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HP: reactions (2)
🕑 Added 2025-05-29 17:53:48 +0000 UTC---
In Hogwarts. Inside his office, Headmaster Dumbledore sat quietly, listening to the different and bizarre sounds his trinkets were making while contemplating his most recent mistakes—just like he always does.
For starters, he had sought out Tom Riddle's Horcrux, all by himself, hoping that with him having one in hand, he could devise a ritual of sorts that might help him locate all the others—especially now that Harry Potter was dead…
In the beginning, Dumbledore had wanted to mold and shape Harry into a hero who wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice himself in the war against the Dark Lord if it meant saving people. However, as it turned out, that was for naught, as Harry Potter's stubborn and rebellious nature had left Dumbledore with no choice but to cut his losses and act on his own—and boy, was that a mistake.
Earlier this week, right after Harry was shipped to Azkaban, he traveled to the Gaunt shack to look for and retrieve the Horcrux he was sure would be there, only to somehow be blindsided by his own greed when he encountered one of the things he sought out the most since he was young—the Resurrection Stone—one of the Deathly Hallows.
Tom's Horcrux had protection set up in advance—very subtle Confundus Charm attached to the ring, still that wouldn't have been a problem for him if he hadn't been caught by the surprise of finding the Resurrection Stone.
That momentary surprise, along with his own deep-rooted desire to collect the three Deathly Hallows, had been enough to momentarily ensnare him.
Dumbledore had been cursing himself for falling into this trap all week long; despite his long life and wisdom,he was still human in the end—and that had been his undoing.
He was ensnared and touched the cursed thing, only to be struck by one of the most vicious curses he had ever seen, let alone experienced.
Who would have thought that Voldemort had protected his Horcrux—a piece of his very soul—with a curse that fed on magic and soul?
Dumbledore might have dismissed this as a foolish plan had he known about it from the beginning, but he would be lying because he would have done the exact same thing, if not more…
Voldemort had prepared thoroughly, linking his cursed protection to the shack's rune stone, and by doing so, he made it so the curse protecting his Horcrux was feeding from the magic in the stone and the souls he trapped there—which he still didn't know how he did it—instead of his own…
Now, thanks to his own hubris, he found himself afflicted by this magic- and soul-consuming curse that promised a very horrible death.
The only thing he had to show for this mistake was the Resurrection Stone, a relic that, just looking at it now, fueled his anger and frustration more.
This little mistake had just compromised over 40 years of effort and hard work, a more than 40 years of preparation for his own ascension ritual, that now with one little lapse of judgment/ one little mistake that if he couldn't solve quickly will threaten to/cost him everything.
Lost in his own thoughts and frustration, Dumbledore failed to notice the fireplace lighting up with its green flames, bringing the man known to many as "Mad-Eye" Moody.
"Cough!! Dumbledore, we have a problem," Moody fake-coughed to bring Dumbledore's attention after doing his routine of scanning the room for spells and dangers—constant vigilance…
"Ah, Moody, my friend, what brings you here?" Dumbledore, a little surprised by how he was caught off guard and how deeply he had been in his own head, asked…
"We have a problem, Dumbledore—a very big and dangerous problem." He paused a little for suspense and to get back at Dumbledore for always doing it, then continued: "Harry Potter has escaped from Azkaban," preparing to enjoy Dumbledore's reaction.
His words had the intended effects as he caught Dumbledore's surprised reaction, capturing his full attention. He started to quickly retell and describe the events that had transpired in Azkaban and the Ministry.
But before he could finish his storytelling, a falcon-shaped Patronus arrived through the walls, summoning him urgently back to the DMLE office…
So Moody had to interrupt his storytelling, stood up, took a glass vial from his innermost pocket, handed it over to Dumbledore, and said:
"It seems like I have to go… Here are the memories of what happened; you can review them on your own." And with that, he stepped into the fireplace, used the Floo powder he had with him, and disappeared in a flash of green fire.
Dumbledore, on the other hand—sitting on his chair, his face outwardly stoic—quickly stood up, walked toward one of the walls, and with a downward motion of his wand, the wall parted, summoning with it his very own Pensieve.
Quickly dumping the contents of the bottle into it, he immersed his face inside and started watching the memories…
After reviewing the memories, he realized that what he had seen made no sense.
The boy who should be very dead was alive and kicking—and to top it up, more powerful than ever.
Information that should not have been known to him or revealed to the public was now out in the open, and the reputation he had built over the years had taken a hit.
Although nothing serious had happened yet, he sensed this was just the opening act of a very tragic play—one that for once he was not the director of.
Worst of all, time for researching a solution to his curse problem was going to be cut short while dealing with this new problem—time he did not have.
He estimated that he had a period of 7–13 months before the curse claimed his life—depending on how effective his temporary solution was and how much magic he used during this period—still, that was without him engaging in anything strenuous like magical battles.
He was feeling how his magic was struggling against the curse as it consumed his strength at every moment of every day since he was infected.
If he didn't find a more permanent solution quickly, his ascension ritual would probably fail, and he wouldn't reach godhood—and that would be a problem. Just the thought of his hard work going to waste twisted his face in anger, frustration, and a little bit of despair.
Dumbledore didn't seek godhood merely for the sake of it or just to satisfy his ego—at least, not at first.
You see, after the death of his little sister 'Arianna' —an incident he knew and believed was his own fault—he began researching ways to resurrect her and bring her back to life.
Unfortunately, every method he discovered proved either incomplete, unsuitable, or downright wrong.
So, While exploring different parts of the magical world, consulting different magic books and tomes, he came across an ancient-looking grimoire written in an unknown language that took him 3 years just to decipher.
Still, his work ultimately led him to what he believed was the solution for every problem he had—for he had discovered the path toward godhood, which he believed would allow him to bring his sister back to life. After all, what can't a god do?
---
On the other side of magical Britain, the Dark Lord didn't take the news well. You see, he had been having a very nice day—sitting in a dark room in Malfoy Manor, lounging around with Nagini, while plotting and planning for his upcoming glorious conquest—until he was disturbed. And if you know the Dark Lord, then you know that he does not like being disturbed…
Said disturbance came in the form of one of his new Death Eaters planted inside the Wizengamot, barging in on him in a hurried and frantic pace. He didn't like that, so he didn't waste his precious time asking questions and just used Legilimency directly—shattering the rudimentary protections the man had without a care—and dove straight into the memories of his slave without any concern for the health of said slave…
After all, at the end of the day, he was just one slave, and Lord Voldemort had an abundance of those and could easily obtain more.
Now, though, after reviewing the memories of what happened, he was seething with anger and hatred.
He, Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, was being made a joke by the same brat he had wiped the floor with mere weeks ago.
He, the strongest Dark Lord to ever exist, couldn't perform wandless magic at the level of a fifteen-year-old child.
He, Lord Voldemort, was supposed to be the most powerful and most feared dark wizard alive—even Dumbledore feared him and had only dueled him twice in all these years.
How could a mere teenage boy be stronger than him? This had to be some play of fate to even up the playing field—yes, that's it!! But if so, then his plans had to change, and the war needed to move forward quickly before the brat gained more power.
Because now it was abundantly clear that as long as Harry Potter was alive, he would be a threat to his rule and his power—so Voldemort had better eliminate him sooner rather than later.
He waved his wand aloft and swiftly banished the slave—who was still on the ground writhing in pain while clutching his head. He couldn't even enjoy his suffering because he was in a hurry and had things to do…
"Wormtail!" he loudly called to the first slave he saw standing by the door. As he stood up—the sniveling coward known as Peter Pettigrew—came in hurriedly and kneeled before him. He was about to start talking, but Voldemort did not allow him to speak; he did not have the time…
"Wormtail, go and summon Malfoy and his wife to me, then bring Nott, Selwyn, and their ilk to me as well. I have orders for them."
Now it was time for him to accelerate his plans—to rescue/reassemble all his followers and recruit more.
It appeared he wouldn't have the time to add his artistic touches to his upcoming strategies—even then, he knew everything he did was artistic in more than one way, so that would have to suffice.
His musing was abruptly interrupted by a trembling Lucius Malfoy and a clearly terrified yet attempting to maintain a stoic demeanor, Narcissa Malfoy.
"My Lord, you have summoned us. How can we be of service?" Lucius stuttered, clearly still not fully healed from the Cruciatus Curse he had punished him with for his incompetence. But Voldemort didn't care about that…
"Lucius, the plans have changed, and I am accelerating them. Get yourself healed faster and contact all of my Death Eaters; we are going to destroy Azkaban and free my followers who are locked in there. It seems the magical world needs to be reminded of how to fear Lord Voldemort."
"Yes, my Lord. It shall be done," Malfoy replied before hurrying from the room, leaving Narcissa standing there, awaiting her orders.
"For you, Narcissa—I want you to gather all information you can get on Harry Potter and the recent events at Hogwarts through that spineless coward you call a son. And do it quickly," he instructed.
"Yes, my Lord," she replied and started walking out while clutching her fists. Oh, how amusing it was for him to see just how offended and angry she was—yet clearly helpless in front of his might that she couldn't even think of opposing his orders.
He turned his attention to his beloved Nagini, petting her and trying to relax while discussing his plans with her—what a smart snake…
---
Meanwhile, in the Ministry of Magic, inside the Minister's office, a conversation was taking place between Minister Fudge and Amelia Bones.
"Amelia, I'm sure you understand that we can't just give in to the demands of Harry Potter just because he said so," the Minister said with a frown, arguing while trying to come up with an excuse to spare himself the pressure that Malfoy would put on him if Sirius Black was exonerated—along with the political nightmare that would follow…
"Minister, we don't have a choice. You may think there's room to stall for time and devise a plan to capture Harry Potter, but there is none. You know as well as I do what he's capable of. You have seen it—and that's him now. Because as soon as he gets a wand, he'll be unstoppable.
I don't know what happened to him while in Azkaban, but my gut tells me the Harry Potter who came out of there isn't the same one who went in.
My years of experience as an Auror have taught me to recognize the signs of danger early, and I won't watch my team be sacrificed for political games," Amelia said, her fists clenched at her sides—clearly agitated and trying her best not to hex Fudge for his idiocy.
"Okay, okay. I get it. Just go do what you want to do," Fudge finally relented—after having the same argument for the last 30 minutes—he was tired, his voice heavy with resignation, the tension in his shoulders reflecting the weight of all the looming threats.
As he poured himself a drink, his hands trembled slightly—an involuntary reaction to the mounting pressure that seemed to crush him from all sides. All he could do now was drink to try and get the haunting memories of his past blunders out of his head.
While Madam Bones, after leaving Minister Fudge's office, went directly to her office to do what needed to be done.
By evening, the paperwork for the release of her ex-boyfriend was complete. Now, she was left sitting alone in her office, pondering what would become of the wizarding world now that it had a dark horse by the name of Harry Potter.
---
