Chapter Text
Death was having a very bad week. He’d been simply watching and waiting as three brothers came to the bank of a river. This particular river was one that was a common cause for death. People commonly fell into this river. But, because they were wizards, something Death had overlooked, the Peverell brothers were simply able to cross with a bridge made with magic. Death hated magic, and despised the High Powers for giving a godly privilege to men.
The brothers had outsmarted him, and so he appeared to the men, offering them rewards for their intelligence, only out of reluctance. It was only fair. Death wished he would have just gone about his day instead of doing so, because the Peverell brothers turned out to be greedy bastards. The first brother introduced himself as Antioch. (Death thought that the wizards were jesting. The names they chose! Absolutely ridiculous.) Antioch asked for a wand with unbeatable power. This was the point Death knew he was messing with the wrong sort of mortals. He would have rather conversed with a pair of rats. He learned rats could be extremely intelligent. Moving to the elder tree on the riverbank, Death procured a wand for Antioch, who promptly went to an inn, got drunk and boasted of its power. Death claimed his soul that night.
The second brother, Cadmus, was of the romantic sort. His fiancee had died, and he wanted a way to bring her back. Taking a stone from the river, Death gave Cadmus the Resurrection Stone, said to bring back one’s loved ones. This was a lie. It simply gave the look of returning, but because the woman’s soul was in his realm, it would never go back. She didn’t belong. Cadmus gave his soul to Death, wishing to go back to her.
The last brother, Ignotus, was easily the smartest of the family. Death liked him least. Ignotus wanted a way to hide from Death. Knowing that Ignotus had to get what he wanted, Death gave Ignotus his own invisibility cloak. Death, now completely exposed, ran rampant until Ignotus greeted him as an old friend.
The High Power was not happy with Death’s choices. While the act of mortals dying carried on, no one gleaned their souls. The High Power had sent Death to a sort of station while he awaited his fate.
The High Power often forgot what it was doing, and so left Death to wander the station for six hundred years before deciding to send him into the world of mortals as a baby. Death was not happy with this, being subject to live with lowlifes and potentially live in fear of himself. He rebelled against the high power, but there was really nothing he could do.
***
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was born August 19, 1881. He was a fairly normal baby. There was nothing particularly odd about him until the time he turned three. Expressing signs of magic at this age was entirely out of the question, unless, of course, you were Albus. His first magic was wilting a flower in his mother Kendra’s garden. His mother thought nothing of it, only shocked to see magic so early in her son’s life. Percival was also thrilled, although the gruff man wouldn’t say it. Percival wasn’t very particular to human emotion. Neither was little Albus. He cried when Aberforth was brought home, but rarely threw tantrums and was quite different from the temperamental Aberforth. The next year, the youngest child, Ariana was born.
Ariana was a sweet child. Albus liked her more than he liked his brother, and they shared many traits, such as yearning for adventure, natural curiosity, and ambition. They shared many secrets together. Aberforth tagged along on their expeditions, but was much more cautious and more susceptible to chickening out when they broke the rules. He was often the one to tattle on his siblings and get them in trouble. Kendra wasn’t particularly an enforcer, but Percival certainly was.
The Dumbledores frequently visited Kendra’s mother’s home in Godric Hollow. Albus’s grandmother was a nice woman with dots like coffee stains on her veiny hands. She had thick glasses with red frames that made her blue eyes very large. Although he would never say it, she looked quite like a fish in a bowl. Her white hair blew up in a cloud around her kind face. She was very nice, and when Kendra wasn’t around, she’d sneak the children sweets. Albus’s favorite was Bertie Bott’s Beans. All four of them would try one, hoping that the other had the bad tasting candy. Albus and Ariana would laugh with delight when Grandmother’s face would screw up in disgust.
“Socks!” She’d announce, and smack her lips.
Aberforth was more solemn when eating the candies, but Albus figured he just didn’t like them as much. It wasn’t until Grandmother started buying chocolate frogs they had to chase around the dining room that Albus saw his little brother enjoy the little secret moments.
One fateful day, Albus and Aberforth were fighting over a ball when Albus felt a sort of force. A face popped into his head. He saw the red frames that marked the old woman to be his grandmother. He often had visions of random faces, mostly when he slept. This time, though, he was confused. Why would he see his grandmother’s?
Something told her she had died. He didn’t know why he’d think such a thing. It would be pretty terrible if she passed on. But a voice that wasn’t an eight-year-old, but something much, much older that was still part of himself, told him that death was the natural order of things and it wasn’t all that bad.
Albus nodded, figuring that he was right.
Kendra soon got a letter that her mother was dead. Albus and his siblings now spent days playing quietly in the fenced in yard. They didn’t go inside to play as much anymore, because from there they could hear Kendra crying. It made them all feel funny inside. Percival became more harsh on his wife, but it wasn’t significant to any of the children.
When they went to the funeral, Albus saw something silver and misty floating above Grandmother’s casket. He tugged on Ariana’s sleeve.
“D’you see that?” he murmured.
Ariana’s gray eyes were wide and solemn. “No.”
Albus shrugged, rubbing his eyes and assuming the misty stuff was a trick of the light. He was probably just tired. This was the first time Albus Dumbledore saw a soul. He didn’t realize that the mist was a person’s soul, of course, until much later in his life.
When Albus was ten, he and Ariana had been walking on the sidewalk. It was two years until he got to Hogwarts, and he knew the difference between wizards and Muggles. Ariana had just shown signs of magic. She’d been decorating the Christmas tree and had fallen off of the stepladder. Instead of plummeting to the ground, she’d floated, eyes squeezed shut tight and dark hair hanging about her round, pale face like a halo.
A pack of older Muggle boys crept behind them and took hold of Albus and his sister. Aberforth wasn’t with them. Aberforth was more like Father and would have fended them off. Albus was scrawny and short, and although he tried, he couldn’t fend the boys off. He doesn’t remember much from the day. The only recollection was the sound of Ariana and that he ran away to go get Father.
The next thing Albus knew, there were wizards from the Ministry that had come to take Percival away. Kendra began packing up all their belongings. Albus asked where they’d go, and she replied that they were going to live in Grandmother’s house.
“But Grandmother won’t be there.” Albus contradicted. Why would they go to live in a dead person’s house?
“It’s just for us now.” Kendra had replied, looking melancholy.
Kendra didn’t smile much after that. She began working for the Ministry, and instead of wearing her blond hair about her shoulders, it was pulled into a tight bun that made her look old. Her face was pinched and jaw was always set.
Ariana had also changed. The event had hurt her, whatever had happened. Her magic was damaged, and she was subject to fits that would get her out of control. Her bedroom was in the attic. Albus didn’t really venture up there anymore. Ariana spoke still, but very little.
Aberforth was the same, but Albus had never been that close with his brother. Now Albus was itching to go to Hogwarts and get away from this place. When Kendra went to work, they were watched by Bathilda Bagshot, who was Kendra’s close friend. She was very smart and tutored Albus and his brother. She was understanding of Ariana, but didn’t tolerate what she called “goofing off.” Albus always had to follow the rules, something he was very terrible at. But he was Miss Bathilda’s favorite, because he was so good at school.
“You’ll excel at Hogwarts,” she said one day, smiling. Her eyes crinkled at the edges when she smiled. Albus liked when eyes did that. It proved that they smiled a lot and it meant they were nice people. Percival’s eyes had never done that. He wondered if Kendra’s ever would. The probability was low. Grandmother’s always had, so he had hope for his mother because Grandmother was her mother. He hoped that when she got old, she’d get big red-rimmed glasses.
His letter for Hogwarts came the month before he turned eleven. Kendra was at home, so Bathilda read it and congratulated him, pulling the boy into a hug. Bathilda was short, unlike Albus, who’d gotten quite tall. He wished he’d been that height last year when those boys had begun to follow them home. When she hugged him, Albus’s head knocked against Bathilda’s chin.
“We’ll go to Diagon Alley together on Saturday, just the two of us!” She whispered, patting Albus on the head, something he was far too old for, but was familiar with.
A warm sort of excitement burst in his heart when Saturday came. Albus put on his best shirt and cap. He ran to Bathilda’s house at seven o’clock sharp with his list.
She came to the door with curlers in her hair, still wearing her nightclothes, laughing. “You’re early, boy. Do you even sleep?”
Embarrassed and disappointed, Albus offered to come back in a little bit. She shook her head, inviting him in.
“No, no. It’s good to get an early start on the day, eh?”
Albus brightened, wiggling excitedly on her floral patterned couch while she took her curlers out and dressed. Her house smelled faintly of mothballs and crushed herbs, which she used to make potions. She frequently made calming draughts for Ariana in secret. Kendra would have never allowed the use of potions on her daughter. For whatever reason, she thought it would harm Ariana, but she seemed to have less fits when the draught was given each morning.
Bathilda used floo powder to get Albus and herself to Diagon Alley. Albus thought that this must be the best way to travel, being shot through the tubes like a cork popping out of a bottle.
Wiping the soot off of their clothes, Bathilda and Albus stepped into Diagon Alley. It was bright and shiny, with shops bursting with stuff. Everything was begging to be bought. At least that’s what Albus thought. His mother was quite frugal, so it shocked Albus when Bathilda allowed them to get ice cream from Fortescue’s.
He figured he shouldn’t get a familiar because Ariana might be scared of it, but Bathilda said it was nice to have an owl, he should just let it out when Ariana might see it. So he got a nice brown barn owl he named Arthur. He squawked and nipped at Albus’s fingers, but the store owner, a man with a thick red beard, said it meant Arthur liked him. Pleased with his purchases of books, quills, cauldron, and robes, they went to Ollivander’s Wand Shop. This was the part of the trip Albus was most excited about. He’d seen his mother use the wand many times, and often asked what it was made of. He wanted one just like it. He recited the name of the wand he’d buy: Cherry wood, unicorn-hair core, twelve and one half inches. The wandmaker was a man named Ollivander, with large glasses, gray hair, and long spindly fingers that kind of looked like wands themselves.
“Ah, Bathilda Bagshot! I remember the day you walked into this shop. May I see your wand?”
Smiling, Bathilda offered the man her wand.
“Yes, yes. Maple, dragon heartstring, lightweight, eleven inches exactly.” He waved it, and immediately sparks flew from the end. “Very good. You take care of it well.”
“Thank you, sir. I have Albus Dumbledore with me today.”
“Yes, the son of Percival, I recall? Shame he had to get his snapped. Lovely wand made of oak. Very loyal to him.”
Albus’s eyes widened. “My dad had his wand broken?”
“Yes, when he was arrested. Horrible practice. They should really stop doing such a thing. There’s a movement to have the wands stored instead of broken going through the Wizengamot currently.” Bathilda cut in.
Ollivander nodded. Albus sighed, ready to tune the conversation out. He despised these types of adult conversations. They didn’t really concern him, they used big words, and they talked over his head like he was ignorant.
But the attention turned to him shortly. “Now, Mr. Dumbledore. Let me see–” Ollivander began, but Albus interrupted.
“I want a wand like my mum’s. Cherry wood, unicorn hair core, twelve and a half inches long.” He requested, and then seeing the confused expression on the wandmaker’s face, added, “Please, sir.”
Bathilda chuckled slightly.
“I’m afraid that’s not how getting your wand works, Mr. Dumbledore. The wand chooses the wizard.”
“I’m sorry?” Albus asked.
“The wand chooses the wizard, sir.” Ollivander turned to the hundreds of shoeboxes and began rifling through them.
“Try this one.” Ollivander procured a dark-colored wand from the top shelf, “Black walnut, phoenix-tail core, medium weight, ten and three-quarter inches.”
Albus held it, expecting the wand to speak, or say something like “I choose you!”
It did nothing, and Ollivander, ever-so-patient, clucked his tongue. “Give it a wave, Mr. Dumbledore.”
Albus nodded, and flicked his wrist to give the wand “a wave.” The same sparks shot from the wand.
“Interesting.” Ollivander whispered, “A first guess. Usually finding the right fit takes two or three tries. You’ll go far, being able to command a wand like that.” Ollivander almost ogled Albus as they left.
The following weeks before Albus’s departure felt like years. He was itching to begin learning magic. Aberforth avoided his brother. Albus figured he was just jealous.
“You’ll go next year,” He comforted his brother, “And I’ll send Arthur to you a bunch. I’ll tell you everything,” he insisted.
Aberforth nodded, and they spent the week before the train ride poring over his books together. Aberforth loved reading all the potions instructions, while Albus found himself rather inclined to the history books.
When Bathilda, Albus, and his brother arrived at King's Cross station, it looked oddly familiar to Albus, like he’d seen it before. In a dream, maybe? It was quite intimidating to run through the platform wall, but he managed after Bathilda coached him that it was a normal thing.
He got on the train after Aberforth and Bathilda said their goodbyes, and was greeted by several students. He spent a few minutes talking with the other first years in his compartment, but then excused himself to an empty compartment to read his books.
They rode boats to the castle which was large, beautiful, and intimidating. Albus didn’t have a clue how he’d find any of his classrooms. The sorting hat was another matter entirely. He watched all the A’s go before him, waiting anxiously for his turn.
When the hat was placed on his head, a voice whispered in his head. At least he hoped it was in his head and not in everyone’s head.
“Ambitious. Courageous. And…what’s this? You’re an old soul. A very old soul.”
Albus was confused by the Hat’s mutterings, until he cleared his throat and croaked, “Gryffindor!”
This hadn’t been what Albus was expecting. He’d wanted Ravenclaw. He seemed smart enough. Thinking back to Ariana’s accident, he didn’t feel a bit courageous. But the Hat must be right.
Albus’s years at Hogwarts were nice, but not much was memorable. Aberforth was placed in Gryffindor, too, and was probably Albus’s closest friend. When he went home, everything was as it seemed.
After his OWLs and NEWTs, which Albus did wonderfully on, his professors advised him to go on to a career in the Ministry or as an Auror.
Albus didn’t want to. Or something in him didn’t want to. In his years at Hogwarts, Albus had read a lot of myths, one of which was the story of the Deathly Hallows. This was when the mortal came to terms with the immortal. Albus knew he was Death, and Death was him.
So, he elected to go home to Godric’s Hollow to find his Hallows. They were his.
Around this time, Bathilda’s grand-nephew arrived in the Hallow. He was a boy of eighteen, the same age as Albus, who announced that he had been expelled from the school of Durmstrang. His name was Gellert Grindelwald, and Albus would meet him for the first time after his graduation.