I'm Albus Fucking Dumbledore - Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Bonus Chapter of 3 000 world instead of 2 000

9th of September 1991

England

“Are you sure this looks good?” Jessica asked, her voice carrying the barest tremor as she stood in front of the ornate mirror. The silver cocktail dress shimmered in the light, hugging her frame in ways that made her feel both exposed and elegant. The fabric draped over her narrow waist and flared just enough to suggest sophistication, but her inexperience with formal wear made her shift her weight nervously from one heel to the other. Her chestnut hair was swept into an updo she’d managed with a mix of charms and desperation, and her lightly freckled cheeks still carried a flush of hesitation.

Victor Trent leaned lazily against the doorway, his gaze assessing but not unkind. “It’s fine,” he said with a faint smile that threatened to pull into a smirk. His jacket, a deep green that brought out the sharp lines of his face, fit him as though it had been conjured directly onto him. He adjusted his cuffs and added, “No one’s going to remember your dress anyway. They’ll be too busy wondering how I charmed you into coming with me.”

Jessica wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s your idea of reassurance?”

Victor shrugged, his shoulders moving with the ease of someone born into confidence. “I could lie and say you’re about to outshine everyone there, but let’s be real—this crowd is here for Dumbledore. You’re just a random guest, and not a very important one at that.”

Jessica couldn’t decide if he was teasing or just being annoyingly honest. “Well, thank you for escorting me, Sir Honesty. You’ve really put me at ease.”

Victor’s smile widened, and for a moment, Jessica found it irritating how effortlessly composed he was. His black hair, neatly combed but not overly styled, framed his face with just enough softness to keep him approachable despite the air of superiority he wore like a second skin. His eyes, dark and glinting with amusement, seemed to miss nothing. His tailored trousers and robes hinted at a lean but athletic build, a fact he carried with an irritating lack of modesty. Even his posture, leaning casually against the doorframe, seemed designed to exude effortless charm.

Jessica had only reconnected with him yesterday, during an informal meeting with some of the doctoral students under Dumbledore’s leadership. She’d accepted her position as one of Professor McGonagall’s PhD candidates with uncontained excitement—she could still feel the giddiness bubbling up whenever she thought about it—but the social intricacies of wizarding politics remained as alien to her as dragon wrangling. Victor, on the other hand, had grown up steeped in that world. The grandson of Edmund Trent, a Ministry department head and an old ally of Dumbledore, Victor moved through wizarding society like it was a stage built solely for him.

Seeing her discomfort during the introductions, Victor had offered to “take her under his wing,” a phrase Jessica wasn’t sure she liked but hadn’t refused. He seemed sincere enough, explaining that he didn’t want her, a future PhD student of McGonagall, who herself was part of Dumbledore’s extended network, to accidentally commit a faux pas at the grand reception.

“Remember,” he said, pulling a small pouch of Floo Powder from his pocket, “this is just a party, not a Wizengamot trial. All you have to do is smile, make polite conversation, and not trip over yourself.”

Jessica gave him a flat look. “You’re really great at this ‘mentorship’ thing, you know.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he replied, tossing her a pouch of Floo Powder with an easy grin. “Come on. Warlock Dumbledore doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Probably. ”

Jessica took the powder. Stepping into the grand fireplace, she cast him a sidelong glance. “If I fall out of this thing, I’m blaming you.”

Victor stepped into the hearth beside her, his hand brushing hers as he took his position. “Blame away, Harper. I’m indestructible.”

Jessica couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at her lips as they tossed the powder into the flames, the green fire roaring to life around them.

— — — —

9th of September 1991

Dumbledore Manor, England

Jessica stumbled forward as the green flames deposited her into the pavilion, her footing wobbly despite nearly eight years of navigating the wizarding world. The transportation method remained an unsettling rush of disorientation and vertigo. She barely avoided crashing into one of the intricately carved stone pillars, gripping its cold surface for balance. The faint drizzle outside mingled with the scent of damp stone and fresh foliage.

Her breath caught as she straightened up and took in her surroundings. The pavilion was like stepping into another world—twelve grand pillars encircled the space, each etched with runes and carvings of mythical creatures that seemed to move when she looked at them too long. Beyond the circle, the gardens unfolded in a riot of colors and textures, glowing softly under floating orbs of golden light. Guests mingled in small groups, their robes shimmering with enchantments, voices blending into a low, harmonious hum. The soft drizzle didn’t seem to bother anyone, likely warded off by subtle charms.

Victor appeared a moment later, stepping gracefully from the flames as if the Floo Network had been designed specifically for him. His emerald-green robes, subtly tailored to perfection, caught the light as he brushed a stray speck of ash from his shoulder. His dark eyes scanned the scene, assessing the garden, the clusters of guests, and finally landing on the mansion’s grand entrance, a study in opulent elegance.

Before Jessica could comment on the surreal beauty of the scene, a floating metallic orb about the size of a Quaffle drifted toward them. Its surface shimmered like liquid mercury, runes glowing faintly along its surface. A mechanical voice, crisp and neutral, addressed her.

“Welcome, Jessica Harper. Affiliation: S.O.C.K.S. Graduate Student. Access Level to Dumbledore Manor: 2.”

The orb turned to Victor, its tone unchanged. “Welcome, Victor Trent. Affiliation: S.O.C.K.S. Graduate student. Access Level to Dumbledore Manor: 2.”

Jessica blinked, her head still spinning from the formal yet unnervingly specific greeting. The orb hovered for a moment longer before tilting slightly, as though bowing, and intoned, “Please proceed to the mansion.”

Victor looked mildly impressed. “Well, that’s new.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow. “What, floating orbs that know your life story?”

Victor shook his head, his gaze following the orb as it floated away. “Not just that. Powerful wizards rarely host large gatherings in their own homes. It’s safer to rent a castle or even conjure a temporary venue—anything that doesn’t require lowering wards or keying so many people into them. This…,” he gestured to the expansive grounds and the mingling guests, “...means Dumbledore is either supremely confident in his security or doesn’t care about the risks.”

“Or,” Jessica added with a wry smile, “it’s because no one would be stupid enough to attack Warlock Dumbledore in his own house.”

Victor nodded thoughtfully. “True. But still… even the idea of trouble is unthinkable.”

Jessica followed his gaze and noticed a tall figure in the distance, standing near the garden’s edge. Alastor Moody was unmistakable, dressed in an ensemble that looked more suited to a battlefield than a diplomatic gathering. His long red and leather coat, adorned with buckles and runes, swept dramatically as he turned to address two wizards beside him. The men, grizzled and weathered, looked as if they’d just endured a lifetime of hard battles—or weeks of Moody’s infamous training regimen.

Victor’s voice dropped as they moved closer. “See those two with him? They look like they’ve been through the wringer, and I’d bet Galleons there are more like them. Look.” He tilted his head discreetly toward the perimeter, where at least four similarly clad guards lingered, their eyes sharp and wands at the ready.

Jessica suppressed a grin. “Nobody’s crazy enough to try anything with Alastor Freaking Moody as the head of security.”

Their banter was interrupted by a loud whoosh. Jessica turned just in time to see Augusta Longbottom emerging from the flames, her presence commanding immediate attention. She wore a deep green robe with silver embroidery that bespoke old-world sophistication, and atop her head sat a burgundy hat adorned with a vulture that swayed grandly as she stepped forward. Her sharp eyes scanned the pavilion with the air of someone who had taken attendance at far grander gatherings and found this one merely acceptable.

“Good heavens, Neville, stand up straight!” she barked, her voice clipped and authoritative.

Behind her, Neville Longbottom stumbled from the flames, clutching a satchel and looking mortified. He scrambled upright, brushing soot from his plain robes, his face flushed. “Sorry, Gran,” he mumbled, trying to smooth the front of his attire.

Jessica bit her lip to keep from laughing as Augusta fixed Neville’s collar with a brusque tug, muttering something about “presentation.” The metallic orb that had greeted Jessica and Victor drifted toward them, drawing everyone’s attention with its faint hum.

“Welcome, Augusta Longbottom. Affiliation: Longbottom Family. Access Level to Dumbledore Manor: 1,” it announced in its flat, mechanical tone.

The sphere swiveled slightly to face Neville. “Welcome, Neville Longbottom. Affiliation: Longbottom Family. Access Level to Dumbledore Manor: 1.”

Victor hummed softly, his sharp eyes following the orb as it floated away. “That’s clever.”

Jessica glanced at him. “What’s clever about announcing you’re a level-one visitor?”

Victor’s smirk widened. “You’re missing the point. Everyone hears the orb. Dumbledore’s making sure the distinctions are public. Level two, like us? Clearly clients or associates of Dumbledore. Distinguished guests - friendly or neutral - like Longbottom get level one. It’s subtle but brilliant.”

Jessica tilted her head thoughtfully. “So it’s not just access control; it’s social signaling.”

Victor gave her a wry smile as they continued down the cobblestone path. “Exactly. That orb’s announcements? They’re a subtle way of saying who’s in Dumbledore’s circle and who’s just here for the snacks. And trust me, everyone listens.”

Jessica glanced around, noting how heads turned whenever the orb spoke, conversations stalling as guests absorbed each arrival. “It’s not exactly subtle when the whole garden hushes like a Quidditch final.”

“Subtle for wizards, then,” Victor quipped. “And look at this place. It’s not your standard pureblood gothic drama, is it?” He gestured toward the mansion ahead, a gleaming marvel of stone and glass. “No looming gargoyles, no overgrown hedges threatening to swallow you whole. It’s… modern.”

Jessica studied the structure, her eyes catching the intricate mosaics woven into the white stone walls, each panel telling a story of myth and magic. “Modern with a side of ancient. Look at the detail—there’s history in every inch of this place.”

“And then there’s that.” Victor nodded toward the smaller towers flanking the mansion. His expression shifted to curiosity. “They’re not decorative. What are they?”

Jessica squinted, her gaze locking onto the faint engraving near the base of one tower. Her pulse quickened. “Those are military turrets. Adapted, probably enchanted beyond recognition. See the emblem? That bird—might be an eagle, or a phoenix.”

“No one’s dumb enough to mess with him - so it's a bit too much here,” Victor muttered, though the presence audacity of the turrets left her uneasy.

They walked on, the garden alive with the sound of murmured conversations and the faint rustle of enchanted foliage. Guests drifted past in twos and threes, their robes ranging from understated elegance to eye-watering extravagance. The scent of flowers—some glowing faintly, others pulsating softly—filled the air.

Victor tipped his head toward a pale wizard standing alone near a fountain. “There’s Carlisle. Snape’s protégé.”

Jessica glanced over. Carlisle stood stiffly, his dark green robes impeccable, his gaze sharp and unwavering. “Friend of yours?”

Victor snorted softly. “Hardly. He’s a PhD candidate from the US in Applied Arithmancy. Recruited by Dumbledore himself, apparently. Brilliant, but about as chatty as a petrified gnome. I met him yesterday - when I was told by Flitwick about the PhD.”

“Sounds delightful,” Jessica said dryly.

As they approached the mansion, a familiar hum cut through the chatter. The metallic orb drifted into view, its voice sharp and precise.

“Welcome, Edmund Trent. Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. Access Level: 3.”

Jessica stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening. A tall man with silver hair strode into the garden, his presence commanding immediate attention. His navy robes, edged with gold, glimmered faintly in the floating lights.

Victor’s expression softened into something between admiration and amusement. “And there’s my grandfather.”

Jessica blinked. “That’s your grandfather?”

“Why does everyone react like that? We literally have the same name!” Victor said, feigning indignation. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

“Introduce me? Victor, I’m—he’s—” Words tumbled out of her in a rush. “He’s the Head of a whole department! I’m just—”

“A PhD candidate in the Society of Occultism, Cryptic Knowledge, and Sorcery,” Victor said smoothly, cutting her off. “Exactly the kind of person he’ll want to meet. Relax.”

Jessica wasn’t sure “relax” was in her vocabulary at that moment, but she followed Victor as he approached his grandfather.

“Victor,” Edmund greeted him, clasping his shoulder briefly. His voice was warm but carried an authority that felt effortless. “Good to see you.”

“You too, Grandfather.” Victor turned to Jessica with a teasing grin. “This is Jessica Harper. She’s just joined the PhD program. Handpicked by Professor McGonnagall”

Jessica tried to summon something resembling poise, but her nerves got the better of her. “It’s—uh—an honor to meet you, sir.”

Edmund’s gaze settled on her, and for a moment she felt as though he saw far more than she was saying. A faint smile touched his lips. “Miss Harper. Welcome. You’re stepping into something unique.”

“Thank you,” Jessica managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The orb hummed again, cutting through the tension.

“Welcome, Amelia Bones. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Access Level: 1. Welcome, Susan Bones. Hogwarts Student. Access Level: 1.”

Jessica turned to see Amelia Bones stride into view, her crimson robes catching the light. Her sharp eyes scanned the garden as though assessing every potential threat, and her monocle glinted faintly with each movement. By her side, Susan Bones fidgeted slightly, her expression a mixture of curiosity and discomfort.

Victor leaned in, his tone light. “And there’s someone else trying not to trip over themselves.”

“That’s Amelia Bones,” Jessica whispered, her awe barely concealed. “She is…”

“I know,” Victor interrupted with a grin. “Big deal.”

Amelia’s gaze found Edmund, and she stepped closer, her tone brisk but not unkind. “Edmund. Any idea why Dumbledore is hosting a soirée?”

Edmund’s smile widened, though it remained enigmatic. “Patience, Amelia. Warlock Dumbledore is not here yet - I'm sure he'll take time to personally salute you.”

Jessica shifted awkwardly, feeling the weight of the moment. These were titans of the wizarding world exchanging casual words, while she—barely a week into this new chapter of her life—tried not to feel entirely out of place. Her gaze flicked back to Susan, whose hesitant smile mirrored Jessica’s own unease. At least she wasn’t the only one feeling like an uninvited guest at a royal court.

The group ascended the steps toward the towering bronze doors of Dumbledore’s mansion. As they approached, the doors opened soundlessly, revealing a woman framed perfectly in their grandeur.

Jessica’s breath caught.

Andromeda Black stood there like a queen from an ancient legend. Her emerald-green robes shimmered with a faint magical glow, the enchanted fabric shifting ever so slightly as she moved, catching the light in ways that made her seem almost unreal. The fabric hugged her slender waist, emphasizing the sharp taper from her full, regal chest to her flat, toned belly. The hem of the robes fell gracefully to the floor, but a subtle slit revealed one elegantly toned leg as she shifted her weight slightly. Behind her, the fabric swept low, flowing effortlessly over her firm, rounded backside. The high collar framed her graceful neck, and her raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves, contrasting strikingly with her pale, flawless skin. Her sharp, noble features—piercing gray eyes and cheekbones that could cut glass—left Jessica momentarily dazed.

Andromeda inclined her head slightly, her voice warm yet formal as she addressed the group. “Lord Trent. Lady Bones. Welcome to Dumbledore Manor. The Warlock sends his regards and regrets that he cannot greet you personally at the door.”

Amelia Bones offered a curt nod in return. “Madam Black, it is good to see you.”

Edmund Trent smiled faintly, the expression just soft enough to hint at his admiration. “Madam Black, you honor us.”

Andromeda’s lips curved in a polite smile, a touch of warmth softening her regal demeanor. “It is my pleasure, Lord Trent.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to Victor, Jessica, and Susan. Her nod to them was barely more than a flicker of acknowledgment, but even that carried an air of authority that made Jessica straighten instinctively.

Victor leaned toward Jessica as they stepped aside, his tone a conspiratorial whisper. “Normally, the host welcomes everyone. But when the host is Albus Dumbledore, he’s not going to stand at the door for three hours greeting everyone from Ministers to caterers.”

Jessica glanced at him, still trying to recover from Andromeda’s presence. “So why her?”

“That’s the clever part,” Victor murmured. “She’s acting as the Lady of the House. Or a steward - it's not very clear. It’s unconventional, but it sends a message—Dumbledore trusts her implicitly, and by extension, so should we.”

Jessica frowned, her gaze flicking back to Andromeda, who was already speaking again to Edmund and Amelia with the kind of poise that felt intimidating even from a distance. “She’s… something.”

Victor smirked. “Understatement of the evening.”

Jessica straightened, following Andromeda’s example as she murmured, “Madam Black,” her tone deferential.

Susan, standing slightly behind her aunt, managed a stammered greeting, her cheeks flushed. “Madam Black, thank you for having us.”

Andromeda’s sharp gaze softened briefly as it rested on Susan, but her nod was just as formal as before. “Welcome, Miss Bones. Miss Harper. Mister Trent.”

The group barely had time to move further inside when a voice from the garden interrupted the quiet hum of conversation.

“Look!” a wizard exclaimed, pointing dramatically toward the darkening sky above the mansion.

A murmur swept through the guests as heads turned upward.

“It’s a bird!” someone called.

“No,” another said, squinting into the faint glow of twilight. “It’s a plane!”

“What in Merlin’s beard is a plane?” a third wizard retorted indignantly. “I’m a wizard, not some Muggle scientist!”

“No,” a final voice declared with reverence—and a touch of awe. “It’s Albus Fucking Dumbledore!”