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Magickal Mutants
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,048
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,048
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Dumbledore
Albus sighed as he let his mind link fade. He rubbed old, knarled fingers on the back of his stiff neck, and stood up fromhis chair. He began pacing, letting out a sigh as he went back and forth along the floor of his office.
Eventually, he halted his pacing and went to his closet, opening the doors with a magical wave of his hand. From within, he pulled out a set of Muggle clothing, a pair of loose kaki trousers and a white button shirt. He took of his wizards robes, hanging them on a hook. He felt a moment of trepidation as he hung the clothes. This was the first time he had donned non magical clothing in years, and it made his back tingle uncomfortably.
He put on the Muggle outfit, slipping his feet into a pair of very old, yet still well shined business shoes of black leather, tying them expertly and tucking the laces in.
He stood up stiffly, groaning. He had never before felt so stressed, even counting the hazardous days from more than a decade ago when Voldemort was as big a threat as he was now.
Exiting his office, he went down the long narrow stone corridor to the stairway, where he descended into the the main hall of the school. He heard commotion from farther on, past where his eyes could see, where the students were being housed in a large makeift hospital, being fawned over and cared for by the Healers and other aurors from the Order of the Pheonix.
Albus went back to the dining hall, where the fatefull attack had taken place. The tables and benches were all in disarray still, left there by those who had come in to help pick the children up from the floor. No one wanted anything to do with the cursed room.
He walked to the old head table, now a mass of splintered shards and melted candle wax splattered on the fractured wood. The metal dinnerware and goblets were flung everywhere, some broken in half, other bent at odd angles. Some of the silverware had been flung so forcefully that they were stuck in the wood of the tables, and in some places the stone of the cobbled walls.
Going to the front, Albus stopped in front of his old chair, now splintered haphazardly in half. He placed his hands on what remained of the old armrests, sighin again and closing his eyes.
What would he use as a portkey? Not to worry, for now he could apparate over to Xavier\'s mansion, but when the children came, he wanted fast and quick transport. He would not be foolhardy enough to attempt muggle transport from the UK all the way to North America.
He would think about it later, now all that mattered was getting over to Xavier and his house of mutants.
He walked away from the head table, now concerned with thinking on which particular room he would Apparate in. It would make the most sense to do so in Xavier\'s study, where there was less chance of him frightening some of the poor mutant studetns who inhabited the school. They had enough stress in their everyday lives already, what with being mutants and all.
He went back to the hospital wing, where a very ruffled Madame Pomfrey told him to wuit worrying about the children becasue there was nothing further he could do to help. She disliked having so much disturbance in her usually quiet hospital halls. She shooed him out, and he scuffled through the doors.
He made his way back to the staircase, wandering slowly back up to his office. There was nothing for him to do for the next hour or so. Xavier had asked for time to explain to the rest of his own mutant professors of Albus\' arrival.
He finally entered his office, a quick thought of why he\'d even gone downstairs in the first place crossing his mind. He sat down in his chair, and in front of him upon the desktop was a very large penseive, filled near to the brim with the silvery, wispy substance of thought. He had been using it almost nonstop since the incident to keep stray thoughts from interupting those that would aid in the finding of a possible cure or fix-all to the wizarding world\'s current situation.
He sat for a long time, thinking. What was to be done? What COULD even be done? Never before had Voldemort and his followers shown this much daring and publicity. Albus knew who the black robed Death Eater had been. He doubted that any of the other teachers had been paying enough attention in their moment of fright to notice the long wispy strand of white blond hair that has cascaded from within the hood, nor the bright eyes that had sparkled from the shadows. It could only have been on man among all those known to be Death Eaters; Lucious Malfoy.
That he would be so bold was a surprise even to Dumbledore. Usually, Lucious tried to keep his dark dealings small and secret, as with the diary from four years prior. Never before had this particular servant of the Dark Lord done an act so public and obvious.
The Ministry, of course, had beleived him when he\'d told them the identity of the attacker. They had no choice but to beleive him now. They had been turning cheek to his warnings for years, and now this incident added up all those years of ignorance.
Albus sighed again. It seemed he was doing more sighing in the last few days than he had in the past decade. He ran his hand along his face again. He looked down at himself dressed in Muggle attire. He had never liked the feel of non magical clothing. They had always made him feel as though he were pretending to be something that he was not. Then his mind popped a thought in, and he smiled. With a quick flick of his hand, the white cotton button down shirt became a deep, purple silk, like the deep purple of royalty in centuries past. The buttons stretched out in the air, becoming thonglike strings of a similar shade, and the shirt\'s split fused together along the bottom half of the shirt, leaving only eight inches or so of parted cloth for the strings to tie together.
Albus smiled as he looked at himself. At least he hadn\'t lost all that made him a wizard.
He looked at himself in the mirror, and then at the clock on the mantle above it. Oy! It was time to leave! How had the hour passed by so quickly? He wouldn;t dwell on it, and he stood back, standing in the middle of his rug, and cleared his mind of all but an image of Xavier\'s study. With a quick intaken breath, he willed himself to move there, and his own office became fuzzy, swirled and disappeared.
In the blink of an eye, however, new colors wound their way into the darkness, coming together and solidifying until he was standing in the middle of a new room. He was by a very neat wooden desk, looking out a tall window to green lawns beyond, until he heard a voice behind him.
\"Greetings, professor.\"
Eventually, he halted his pacing and went to his closet, opening the doors with a magical wave of his hand. From within, he pulled out a set of Muggle clothing, a pair of loose kaki trousers and a white button shirt. He took of his wizards robes, hanging them on a hook. He felt a moment of trepidation as he hung the clothes. This was the first time he had donned non magical clothing in years, and it made his back tingle uncomfortably.
He put on the Muggle outfit, slipping his feet into a pair of very old, yet still well shined business shoes of black leather, tying them expertly and tucking the laces in.
He stood up stiffly, groaning. He had never before felt so stressed, even counting the hazardous days from more than a decade ago when Voldemort was as big a threat as he was now.
Exiting his office, he went down the long narrow stone corridor to the stairway, where he descended into the the main hall of the school. He heard commotion from farther on, past where his eyes could see, where the students were being housed in a large makeift hospital, being fawned over and cared for by the Healers and other aurors from the Order of the Pheonix.
Albus went back to the dining hall, where the fatefull attack had taken place. The tables and benches were all in disarray still, left there by those who had come in to help pick the children up from the floor. No one wanted anything to do with the cursed room.
He walked to the old head table, now a mass of splintered shards and melted candle wax splattered on the fractured wood. The metal dinnerware and goblets were flung everywhere, some broken in half, other bent at odd angles. Some of the silverware had been flung so forcefully that they were stuck in the wood of the tables, and in some places the stone of the cobbled walls.
Going to the front, Albus stopped in front of his old chair, now splintered haphazardly in half. He placed his hands on what remained of the old armrests, sighin again and closing his eyes.
What would he use as a portkey? Not to worry, for now he could apparate over to Xavier\'s mansion, but when the children came, he wanted fast and quick transport. He would not be foolhardy enough to attempt muggle transport from the UK all the way to North America.
He would think about it later, now all that mattered was getting over to Xavier and his house of mutants.
He walked away from the head table, now concerned with thinking on which particular room he would Apparate in. It would make the most sense to do so in Xavier\'s study, where there was less chance of him frightening some of the poor mutant studetns who inhabited the school. They had enough stress in their everyday lives already, what with being mutants and all.
He went back to the hospital wing, where a very ruffled Madame Pomfrey told him to wuit worrying about the children becasue there was nothing further he could do to help. She disliked having so much disturbance in her usually quiet hospital halls. She shooed him out, and he scuffled through the doors.
He made his way back to the staircase, wandering slowly back up to his office. There was nothing for him to do for the next hour or so. Xavier had asked for time to explain to the rest of his own mutant professors of Albus\' arrival.
He finally entered his office, a quick thought of why he\'d even gone downstairs in the first place crossing his mind. He sat down in his chair, and in front of him upon the desktop was a very large penseive, filled near to the brim with the silvery, wispy substance of thought. He had been using it almost nonstop since the incident to keep stray thoughts from interupting those that would aid in the finding of a possible cure or fix-all to the wizarding world\'s current situation.
He sat for a long time, thinking. What was to be done? What COULD even be done? Never before had Voldemort and his followers shown this much daring and publicity. Albus knew who the black robed Death Eater had been. He doubted that any of the other teachers had been paying enough attention in their moment of fright to notice the long wispy strand of white blond hair that has cascaded from within the hood, nor the bright eyes that had sparkled from the shadows. It could only have been on man among all those known to be Death Eaters; Lucious Malfoy.
That he would be so bold was a surprise even to Dumbledore. Usually, Lucious tried to keep his dark dealings small and secret, as with the diary from four years prior. Never before had this particular servant of the Dark Lord done an act so public and obvious.
The Ministry, of course, had beleived him when he\'d told them the identity of the attacker. They had no choice but to beleive him now. They had been turning cheek to his warnings for years, and now this incident added up all those years of ignorance.
Albus sighed again. It seemed he was doing more sighing in the last few days than he had in the past decade. He ran his hand along his face again. He looked down at himself dressed in Muggle attire. He had never liked the feel of non magical clothing. They had always made him feel as though he were pretending to be something that he was not. Then his mind popped a thought in, and he smiled. With a quick flick of his hand, the white cotton button down shirt became a deep, purple silk, like the deep purple of royalty in centuries past. The buttons stretched out in the air, becoming thonglike strings of a similar shade, and the shirt\'s split fused together along the bottom half of the shirt, leaving only eight inches or so of parted cloth for the strings to tie together.
Albus smiled as he looked at himself. At least he hadn\'t lost all that made him a wizard.
He looked at himself in the mirror, and then at the clock on the mantle above it. Oy! It was time to leave! How had the hour passed by so quickly? He wouldn;t dwell on it, and he stood back, standing in the middle of his rug, and cleared his mind of all but an image of Xavier\'s study. With a quick intaken breath, he willed himself to move there, and his own office became fuzzy, swirled and disappeared.
In the blink of an eye, however, new colors wound their way into the darkness, coming together and solidifying until he was standing in the middle of a new room. He was by a very neat wooden desk, looking out a tall window to green lawns beyond, until he heard a voice behind him.
\"Greetings, professor.\"