I'm Albus Fucking Dumbledore - Chapter 10 (Patreon)

Chapter 10

Bonus Chapter, in advance ! Tell me if the formatting is better - I'm trying to change the actual one which, apparently, is bad. 

29th of August, 1991

Hogwarts

The Silver of Soul of Tom Riddle stirred within Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem, its dark essence awakening to an abrupt and startling shift. The artifact, once concealed in the dusty corners of the Room of Requirement, had been moved. How had it been discovered? The thought sparked both trepidation and excitement. Exposure meant danger, yet it also offered the tantalizing chance to possess a new host and verify if his primary soul still lingered in the world. A sardonic smile twisted his lips. If his main soul had perished, perhaps this fragment could reclaim the mantle of Lord Voldemort.

The Horcrux felt itself being transported, finally anchored to a magical apparatus. Then, with a sudden, wrenching force, he was yanked from the diadem. Confusion mingled with fury as his essence coalesced into a more tangible form. Slowly, he emerged, taking on the appearance of a thirty-year-old Tom Riddle, his beauty striking and unnerving. Tom Riddle's form shimmered into existence, his youthful, chiseled features framed by dark, wavy hair that cascaded to his shoulders. His dark hair fell in perfect waves around a face that could be described as achingly handsome, yet his eyes burned with a sinister red gleam. High cheekbones and a strong jawline gave his face an aristocratic, almost ethereal beauty, marred only by the malevolence that twisted his expression. His lips, once capable of charming smiles, now curled into a contemptuous sneer as he took in his surroundings.

"Who dares to Summon Lord Ravenclaw ?", he lied in his deep voice. Was it his main soul ? Or, more probable, a follower that had found him ? Someone that did not know what the Diadem was…or thought it to be 'only' Ravenclaw's diadem, in which case he could deceive them?

As his vision cleared, Tom realized he was in an ancient dungeon, - he recognized it as a room deep beneath Hogwarts, he had explored once when he was still a student. The room was cold and damp, the stone walls slick with age-old moisture. Strange, mechanical contraptions lined the walls, their purposes enigmatic and unsettling. Gears and pistons moved with an eerie precision, hissing and clanking in a sinister symphony.

Runes, glowing with arcane energy, were etched into every surface—floor, walls, ceiling—each symbol a testament to powerful, forbidden magic. These runes pulsated with a life of their own, casting flickering shadows that danced across the room. Tom struggled to move, only to find himself bound by ethereal chains, their ghostly links pulsating with a light that seemed to siphon his strength. The chains were cold and unyielding, their grip like iron shackles forged in the depths of hell. They anchored him within a pentacle drawn with meticulous precision. The pentacle was an intricate design, an interwoven lattice of lines and curves forming a star within a circle, all etched with symbols that radiated an eerie, pale light. The runes within the pentacle were more complex, their glowing lines creating a web of enchantment that held him captive.

“How dare you! How dare you bind Lord Ravenclaw” he hissed, his voice a venomous echo that reverberated through the cavernous room.

The edges of the pentacle shimmered, creating an impenetrable barrier that trapped him within its confines. The walls of the room seemed to close in, the weight of centuries pressing down upon him. His senses were overwhelmed by the oppressive atmosphere, the dark magic that infused every inch of the space.

“Hello, Tom,” a voice responded, smooth and grandfatherly, its warmth sending an involuntary shiver down Tom’s spine. He knew this voice. No ! Fuck ! Impossible !

Tom tried to turn, to face the source of the voice, but the chains binding him only tightened, their ghostly links constricting with each movement. Frustration and anger surged within him, but he was powerless against the intricate web of enchantments that held him.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Fucking Dumbledore emerged from the shadows like a figure from a gothic legend. Tom recoiled in shock, his eyes widening as he beheld the transformed man before him.

Dumbledore, now appearing around sixty, was a vision of startling vitality. Gone was the frail, aged wizard of old. In his place stood a man whose short, neatly styled hair framed a face as chiseled as marble, combining the ruggedness of a battle-scarred warrior with the sophisticated elegance of a nobleman. His beard, once wild and untamed, was now trimmed close to his jawline, highlighting his strong, muscular neck and broad shoulders. His piercing blue eyes, which had once twinkled with benign wisdom, now burned with a vivid, almost manic intensity, hinting at the vast knowledge and unyielding resolve within. The dark, impeccably tailored suit he wore clung to his powerful frame. In his hand, he held a lit cigar, the smoke curling lazily into the air. With a casual flick of his wrist, the smoke twisted into a perfect middle finger, hanging momentarily in the air before dissipating into the gloom.

Tom felt a chill run down his spine. “Dumbledore!” Tom spat, abandoning his act as Lord Ravenclaw. His ghostly eyes narrowed with hatred. “You dare ?”

Dumbledore’s smile was gentle, almost pitying. “You are but a whisper of a nightmare, Tom. And nightmares fade with the dawn.”

Tom struggled again, but the ethereal chains held him fast, their pulsating light growing brighter with each futile attempt to break free. “You think these bindings can hold me, old man? You think you can stop me?”

Dumbledore laughed, a deep, resonant sound that reverberated through the dungeon walls, a stark contrast to the usual benign chuckle Tom remembered. For a moment, doubt flickered in Tom's eyes. Could this really be Dumbledore?

“You pitiful, deluded wretch,” Dumbledore sneered, his voice dripping with venomous mockery. “You always fancied yourself invincible, didn’t you? But look at you now—bound and helpless. Do you really think a mere fragment of your broken 'soul' can do something against me?”

Tom’s face twisted with fury, and he hurled himself against the chains. They constricted violently, sending waves of searing pain through his spectral form. He screamed, a high-pitched, desperate wail, realizing with dawning horror that Dumbledore had somehow managed to displace him from the Horcrux. But how?

Dumbledore relit his cigar with an unsettling calmness, the ember flaring to life with a sinister glow. Tom's eyes widened in horror as the ember's light twisted and contorted into a strange little smiley face: :). Its hollow, fiery eyes and simple, twisted grin seemed to mock him, promising an eternity of torment with a chilling innocence. It truly was the face of the devil, thought Tom.

“Spare me the theatrics,” Dumbledore said, his tone cold and dismissive. “I haven’t the time for your pathetic monologues, and you're not badass enough to be a Bond villain. I needed a source of Negentropic Life Force, and what better than fragments of a powerful wizard’s soul?”

“You can’t do this!” he shrieked, but his voice was growing weaker, the chains tightening further with every word.

“Justice is served, Tom. You will pay for every sin, every crime. And you will fuel the light that combats the darkness you so love.”

Tom’s spectral form trembled with rage and fear as strange contraptions around the room began to hum with an unsettling resonance. Horrific, organic tubes writhed to life, extending towards him like grotesque, sinewy appendages. Nerve-like ropes, pulsating with an eerie blue light, slithered and coiled with a life of their own, snaking their way toward his ethereal body. As they latched onto him, he could feel them burrowing deep, their tendrils invading his very essence, siphoning away his life force in a sickeningly intimate violation. The sensation was a nightmarish agony, as if his soul was being unraveled thread by thread, leaving him hollow and desolate.

“No! No!” Tom’s screams echoed through the dungeon, but the machines showed no mercy. His vision blurred, the room spinning as his strength ebbed away. The light from the runes seemed to sear into his soul, a pain so intense it promised oblivion.

"Lick my balls, Tom. And try to not choke on them - they are quite big and full", added Dumbledore. What ?

Would…would it be the last sentence he would hear ? So…humiliating !

Tom’s screams faded to a faint whisper, his form flickering and dimming. The chains pulled tighter, the runes flared brighter. As his consciousness began to wane, he saw Dumbledore’s back as he walked away, the old man's steps echoing through the silent room. The flickering glow of the cigar illuminated Dumbledore’s retreating figure, the ember forming a last mocking middle finger before transforming into a dick, then a smiley, and finally dissipating. Tom’s vision blurred, and the world faded to black.

— — — — —

29th of August, 1991

London

The morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow on the lively scene. Young Harry's laughter filled the air, his green eyes sparkling with joy as he dashed around the room, evading Nymphadora. Her hair, a brilliant shade of red from sheer frustration, whipped around her face as she pursued him. She wore denim overalls over a white T-shirt, her expression a mix of mock fury and genuine amusement.

“Get back here, you little brat!” Nymphadora shouted, barely suppressing a grin. “You called me Nymphadora, and now you’ll pay!”

Harry darted behind a chair, giggling uncontrollably. “It’s your name, Nymphadora!” he teased, sticking out his tongue.

Andromeda Tonks sighed contentedly, taking a sip of her coffee as she watched the playful chase. The peaceful scene was a welcome change, filled with laughter and light-hearted fun. She leaned against the counter, her eyes twinkling with affection as she observed her daughter and her nephew Harry.

Nymphadora finally caught up with Harry, grabbing him and launching a relentless tickle attack. “Gotcha! Now you’ll learn to never call me that!” she laughed, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

Harry squirmed and laughed, his attempts to escape futile. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry!” he gasped between fits of laughter.

Andromeda smiled, thinking about how Harry was such a good kid despite the sadness that sometimes lingered in his eyes. Dumbledore had brought him one day, mentioning only that Harry had endured a love-deprived childhood. Since then, Andromeda had made it her mission to give him the warmth and care he needed.

“Aunt Andromeda, can I have a cookie?” Harry asked, looking up at her with hopeful eyes.

“Of course, sweetheart,” she replied, her voice gentle and soothing.

Andromeda Tonks wore a crisp white blouse that clung tightly to her ample curves, the top few buttons deliberately left undone to reveal a generous expanse of cleavage. The fabric stretched taut across her chest, emphasizing the fullness of her breasts and the soft, inviting skin beneath. Her blouse was meticulously tucked into a high-waisted pencil skirt that hugged her hips and thighs, accentuating every provocative curve. The skirt cinched her narrow waist, flaring out just enough to draw attention to her voluptuous figure and the alluring swell of her hips. Her dark hair cascaded in soft, luxurious waves around her shoulders, framing a face that combined sharp intelligence with a playful, knowing smile. Her piercing blue eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint, a hint of seduction in their depths. As she moved, her every step exuded confidence and grace, the very image of a professional woman at the peak of her career - which she was, and proud of it.

Just as she was about to head to her office, a sharp tap at the window caught her attention. An owl perched on the sill, a letter clutched in its beak. Andromeda recognized the handwriting immediately: Albus Dumbledore. Curious, she opened the window and took the letter.

“Who’s it from?” Harry asked, his mouth full of cookie.

“The Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump, and Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore,” she replied with a touch of reverence.

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “Huh? The old crazy man?”

Nymphadora, who had been sneaking up behind Harry, tripped in surprise and fell to the floor. She sprang up, looking indignant. “Dumbledore is not crazy! He’s a hero!” she exclaimed, then tackled Harry, tickling him mercilessly to ensure he’d remember to respect the esteemed wizard.

Andromeda shook her head, amused by their antics, and unfolded the letter. Her eyes widened as she read its contents. Dumbledore was requesting her to visit the Ministry’s court offices to consult and make a copy of the dossier of Sirius Black, her cousin.

She was taken aback. Why would Dumbledore want her to dig into Sirius’s case now?