the fear, even - in Minerva and Snape's eyes, Dumbledore stood up once more, his presence filling the room. His magical power unfurled like a storm, the air around him crackling and shimmering with an almost tangible energy. The very room seemed to breathe with his strength, the ancient stones pulsing in sync with the resurgence of his might. His eyes blazed with a fierce determination, casting an intense, godlike light that chased away every shadow and laid bare every hidden corner. His presence transcended mere humanity. The portraits on the walls stirred, their painted figures appearing to bow in reverence, while the very atmosphere hummed with his essence.
"My friends," Dumbledore intoned, his voice a resonant force that seemed to reverberate through the very walls, "with me restored to my prime, I am the same power that even Grindelwald, the darkest wizard of his age, feared and respected. Do you think that pretender Voldemort, with his pitiful grasp for power, stands a chance against me? I will obliterate his shadow from our world, just as I did with Grindelwald, and I will continue to do so as long as I stand… And I have never met anyone who could make me kneel."
Snape and Minerva straightened, their confidence visibly renewed by Dumbledore's fierce declaration.
Moody, usually the skeptic, finally grumbled with a grudging admission of his mistake, "He really is Albus Fucking Dumbledore."
