hunter20
patreon
Dumbledore: ch 5
🕑 Added 2025-09-22 07:00:13 +0000 UTC[Albus Dumbledore]
Staring at the tiara in front of me, I couldn't help but feel a profound sense of disgust. To degrade one's soul like this in a futile effort to escape mortality was not worth it. It was an affront to the soul, to magic, to death, to fate, and to nature all at once.
The longer I stared at it, the clearer it became why a teenager had been capable of besting one of the most knowledgeable and powerful wizards of his time. The reason was laughably simple, and for once, the explanation wasn't mere plot armor. Or, more accurately, I now understood how that particular plot armor had formed and functioned.
You see, when a wizard creates a Horcrux, he must sacrifice an innocent life to protect his own—a basic, vile equivalent exchange. After the necessary preparations, the backlash—or more accurately, the result—of using this dark magic is used to peel off a fragment of the wizard's soul, which is then placed inside an object.
This much is understood. Create a Horcrux, and you escape death—or so its creators believed. The reality, of course, is different. There are consequences for violating the natural laws of the world, especially concerning magic. Violent, deadly consequences.
So, there you are: an idiot who has degraded his soul, chipped away a piece of his sanity and equilibrium, and violated the sanctity of his own existence, all while unaware that you have just earned yourself one of the most horrific ends imaginable.
Fate will curse you. Luck will abandon you. Magic will abhor you. Nature will despise your existence. Thus, your death becomes an inevitability, for the world itself will conspire to raise up champions to destroy you.
Then come the special idiots, like Voldemort, who succumb to hubris and believe they can modify the ritual to rid themselves of these consequences. This is where their particular brand of foolishness shines. They attempt to modify a Nullimantic-based dark magic and gear it toward an orderly septimal system (a 1-7 base system ) without understanding more than the basics of Arithmancy.
This is the pinnacle of hubris: studying the basics of a magical system developed over millennia and thinking that with less than seven years of study, you can improve upon it. 'It is truly disheartening to behold,' I thought, observing the serpentine piece of magic coiling around the tiara.
'Could the past me have prevented this?' I wondered.
'If he had explained more? If he had done more than simply tell students that dark magic was bad?' I couldn't find a clear answer.
I knew the current me would likely have taken the same approach if I had watched my best friend become corrupted by it. That was what happened to Grindelwald. He started too young and succumbed to the allure of power while running from fear.
'Sigh, let's not dwell on that now.' I shook my head, leaned back, stretched my arms, and yawned, a slight tingle coursing through my body.
Now, what to do with this? I could destroy it, but that felt like a waste of resources. I could also purify it, rehabilitate it, and bind it to me, but what would I do with a piece of a soul? A dog's soul is worth more than this in the eyes of magic…
"Looks like there's only one way, huh?" I muttered, staring at the ceiling. "Yeah, looks like Project 'Turn Voldemort into Your Eternal Slave AI' is a go," I chuckled to myself.
Still, for that, I need to summon all the soul pieces to me, which isn't particularly hard. I could simply will it to happen. It would require more magic than ten full-fledged wizards possess, but it would be worth it.
Alternatively, I could hunt them down individually and consider each trip a minor adventure.
Decisions… decisions…
'Am I procrastinating?' I thought, tapping a quill with my wand and watching it transform into a bird. I twirled my wand again, and the transfigured bird shifted into a cat, which began stretching, then into a miniature lion…
'I *was* procrastinating,' I concluded, canceling the magical trick. I often did these little diversions when trying to avoid a weightier thought, though they never really worked because I was always aware of why I was doing them.
At that moment, I was trying to stop myself from going after the Resurrection Stone. I knew I wouldn't be able to resist using it to see Ariana again, and that was a can of worms I did not want to open. Sure, I wasn't the past Dumbledore, but you can't simply erase decades of guilt, self-loathing, and doubt just because you've fused souls and become a new being.
Ariana's accident was the magical equivalent of a freak accident. We never knew whose spell killed her, whether it was a direct hit or a backfire from a spell clash…I doubt even Ariana herself knew.
None of us wanted that outcome, at least not in this world. I was the oldest brother; arrogant and self-absorbed as I was in my youth, I never wanted her dead. I loved her too much. I had delved into the dark arts seeking a way to cure her condition.
Aberforth was too overprotective to ever consider harming her. And Grindelwald? He was in love with her. He might deny it, but I saw how his eyes softened in her presence and how his ears perked up at the sound of her voice.
That night was a tragic accident that no one intended. It started with Aberforth raising his voice and drawing his wand, which triggered Grindelwald's wounded ego and volatile emotions, which prompted me to draw my own wand to defend my brother….
"Ugh, let's think of something else," I muttered, feeling a heavy weight settle on my chest.
"What to do about the Deathly Hallows, though?" I asked, not expecting an answer as I was alone.
"Ugh, that's just a fairy tale. There's no such thing as becoming the Master of Death," one of the portraits—Dexter Fortescue, as the nameplate indicated—voiced his opinion, making me blink.
"That's true," I agreed. "There's no such thing as mastering death. Though the artifacts themselves…" I trailed off, playing with my Elder Wand.
"Are you implying that your wand is *the* Elder Wand?" the portrait of the past headmaster asked, his voice cracking slightly. This was the first time he had initiated a conversation.
While he was one of the first to leave an animated portrait, he rarely spoke, as was the case for most of them. In all my tenure as Headmaster, this was perhaps only the second or maybe third time he'd addressed me directly. I usually conversed with the more active portraits: Armando, Dilys, Phineas, and Phyllida.
"What did we say about not talking about the wand, Albus?" Armando asked, his tone like a parent scolding a child.
"Ah, it matters not anymore, Armando," I sighed, shaking my head.
"So it is true, then…" was the shared sentiment among the now-active portraits.
"It is. Although, I am more interested in how the legend of the Deathly Hallows has affected the artifacts themselves," I stated.
"I mean, this is a more than a millennia-old legend. Think of all the faith, desperate hope, and longing of everyone who has ever heard the story. The greed, ambition, power lust, or simple, innocent hope associated with collecting these artifacts…" I truly wanted to see what would happen if they were brought together.
"That's a dangerous line of thought, Albus," Armando said, drawing collective agreement from his colleagues—all except one.
"Ah, don't listen to them. You should strive for power. Perhaps that would make up for the fact that you're a half-breed…" Phineas Black shared his wisdom, earning him scathing looks from the others.
"Ah, Phineas, I have more power in my pinky toe than all your pure-blooded idiots combined," I chuckled, watching him glare at me.
"You have changed, child," Phyllida Spore, a former Headmistress and an accomplished medi-witch in her time, stated.
"Well, I have gained a new lease on life," I answered. "And now I feel far more motivated than I used to."
"Ah, yes, the ascension of rank thing," she chuckled. "That's a clever lie you've crafted."
"Hahah, is it, though?" I asked. "The world is so different from what you once knew…." I shook my head, earning interested looks from all of them. "Well, it's not a secret, and I have nothing better to do," I mumbled under their gazes.
"You are all aware of the anomalous events that began occurring over the past few years, correct?" I asked, receiving a chorus of assenting noises.
"Well, it appears our world is merging with another, or perhaps several others. Those phenomena are the side effects of the process," I informed them.
"Absurd!" Phineas Nigellus was the first to reject reality. "There's no such thing as other worlds, let alone merging with them!"
"And that's why your only accomplishment in life—" I stopped myself mid-sentence. "I apologize. I was about to say something truly hurtful."
"Hahahahah! You really are Albus Dumbledore!" Armando said, his voice jubilant and relieved. "I know we were worried you might have been possessed or something, but all you've done since waking up is upgrade Hogwarts's protections and add enchantments to aid the students in their studies," he continued, not letting me get a word in.
"And then you did this thing you used to do when you were younger—back when you were still too sure of yourself and your talents—where you stop yourself from insulting or destroying someone's ego mid-sentence." He chuckled and shook his head.
I, on the other hand, was left bewildered. Where had that come from?
I was about to ask, but he cut me off again. "I know what you want to ask, and no, you can't fake something like that. There are things too natural and spontaneous to counterfeit, such as old habits and behaviors."
Okay, that was not what I wanted to ask—and now I didn't know whether to feel annoyed or not.
"So, moving on?" I asked them.
"Moving on," they replied.
There was no need to dwell on it. I had expected suspicions from the moment I woke up; I just hadn't anticipated they would come from the portraits.
"So, what do you plan to do with the Deathly Hallows?"
"I don't have a concrete plan yet. I want to study how their legend has affected their magic when held together, but other than that? Nothing much," I answered nonchalantly.
"Hmm, just be careful," was the portraits' collective advice.
"But before I go off to collect Horcruxes and Deathly Hallows, I should first solve the Potions professor issue."
"Shouldn't you be worried about the man? You were the one who sent him on that mission, after all," Armando asked.
"No. If Severus didn't return after sending that S.O.S. and vanishing, he is either dead or indisposed," I answered, shaking my head. "And I have a school to run. I need a new professor."
“You can ask Horace to fill in…” Armando suggested, making me chuckle.
“That was the plan,” I confirmed as I looked down, eyeing the stack of papers I had been ignoring since yesterday, stacked neatly on my desk.
‘Yeah, I gotta run before Minerva comes in and sees this…’ I thought as I stood up.
“If Minerva comes in, tell her I went to get Horace to come and teach potions. And if possible, ask her to do the paperwork for me, please…” I told the portraits as I walked towards my sleeping familiar.
Fawkes opened his eyes, looked at me, understood that this was an urgent extraction situation, jumped from his perch, and flamed us out of there before the portraits could protest…
And just like that, I was out of my office…
Little did I know that I avoided my nagging deputy headmistress by seconds as she came in only moments after I left…
X_
[Horace Slughorn]
Horace was having a nice day today. He woke up early, went out for a little walk—sure, it was inside his own little greenery filled with some of the most exotic and very illegal-to-possess plants, but it was a walk nonetheless.
He returned home happy, ate his breakfast, sat down on his comfortable sofa, and started reading the newspaper.
It didn’t matter if half of what they said was speculation about Dumbledore; he didn’t really care. Sure, he was a little envious of his friend’s apparent de-aging, but he wasn’t all that bothered.
He still had years ahead of him. Plus, he was enjoying his retirement, unlike Albus, who had to continue to work for Merlin knows how long. So he had things that were going great for him too.
He might not be the new Merlin, and he might not be getting any younger, but he was enjoying his life too.
‘Yeah, he was enjoying his life…’ he nodded, reaffirming his belief…
“Screeeeeeeeee!” The melodic cry of a phoenix, accompanied by a spectacular show of fire and magic, didn’t bother him… for he was enjoying his life…
Enjoying his morning, and life…
“Horace, my friend, how have you been?” Albus’s voice, a younger, more vigorous, and masculine voice, sounded.
“I was enjoying my morning, until you decided to interrupt it…” He grumbled as he stood up.
“Ah, don’t be like that. We both know that you were itching to do something new. Something other than brewing potions once in a while and staying cooped up inside your shack…” Albus said…
Clearly, this was not a social visit. Albus was already doing the sales pitch, but Horace was not one to accept easily.
“Ah, that was the old and young Horace. Now I am but an old man, enjoying my retirement and doing what I like.”
“Ah, what a pity,” Albus said regretfully. “So you wouldn’t like to get back to Hogwarts, gain access to a new magic that will make your advancement in the field of potions so much faster? A magic that may well help you attain the same rank advancement as I did? Ah, what a pity. I guess I will just go and find someone else.”
‘What’s happening???’ He thought. ‘Why isn’t Albus sticking to the script? He tries to convince me, I say no, and then he motivates me with some Phoenix ash and tears…’
“Ahahahha, Albus. Come, sit down. Do you want some tea? I have this new tea, just arrived from Japan a few days ago, really,” Horace changed his tactics quickly. “Now, what is this you said about new magic?” He was nothing if not adaptable.
“I thought you didn’t want me disturbing your retirement,” Albus asked, acting clueless.
“Ugh, Albus. That’s why no one liked playing with you when you were younger. You always ruin it…” he grumbled and sat down. He flicked his wand towards the kitchen and put it back on the table.
“Ahahah, that’s just because most of the people who tried to play with me were sore losers,” Albus chuckled as he sat down next to him.
“So what is this about the new magic?” Horace asked again. He was very interested in a magic that would help him in advancing his craft.
He wouldn’t be the only one either; anyone with a master rank in their prospective field of magic would be interested. You don’t just become a master because you studied a few books, no.
You need talent, effort, and an almost obsessive love for the subject you want to master. Especially potions. Everyone can brew potions, but very few had the love, the drive, and patience to experiment with them.
“It’s a magic of my creation; I call it the Archive,” Albus said as a light, golden, screen-like thing appeared in front of him. “This here will help you compile, analyze, and review all your knowledge, along with that of several others who wish to share their knowledge.”
Horace was sold the moment he heard about the compiling and analyzing features. Those would be very helpful—for research purposes, of course.
Of course, he didn’t advertise his interest like a kid but asked a few more questions. He tried to act tougher and more hard to get, but Dumbledore was a very charismatic and persuasive person when he wanted to be.
And that’s how he found himself connected to a magic that he knew nothing about but the basics, and accepting a job that required him to leave his home immediately.
“Don’t worry, you can send a house-elf to get your stuff later…” Albus said as he put his arm around his neck, and they were abruptly taken back to Hogwarts aboard the Fawkes Express—as Dumbledore called it…
And now, here he was, walking beside Minerva, a girl he had taught back in the day, as she escorted him towards the dungeon.
Like he didn’t know where the classes were.
He would have felt something about how abrupt and quick this whole thing was if he wasn’t so focused on the new magic. He was watching how his memories and knowledge were converting into magical data, with a mini Horace-shaped picture running from one end of the screen to another.
He would have been very concerned about the nature of any magic that dealt with memories if not for the fact that he felt the connection, and his absolute control over what to convert into magical data and add to his own archive.
You know what? Today was a great day indeed…
X_
[Albus Dumbledore]
Getting Horace to agree didn’t take much effort—just a nudge here and a carrot there—and he was pocketed before he even knew what happened.
It was easy to get accomplished wizards to do what you want if you have something that interests them. Especially those who have reached the rank of master. You need a lot of passion, obsession, and a healthy dose of drive to actually make it.
It was not that different from the Muggle world in this regard.
Still, getting Horace into Hogwarts was a great thing to do. The guy had a knack for motivating students and helping them. Plus, he was a very good teacher, so that’s a plus.
Still, now I need something else to do before McGonagall comes back…
