Allen1996
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Chapter 13: Solaire
🕑 Added 2024-06-12 03:39:02 +0000 UTCAlbus Dumbledore sighed.
He did that a lot these days. Who would have thought that finally winning would feel so hollow, so wrong?
He was certain of his victory. There was no doubt in his mind that sooner or later, Tom Riddle, the child he should have kept in check from the beginning, the child who became a monster—perhaps always was—would be the cause of so much death, so much suffering.
So many had died because of a thirst for power, bigotry, because of a frightened boy who feared Death, a scared boy who never became wise enough to understand that it wasn’t something to be feared.
Hogwarts, one of the greatest places of learning in all wizard-kind history, Hogwarts School where children were supposed to be safe, able to mingle with each other without fearing the ills and threats of the outside world.
Hogwarts, the school where he had taught, where he was the headmaster, the school that was the breeding ground of murderers, the school that could be said to be the origin of everything that went wrong in the wizarding world for the last half-century.
It made him wish he had smothered the life out of Tom from the start. It made him wish he were more like Gellert.
Had Gellert been in his place or at his side, in another world where maybe things didn't go so wrong, none of Tom’s atrocities would have happened.
It baffled him to this day how humans could be so stupid, whether they were wizards or Muggles.
They could hate each other for the pettiest, most nonsensical reasons. When things went wrong, instead of trying to fix them, they blamed others.
Wolves among them saw this stupidity, this yearning for things to make sense, for an illusion of control, and tricked, manipulated them.
They searched for simple solutions to complex problems, someone else to blame, and this was how things always went wrong.
Most of the time, it wasn’t malice that pushed others to commit terrible acts. It wasn’t some unique evil that bloomed only in them. It wasn’t that they were inherently evil.
The problem was that they were stupid.
He remembered a quote from a book once gifted to him by Gellert, an exchange, an unsaid apology, and a possible chance of things getting better.
“You have attributed conditions to villainy that simply result from stupidity,” Doc, one of the characters, had said.
This is why Gellert and him had understood each other so much, this is why they had loved each other this much.
They had always been different, more, able to see what others couldn’t. Only they it had seemed could see the stupidity of the masses, how logic and rationality were so easily discarded by them.
The only difference between Gellert and him was that he understood before it was too late or maybe when it already was that this stupidity was the reason why they shouldn’t be manipulated but instead elevated so that it would not be possible for it to happen
It was the same thing here. The same thing, the same curse that always befell mankind. Had he cut Tom, the infestation, at the root, maybe it wouldn’t have spread.
This is why even then, while battling against the boy’s servants, he had asked the Order and his allies for no killing if possible.
The Death Eaters may be murderous fools who probably inhaled more dark brews than they should, but they still had been his students, his responsibility.
He had taught them all and knew they were not inherently evil but led astray by others, whether it was their parents or their peers.
He could remember Bellatrix, how kind and shy she had been at the beginning. He had seen the effects of her family’s teachings, how they warped and twisted a kind soul, how they turned into a mockery of what she originally had been.
What was the role of a teacher if not to guide toward the good path their students but in that aspect, he failed.
Albus could have acted, could have tried doing anything instead of worrying about politics. Politics shouldn’t be what determine or affected negatively the well-being of children.
Albus believed that people could change for the better. He believed that with enough help, enough care, people could change. He believed that most people were not born evil and did evil deeds because this was what life had taught them and led them to.
He knew more than most that without challenging the ideas they held, without confronting them with the truth of their hubris, people wouldn’t change. Albus wouldn’t have changed if Ariana was still alive.
Albus Dumbledore wouldn’t be the man he was if he hadn’t lost. He wouldn’t be the man he was if he hadn’t been challenged. Albus wouldn’t be hailed as this nigh omnibenevolent figure, praised for his kindness, for being the epitome of light in a dark world if he had died and wasn’t given the opportunity to change.
Always complaining, always moaning, always wondering!
Again and again and again, stupidity winning endlessly, people too similar, too alike, killing, hurting themselves and others because they didn't realize it or didn't care enough to realize it.
Albus Dumbledore hoped even still. He hoped even knowing it to be more than unlikely that the followers of Tom would realize the dark path they took.
He hoped that they could change the same way he did. He hoped that they could shed the shadows in which they cloaked themselves to bathe the world with the light he knew they had inside.
He hoped, but it didn’t mean that he would let himself be blinded by it like a fool.
Albus Dumbledore made errors, probably too many. Thinking about what could have been wouldn’t change what will be.
What Albus Dumbledore could do was make the poison he was feeding his students as sweet as possible.
Poison hurts. Poison destroys. Poison could also strengthen, rot the infestation at its core so that what emerged would be glorious.
Maybe this was another reason he allowed, broke one of the tenets that any teacher should hold: make sure your students weren’t hurt.
This was why, even though it broke his heart to know that his students suffered and would probably continue to do so, he soldiered on, did nothing to try to put a stop to it.
He had seen, looked into the mind of one of Harry's classmates. He had seen the white giant, the white beast, the white deity called Mahoraga.
He had seen the rampage, the cruelty of it. He had seen how it had slaughtered its way through his students like a scythe in a wheat field.
He had also seen something worth being proud of, how his students chose to stand together, abandoning, shedding concepts of different houses, of rivalries, of hatred and bigotry.
He had seen them win against something he himself would probably have lost against. He watched them enact a miracle.
This is why he regretted their suffering but didn't regret having chosen, having asked the Daemon to teach them.
This was a trial by fire. One that would shape them all in one way or another but something in him knew that whatever the results would be, they would be exceptional.
More than that, he could see differences between the students who had undergone the deity’s trials and those who hadn’t.
Those who did probably hadn’t noticed it but they looked different, acted differently. Of course, there was the fear, the anxiety, the dread that seemed to be omnipresent in them but under all of that, something shone—empathy shone.
Most of them didn't look anymore with disgust at those they once had called of a lower status.
They didn't look anymore like future Death Eaters who would murder and torture someone just because they were different.
How could they when they knew what it felt like? How could they when they themselves had been crushed, made to feel as if they were beneath the insects of the ground?
What's the point of calling yourself superior because of your blood status when it didn't help against the blade of Mahoraga?
What's the point of calling yourself worthy, pure when you bled like most living things when your head was squashed to a pulp?
What was the point of calling yourself a pure-blood, what was the point of calling yourself better when in the end, it had been one of those mudbloods who held your hand when the world stopped making sense?
What was the point of everything you had been taught about blood supremacy when it had been a half-blood orphan who led you to victory?
One thing Dumbledore was sure of was that by the end of the year, he wouldn’t be surprised if most of his, let's say, more difficult students would be the complete inverse of what they had been when they stepped into Hogwarts this year.
Physically, it was the way they moved, hyper-aware of their surroundings, their bodies seemingly ready to burst into action at any moment.
They also looked better, not significantly, in an almost imperceptible and minor way, one that probably wasn’t noticed with how dishevelled and unkempt they looked but Albus had been a teacher for more than half a century and he was many things but one thing he couldn’t be accused of being was unperceptive.
So many things had changed, were changing, and it was just the second day. How different would his students be after one or three months?
How much stronger, how much better would they be after five months?
Even if the Daemon stopped teaching his students, he was sure that the chances of Harry winning against Tom would be more plausible.
The boy had battled and won against a god. He had seen death around him and continued, not faltering.
He had seen the death curse used in a way no one ever thought possible. He faced death and stood proudly.
What was a Dark Lord before a god?
If Harry and his classmates succeeded in their final test, if they won against a non-reduced, non-weakened version of the beast and won, Albus could rest knowing that Tom wouldn’t be the winner in the end.
He would be able to rest knowing that he made the right choice, that he was finally able to get rid of his biggest error, but in the meantime, before it all ended, Albus still had work to do.
He could, after all, make enough changes, act enough so that the children taught by the Daemon would be able to find solace, rest, comfort after their classes with her, that they would be able to forget even for a moment what terrible things they went through and would go through.
This was why Albus Dumbledore was in Hogwarts’ kitchen surrounded by shocked house elves.
“I hope I'm not bothering you,” he said with a smile.
“The headmaster is here!”
“Dumbledore could never be bothering us!”
“The great Dumbledore!”
“Silence! Stop acting like fools before the headmaster!”
Albus continued to smile as the kitchen fell into chaos. The adulation the house-elves gave him was always something he was uncomfortable with, but he had learned over time that sometimes, discomfort needed to be ignored to achieve some things.
The sound of a cane knocking against the ground silenced all the house-elves. A hunched figure emerged from the darkness.
“Headmaster, it is a surprising but pleasing thing to see you here
. Your presence would never be unwelcome.”
“Thank you, Balthazar.”
Albus' false smile slowly shifted into a true one at the sight of the elf before him. Balthazar was an old elf, probably one of the oldest in all of wizarding Britain.
He was probably the house-elf most loyal to him in this room, yet it didn’t make him act like his brethren.
This is why he liked him, the elf who chose to treat his hero as a human and not an idealized thing.
The Second Great War had been terrible for everyone involved. The magical side of it had been worse.
Some of Gellert’s followers had wanted, through experiments on magical creatures, to gain their abilities.
This is why centaurs, veelas, goblins, Acromantulas, vampires, werewolves, and so many other creatures, species like house-elves, had been abducted and experimented on.
Thousands of living creatures were butchered, tortured, killed because of the obsession of uncaring monsters in human shape.
The worst, what had left a bitter taste in his mouth, had been that their experiments showed promise.
He had read through their documents and looked through their Pensieves after getting rid of them.
It had been working. It would have worked if they had realized that the magic of non-human beings was as alive as the magic wizards had.
The magic in the blood of unicorns could strengthen, but at the same time, this magical blood could curse anyone who used it, took it from the unicorn without its permission.
They could have done revolutionary things if they hadn’t been so devoid of morals. They could have succeeded before he found them if they hadn’t been stupidly cruel.
Balthazar had been one of the survivors of the experiments. There had been thousands of test subjects, and in the end, only less than a dozen survived.
Balthazar had lost everything he held dear because of those experiments. His half-blood masters were slaughtered, his children and sires taken from him at the end of a wand.
Albus had known that if nothing was done, the one who would be taking in the end the life of the elf would be himself, so Albus had pleaded with the previous headmaster to accept Balthazar as one of the house-elves of Hogwarts.
It could never remove the fact that Albus hadn’t been fast enough. It could never change the fact that Balthazar had lost everything. It wouldn’t heal him either.
What it did was give a reason, a reason for the house-elf to live, to make him feel needed, and it worked.
Half a century and Balthazar was still there. “I am here to ask something of you. I need you to prepare something special for tonight, something different for dinner.”
One of the eyebrows of the house-elf rose. “Different?”
“Yes,” Albus confirmed. “More precisely two different Muggle meals. Have you heard of burgers and pizzas?”
It was with the little things that change came slowly but surely. Let the students associate comfort and bliss with something Muggle-related.
Let it become something they would like, that they could bond over with others. Let it become something that would become as much theirs as it was for others.
Soon, they wouldn’t care about what originally came from non-magic people. He felt something in one of his pockets when he was sure there was nothing in this particular one.
This was but the beginning. Albus Dumbledore, more than headmaster, was Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump.
All this time, he had stayed idle, focusing on maintaining the delicate balance the wizarding world was standing on, but he didn't need to anymore.
Soon, if he was lucky, he would be able to rest, but before that, he'd make sure, in the end, that nothing like what happened with Tom Riddle could ever happen again.
His students would be the future, untouched by the mistakes of the past. This was something he would ensure.
He removed from it a letter, one with the simple name Rias written on it. Fascinating, he wondered if it was something that could be replicated.
“Luna Lovegood,” he hummed.
He wondered what had happened, why she had wished for the affairs of the young Ravenclaw to be moved to her quarters, and more than that, why she called the girl daughter in her letter.
Comments
allen 1996
Thanks for reading
Jason Smith
Thanks for the chapter!
allen 1996
😁 The more you interact( comments, like, subscribing, the more I'm pumped to write). In three or four chapters hopefully if not less, you should have what you want
Nisiris
Nice! New chapter so soon! Thanks! Love when Dumbledore isn't Evil but just somehow too naive or emphatic to do the right thing for good of all. And can't wait how will parents react when they hear about the things their children go through :D
allen 1996
The poll is supposed to end and I had wanted to wait until then but the new trailer of Arcane had to come out and the music in it is so good that it made me write this in two hours. It's as if I had been possessed. Anyways, hope y’all like it
