Dark Lord Dumbledore - Volume 1 Chapter 39

When the main meal and then the desserts disappeared from the dining table, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet, and the hall fell silent once more.

“Ahem, just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

“I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die an excruciating death.”

Harry couldn’t believe that the Dark Lord was still going to go through with his schemes after the faux pas with the Sorting Hat. After the awareness that every child’s memories could possibly be accessed by anyone controlling the Sorting Hat, he was sure Dumbledore would change his plans. Harry thought for sure that Dumbledore would not risk that he had dangerous beasts in a children’s school guarded by a spell found in a first-year textbook being made public.

But the Dark Lord still happily announced the chance of death at school like it was nothing special. He either had balls of steel or was losing his mind, maybe even a mixture of the two. The Sorting Hat was bad publicity, but at the end of the day was not his fault and could be explained away if it was revealed.

On the other hand, hiding the Philosopher’s Stone behind a Cerebus, a man-eating plant, illegally enchanted keys and chess set according to Mr Weasley’s department, a troll, and poisonous potions would see him receive a public chastis.e.m.e.nt and a blow to his reputation at the very least. It was only pure luck or a lot of mind magic, that he was not exposed in canon.

Was he still thinking of Harry as a curious child that would want to investigate a potentially life-threatening situation because he was told not to? If he wasn’t going to put on a mind-reading hat for fear of the consequences, why would he put himself in danger out of curiosity? Maybe it would take too much effort for Dumbledore to come up with another method to desensitise him to danger and lead him down the path of being reckless for no reason other than it is ‘brave’ and very Gryffindor like his parents.

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore.

Harry noticed that the teacher’s smiles had become rather fixed, and the reason was made clear seconds later. The school song was excruciatingly painful to listen too and could be used as a punishment if someone was cruel enough to use torture methods in a school.

“Ah, music,” Dark Lord Albus said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

Harry was rounded up along with the other first-year Ravenclaws by a Prefect and shown to their dormitory. The common room was located on the west side of Hogwarts at the top of a spiral staircase on the fifth floor. The entrance was guarded by an eagle door knocker that asked riddles of all things. As far as security precautions go, it was quite ridiculous, and Harry found himself wondering at the intelligence of a witch claiming wisdom and wit as her house traits.

“Which came first, the phoenix, or the flame?” The door with a feminine voice asked.

“The flame!” Shouted an excited Terry Boot, eager to show off his intellect.

“Incorrect.”

“A circle has no beginning.” Supplied the Prefect guiding them.

Harry thought this was even stupider than he did before. There were other ways to interpret the question, and the riddle was very open-ended. To make it even worse, it did not explain why your answer was correct or not and just followed its programming to open when the trigger phrase was spoken. Rowena Ravenclaw must have been a pretentious b*tch if this was her idea of being intelligent. All it did was waste your time if you got it wrong as you only had one guess and had to wait for someone else to answer.

Not to mention that other houses could gain entry to the common room if they could answer the riddle. Harry was going to have to find a way to bypass this retarded security feature as soon as he could, he was terrible at riddles and word games and could see himself destroying the door in anger. He watched as the door swung open to reveal the dormitory he would spend the next seven years of his life if he chose to stay at school.

It opened up to a wide, circular room with arched windows dr.a.p.ed in blue and bronze silks. On the floor was a midnight blue carpet covered in stars, which was reflected onto the domed ceiling. The place was furnished with tables, chairs, and bookcases; and by the door leading up to the bedrooms stood a tall statue of Rowena Ravenclaw made of white marble.

“The sound of wind whistling around the windows of the tower will be relaxing while you go to sleep,” Prefect Robert Hilliard informed them as he guided them to the rooms designated for first-years while pointing out Ravenclaw factoids.

There were twenty rooms built into the first-year level of dormitories, and each room was probably originally the size of a closet for them to fit in the tower. Luckily, magic was so bullsh*t that they could be expanded into a place able to comfortably fit two beds, two study desks, two closets and plenty of room to walk around in. The student quickly partnered up and claimed a room that was separated by gender, leaving Harry to find one solely for himself. Robert the Prefect encouraged them to share a room as even though they were to concentrate on studying, some human contact was apparently good for them.

Harry could think of nothing worse than sharing a room with an eleven-year-old, let alone the restrictions it would place on him having a constant voyeur. Even if this year’s Ravenclaw firsties were evenly numbered, he would still have chosen one of the many spare rooms for himself. A private room was much welcomed since his every move would be watched when he was outside of it. This was proven correct the next morning as he went for breakfast with his housemates.

“There, look.”

“Where?”

“Next to the kid with the blonde hair.”

“Where are his glasses? The books say he always wears them like his father!”

“Did you see his face?”

“Did you see his scar?”

Did they not see him last night at the Sorting Ceremony? Why were they still unsure of his appearance that this morning they had to whisper to each other so loudly that it reached his ears? Had Dumbledore already started messing with everybody’s minds or had the food last night been laced with potions to muddle the memory? People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring.

Finding his way around was challenging enough without having his attention divided by people talking about him, he was always watching them in case they attacked. Who knows how many sleeper agents or what traps the Dark Lord had activated to test him. Luckily they had a Prefect as a guide for the first couple of days, as finding your way around by yourself would be troublesome since everything seemed to move around a lot.

Apparently, thanks to their guide, there were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts. Wide ones, sweeping ones, narrow, rickety ones, some that led somewhere different on a Friday, some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then some doors wouldn’t open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren’t really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending.

Harry pitied the poor bastards that hadn’t trained their minds with Occlumency, as even if he didn’t have the Maurader’s Map, he would be able to consult his mental map for directions. The week progressed just like canon and any repercussions from the first night at Hogwarts seemed to be quickly forgotten. He had instructed Rita to hold off for now with the scathing newspaper article as he wanted Dumbledore to lower his guard, especially since he still announced that there was a massive secret in the third-floor corridor.

When he had sent the memory with a house-elf the first night, there had been instructions to write an article but hold off using it until the timing was right. Too much too fast could be grouped together and not punished as harshly or not have the same impact as if there was a constant reminder of Dumbledore’s faults. He needed even the die-hard fans of the ‘Lord of the Light’ to start questioning the mental state of their leader.

Otherwise, they would band together to reflexively dismiss a lawsuit where all his errors were listed at once. Harry needed to use his ammunition sparingly and have the public come to their own conclusions instead of having it shoved in their faces and rejecting it out of loyalty to the flamboyant old geezer. Plus he didn’t want to pressure the Dark Lord into making rash decisions that could see a direct confrontation until he was ready.

There had been no mention of the missing Professor Quirrell, and an Auror substitute teacher had been brought in the next morning for the Defence against the Dark Arts class when he still didn’t show. They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets.

Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with the dumpy little witch Professor Sprout. They learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic. Professor Binns had been very old, indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fireplace and got up the next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while the students scribbled down names and dates. It didn’t help that the material was straight out of the textbook and only centred around the goblin wars.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher and Harry’s head of house, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class, he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry’s name, he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. It was quite entertaining and gained the half-goblin the attention of the room. His lesson was met with noticeably more focus than the other teachers with straightforward characters.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts. But the Auror that had been called in at the last minute, who named himself Professor Blintley, was a little uncomfortable at teaching and stuck to the textbook. It was still way better than having to put up with a stuttering minor Dark Lord hell-bent on Harry’s death to regain his self-esteem.

The other teachers also used a gimmick to make the class focus before launching into the standard teaching methods. Professor McGonagall was strict and gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class after the animagus stunt, while Snape went for the mysterious and terrifying route. The sorting debacle must have triggered Snape’s hatred for everything Potter, as he was even more vicious than canon. Well, he tried to be.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry’s name.

“Ah, yes,” he said softly, “Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity.”

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