HP (AU) : Wizard with a Mutation

Disclaimer - The rights of the respective characters are with their respective owners. I don't mean to violate their intellectual property rights and thus, only my original characters are my IP. 

Hogwarts, Principal Chambers [1980]

–Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore–

He leaned back in his comfortable chair that didn't look even remotely comfortable, a quirk of his that he designed when he had first taken over this hallowed office. Back then, the chair of the Headmaster was ridiculously comfortable, yes, but also very over the top. Dippet sure loved his chairs, something about adequate lumbar support being the secret to life itself.

While he did not share the man's obsession with chairs and their appropriate support they should provide, that did not mean that he could not appreciate a nice chair. So, the very first thing, that he did when he took office was bring in the oldest, rattiest chair he could find in the Castle and made it his personal mission to make it as comfortable as possible, while maintaining its dashing, vintage looks.

"Alas…" He sighed as he rubbed his forehead. All he could do nowadays was reminisce, reminisce about the days when he had the magical and more importantly, the mental bandwidth to go about doing passion projects, even while holding multiple prestigious offices in Magical Britain.

Nowadays, his days were filled with meetings, war meetings, strategies, funerals, Oh the Funerals. He hated it, he hated it with all his might and yet, he was powerless to stop it.

Magical Britain had fractured under his leadership, that was the truth. It left an incredibly bitter taste in his mouth and yet, it was the truth. Despite holding on to more magical authority than any other single person in all of Britain, he had done…what?

Jack shit!

His magic roiled for a moment at the sheer anger he felt and then, he slumped, too tired to be even angry at himself. 

TRILL

He smiled tiredly at Fawkes as his song did its best to calm him down and while it did calm his body and magic down, his mind was still there, reliving his failures as he failed to rein in the cracks that were widening more and more as the days went by. Even now, he noticed the cracks, the damage and yet, he was powerless.

Powerless to bring about any change. Frankly? Because he simply didn't know how to. He was not young anymore, he simply did not have it in him to bulldoze through every single person who would undoubtedly stand in his way, and then forcibly bring about change. He didn't have it in him to spill any more blood.

Even in the battle he was fighting with Tom, he was losing. Badly. Oh sure, he could directly match Tom spell for a spell, even with his old and battered body, but even then, Tom was not the root of the problem, just its most recent and visible symptom.

Magical Britain was on the precipice of Civil War. Everyone knew what Tom was talking about and while he appreciated the faith that was put in him to put down the Boogeyman that Tom has styled himself as, he did not have the confidence to truly achieve that feat.

No, that was not in his hands. He was simply too old, too tired, too weary, and too much of a FUCKING COWARD!

He took in deep breaths as he finally said it to himself, confronted himself about it. He was afraid of change and that was why he didn't do anything to save Magical Britain.

"It was me…" he whispered to himself, horrified, tears streaming down his face, as he realised that it was him.

Albus fucking Dumbledore, the Vanquisher of Grindelwald, was responsible for what was happening nowadays. Just yesterday, they lost yet another noble house, simply because they didn't vote for the bill to have Muggleborns to be treated as Magical Animals and to corral them into habitats upon detection, irrespective of their age, targeting everyone from newborns to old wizards.

This time, even Fawkes' trilling didn't help him as he simply wiped his tears and looked at the Wand resting on the table.

The Elder Wand. The one thing that gave him the edge over Tom. Tom could fly, Tom had magical might even surpassing his, Tom had esoteric knowledge and yet, the one thing that Tom did not have is an Artifact of Death itself, or so he had been told.

Frankly, he did not know the origin of the Wand, nor the origin of the tales that had been passed down generation after generation. He knew where two of the items were though, and not once, he had the temptation to go after them, to try and see if he could somehow become the so-called Master of Death.

He snorted at that, through the snot, as if someone could Master Death itself. It was the ultimate end, the release from this world, something to be respected and revered, not insulted or to be Mastered.

No, he only held onto the Elder Wand because he won it, fair and square, and so, felt like it was his personal responsibility to ensure that the wand didn't fall into the wrong hands.

Hands like Tom's. There would be no one and nothing capable of stopping him in Magical Britain if he felt like walking up to the Ministry building and slaughtering the Minister, right after having tea and biscuits in the Malfoy Manor.

"If only," he sighed at the treacherous thoughts that entered his mind, thoughts that no doubt entered the minds of many muggles who read science fiction about time travel and thought of the ways they could have "prevented" the tragedy of the Nazis ever being a thing.

If only he had "Taken care of" Tom when he had the chance. If only he had recruited Tom for the DADA post, if only to keep a closer watch on him. If only he had tracked down Tom after the disastrous interview and set him straight.

Going back even further, if only he had not forced Tom to have his first interaction with the magical world to be of fire, of fear. If only he had shown Tom the wonders of magic at first.

If only…

If only and so many more what ifs swirled his mind and yet, in the end, he received no answers.

He groaned and leaned back into his gnarly chair, which detected it and turned itself into a self floating rocking chair. He would have grinned at his own genius but alas, times were not right.

All he had going for him was a prophecy, from a genuine source, yes but he was a little worried about the prophecy. Some of them tended to be quite self fulfilling and he had no intention to play his part in a prophecy that might result in something tragic happening to some people just so Tom could be brought down.

He popped in another one of his lemon drops—oooh strawberry, and was about to turn in for the night when the Floo opened up, directly in his office, showing the lovely yet harried face of Minster Bagnold.

"What can I do for you on this fine eve–"

"Albus! There's been an attack on Diagon Alley!"

His eyes widened as he called on his most trusted ally at the moment, "Fawkes!"

With a flash of Phoenix Fire capable of penetrating any ward scheme, he appeared right in front of Ollivander's shop, wand in hand, ready to cast a spell chain.

His crouched form straightened up as he surveyed the scene in front of him with a vigilant gaze and yet, his face morphed into one of confusion as he stood upright and saw that while the street was littered with holes and even some bodies, they were mostly dressed in all Blacks and the masks clued him in on the identities of those bodies anyway.

Just then, he saw the Aurors on scene rush towards him, with Moody being at the forefront, with his Magical eye rotating in every single direction to provide Moody with a dearth of information that he no doubt used to frighten some poor new Aurur with "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"Albus."

"Alastor. What happened here?" He greeted Moody while looking closer at the craters and some of the bodies. One particularly gruesome one had what looked like a hole punched through its chest, with the wound cauterized so no blood was flowing through it.

"Fucking MACUSA happened. What else?" Moody spat as his eyes narrowed at that piece of information.

The last time he dealt with MACUSA, it was about their actions of safely transporting any and all muggleborns their so called charities could reach in time before whisking them away to the Americas, something that had irked the Politicians greatly but had only served to relieve him as he knew that the muggleborns would be treated fairly in America, unlike Magical Britain where they would be second class citizens, if not on paper then atleast in real life.

"Tell me more," And tell Moody did.