Chapter Text
He flew through the dark, cold, crisp air with barely contained savage glee. Outside, lightning flashed and beads of hail churned as he drifted through the clouds. He felt the impact of the chunks of ice blown about on his chassis, as the winds threatened to bring him down. And he loved it. The feeling of his rotors being nearly torn off in the gusts, the way the chills attempted to reach his core. Yes, this would be a perfect stage for his arrival.
Slowly, the sounds of the rushing winds gave way to the heavy splashes of rain on his chassis and the forceful thrumming of his rotor as he began to descend, fighting against the updrafts below, the clouds blinding him as he fell from the storm.
Eventually, he broke free of the layer of clouds, swiftly steering away from the sharp peak he was nearing. He scanned his surroundings, unimpaired by the storm raging above. Down below him, a valley of greenery lay, seemingly untouched by man. At the edge of the forest, a large lake lay, turbulent from the storm and from his descent. And next to it…yes! there it was. If he had a mouth to smile with, his face would have ripped apart from the force of his grin. His target was there, pitifully trying to hide from the world.
But no, it was too grand, a testament to the hubris of its creators. The structure stood firm on solid stone, improbable, yet strong. The ancient stones seemed almost alive as they stood, a symbol of power and importance to all it concerned. Even here, he could hear the babel that emanated from the halls. The voices of those uncaring of consequences ringing in his nonexistent ears. Among them, he surmised, was the one who exemplified everything he hated about humanity. And now, after a thousand years, this castle would fall under siege, and those within would learn to feel fear, that they were not above all else.
And Blackout would enjoy every moment of this slaughter.
A wave of dread washed over Dumbledore as a fourth slip of paper was ejected from the goblet of fire. The grand hall had gone silent as the flames died down, leaving only the sounds of flickering fire and the loud thrumming of what could only be his heart.
Of course something had to go wrong. It troubled him how these past few years had grown more and more alike to his times at war, in the trouble that grew each passing season. Especially on Halloween night.
First was the unfortunate incident with Granger and the troll. If he had been more attentive, he could have stopped the brute from crippling her. No, he could have stopped the girl’s troubles before they began; by confronting her tormentors. But alas, in his inattentiveness, a promising mind had been nearly killed, with only her parents to mourn for the girl.
Then came the Heir of Slytherin returning the next year. Noone knew who or how, but the string of petrifications that lasted until (winter) had almost closed the school. It was only through luck that that wretched diary had been found. How much more damage that could have been done had Riddle had his way could have been disastrous.
Then there was the previous year when Sirius Black managed to break into the school, leading to many close calls with the residents of the school being attacked. Add in the nearly uncontrollable dementors, it was a wonder there were any students who returned for this year.
And now, just as Dumbledore hoped for a year of excitement and comradery, it seemed fate had to punish him once more with the reminder of his greatest mistake. As the slip of paper fell into his hand, the name of the one he failed the most burned into his mind. It couldn’t be real, even as the name came rolling off his tongue.
“...Harry Potter.”
The Boy who was Lost.
As the hall erupted into chaos, Dumbledore was forced to recollect on the missing boy. When the acceptance letters went out all those years ago, noone knew that it would lead to the discovery that the famous “boy-who-lived” was…nowhere to be found. The Dursleys were gone as well, and Dumbledore feared the worst.
For months after, it seemed that the whole of the wizarding world was frantically searching for the boy. But Dumbledore knew it was hopeless long before the public’s fervor died away; when the beginning of the school year started, and the boy was not there, standing before him to be sorted with the other first years.
The fallout of the event had nearly cost Dumbledore everything, and was still being felt to this day. He only barely held onto his position as headmaster, but his other titles had been stripped away. Not that he didn’t deserve it.
And if that weren’t bad enough, Voldemort’s followers had been empowered by the news. The recent attacks at the Quidditch World Cup was evidence of their growing boldness.
How could this situation get any worse?
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, a feeling of wrongness swept over him, and all the lights in the Great Hall were snuffed out. The enchantments on the roof and candles seemed to give out, hot wax showering the students. In all the panic, Dumbledore barely noticed that the loud thrumming that had put him so ill at ease…had stopped.
A thunderous THUD silenced the hall, everyone frozen as sounds of the storm outside raged on. For a moment, that silence held. A flash of lightning painted a monstrous silhouette upon the ground as it illuminated the hall from behind him.
Then the windows all shattered as a giant metal fist broke through the wall.