The Grand Order of the Crooked Noses by Eowyn89
Chapter Notes: This is my rendition on how Dumbledore's crooked nose came to be. I put the AU warning in because I imagined that he wrote this prior to his death, just to be safe. I have also included some canon information from the Lexicon in this story (i.e. timelines, names, facts from the books...) I have tried to represent Dumbledore's nature as best as I could, enjoy!
I do believe many of you have been curious to know as to how my nose came to be quite so crooked. What an odd thing to wonder, I tell you, but none the less, I will comply. It is quite an entertaining tale to say the least, occurring on two different occasions during my younger days. I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, write this in my own hand, to satisfy all those who need to practice quenching their curiosities for more appropriate matters.
“Gryffindor!” squeaked the Sorting Hat.
I do declare that hat must have been the most charming thing I’ve ever had the pleasure of speaking with. I distinctly remember walking shakily to the Gryffindor table where the other students greeted me cheerfully, clapping me on the back.
“Well done, chap,” said one of the boys to me, a devilishly mischievous fifth-year by the name of Winston Moore. Everyone called him “Winnie”, much to his dissatisfaction. He pulled at his stiff, starched collar, “Wait until the food arrives ” I’m so hungry I could eat a chimera…”
Hogwarts was the worst place for a curious young boy to live in. There were so many nooks and crannies to explore ” I found myself missing entire classes just to study them all (especially Divination, which I found a fearfully mind-dulling subject). By the end of my first month, I had discovered no less than four secret passageways, two concealed rooms covered by moldy tapestries, and a goblin who resided peacefully on the third floor.
I was discovering plenty of new things to keep myself occupied ” unfortunately, my brush with wizard candies did not go over so well. Winnie coerced me into trying a flavored bean (Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans to be exact), green and discolored. Vomit flavored. Since then, I cannot rightly say I have been itching to try any more.
A great ruckus erupted in the Gryffindor common room early one morning. A sign had been pinned to the notice board: QUIDDITCH TRYOUTS. I grew up playing Quidditch on the moors with my brother, Aberforth. I was dreadfully excited, until Winnie relayed the news to me that first-years were banned from the team.
“Sorry, mate,” he said, clapping a hand to my shoulder, “Perhaps next year? Don’t worry about it old mum ” Fletcher here had a nasty row with a Bludger his first match ” didn’t you, Fletch?”
“Eh?” the boy named Fletcher replied, looking at them all with a wispy, absent-minded stare.
“Poor thing, his brain is still addled,” lamented Winnie, flapping his hands to usher us away.
Now, you may call me a reckless, foolish youth ” and you are undoubtedly entitled to that opinion ” but I am sure you are sitting here, reading this now, and dwelling upon those fantastical and enchanting adventures young boys embark on.
In my boyish mind, I wished to prove I was more than just a mere first-year. A wild idea filled my mind ” late that night I would sneak into the broom cupboard and do a little flying myself. I knew full well that I was forbidden to be on the grounds at night ” but did that matter? Not in the slightest.
The castle was eerily silent at night, the only noises coming from clanking suits of armor, and the whispers of the House ghosts. I made my way silently down the staircase, making sure to avoid the trick steps, and patrolling Prefects. To my great delight, I found a small chamber which led me outdoors.
I hurried across the moonlit grounds to the Quidditch pitch. The broom cupboard was in sight and I wrenched the door open. Fourteen Starcatcher 150’s lay propped against the far wall. I took the nearest one, running my fingers through the fine straw tail and the hand-crafted wooden handle.
I felt so light in the air, boundless, carefree ” away from all my studies and everything that worried me. I swooped under the stars, letting the wind whip through my auburn hair. Mind you, these brooms were the latest thing in my day ” I daresay they would be considered little faster than snails by today’s standards. I must have stayed up there for hours; the sun had just begun to creep across the Black Lake as I snuck back to the chamber I had come out of earlier.
No sooner had I reached the comfort of Hogwarts did I run into seventh-year Prefect Armando Dippet.
“Dumbledore! What businesses have you in this part of the castle, especially this early? No lies!” he cried, brandishing something which looked suspiciously like a yew branch.
“Well, sir, I was flying.” I replied calmly.
“Don’t be ridiculous, fool! First-year students cannot fly!” he hissed, his nostrils flaring.
“Dippet! What seems to be the trouble here?” asked a stately wizard dressed in robes of stiff black, exiting his office that precise moment as though he had had his ear pressed to the door. He held a jar of a pickled something in his hand and a stern look on his face.
“P-Professor A-Anselm!” spluttered the seventh-year, bending his knees awkwardly into a half-bow that made him look like a child that needed to visit the loo, “I was ” I was just… ”
“That’s right, boy ” you are relieved of your post for tonight, now be gone, and I’ll handle the rest of this!” puffed the Professor, taking me by the shoulders and stuffing me roughly into his office.
I took a seat, nervously looking around me at the frightful objects in the room. Professor Anselm was clearly the Potions master. Jars of goopy green and blue liquid lined the shelves, preserved specimens staring at me with round eyes.
“You fly well, Albus,” he stated matter-of-factly, conjuring a tray of hot tea and biscuits, “Best I’ve seen in a long time. I think I’ll have a chat with your house Quidditch captain ” see if we might bend the rules this year. It would be nice if Gryffindor could win this year. Now go to bed, Albus.”
I nodded in agreement, hardly believing my luck. I scampered back to my dormitory”my fellow Gryffindors just beginning to stir under their covers. I lied my head down as the first rays of sunlight poked through the curtains (those curtains are truly horrible) around my four-poster.
Winnie could scarcely contain his excitement at the breakfast table the next morning, “Can you believe it? Our very own Albus Dumbledore on the Quidditch team ” Byrne will have kittens over this one ” but then again; he may not be able to comprehend it.”
He spent the next few minutes doing a most foul impression of the Slytherin captain, Angus Byrne, which looked quite similar to a baboon scratching its backside.
As my first match drew nearer, I couldn’t help but feel nervous ” Winnie attempted to cheer me up by bewitching goblets to smack Byrne in the back of the head.
“Don’t worry, chap,” encouraged Winnie as we made our way to the Quidditch pitch, “I’ll look after you, I promise.”
The Slytherin team, already dressed in robes of black trimmed with green stood menacingly, their captain at the forefront of the group.
“Dumbledore, you sniveling brat ” who put you on the team? First-years aren’t allowed,” sneered the Slytherin captain, Angus Byrne, a burly, sour-faced sixth-year, “We’ll be sure not to catch you if you fall.”
I was struck with a sudden idea, “Oh, I’m all of a flutter ” if I’m that dreadful, I’d hate to see how you’ll be.”
Byrne stared at me flabbergasted ” I could see the frustration on his face as he tried to work out what I had said. To give him the benefit of the doubt, I scampered away before he could quite figure it out.
The flying instructor, Professor Carmichael, released the four balls, and the fourteen of us rose into the air.
I heard a whistling noise behind me, but thought nothing of it, even though (forgive my blatant naivety), the noise continued.
“Albus!” cried Winnie suddenly, racing towards me as fast as he could on his broom.
I turned towards my left ” saw the Slytherin Beater, Sibelius Smith raising his Beater’s bat menacingly over his head, and CRACK!
The Bludger hit me in the nose with such force that I was knocked from my broom and lost all consciousness. During my period of “sleep” I recall having a most unusual dream. Armando Dippet floated in front of me saying, “I told you so” while waving an expulsion paper in my face as Angus Byrne laughed behind him.
I woke up in the Hospital Wing, Winnie and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team surrounding my bed concernedly.
“I got to hand it to you, Albus,” he exclaimed, grinning madly, “Never has anyone taken on old Angus so brilliantly! Take a look at yourself!”
They handed me a looking-glass. (Oh, dear, I must pause here momentarily to reflect on this delicious moment…) Directly between my eyes was an enormous, magnificently purple bruise. My nose, unfortunately, was oddly positioned at the bridge ” Winnie later dubbed it a “mark of my genius”.
Byrne never meddled in my affairs again. After his little tantrum over losing the Quidditch match (Professor Carmichael forfeited the Slytherin team, enabling Gryffindor to win), he resigned as captain of the Slytherin team, and they went on a spectacular losing streak that has lasted these many long years, I’m afraid.
There ” did that satisfy your fancy? I do believe that was the most exhilarating moment of my life (unless, of course, you wish to include that enchanting afternoon I shared with Molly as I helped her de-gnome the garden”they are feisty little blighters, aren’t they?)
I remained at Hogwarts after my seventh-year and eventually took over the Transfiguration post when Griselda Marchbanks left us. Oh, dear, I did have a grand time as a Professor. Our dear Minerva joined us several years later, when I became Headmaster of Hogwarts, as the new Transfiguration teacher.
“Oh, Albus!” cried McGonagall at the end of her first week, “I’ve made a ridiculous fool out of myself ” I’ll never live it down!”
“Well, Minerva, please fill me in on this exciting news ” I would hate to be left out of it,” I replied with a smile.
“I was carrying a stack of rolled up parchments as I entered the lesson ” oh, Albus, my very first lesson ” when I tripped over these elephantine feet of mine and they flew every which way!” she sniffed,“ To make matters worse ” if that’s even possible ” I fell into one of the desks and all the students were howling with laughter!”
“Minerva, dear, if I worried about every mistake I ever made in front of my students, why ” I don’t think I’d be here today! Don’t dwell on your mistakes, but rather work to rectify them.” I stated, placing my hand on her shoulder in a fatherly fashion, “Let me share with you an instance, not so very long ago, which occurred to me that I thought I would never be able to recover from.”
My first post at Hogwarts was as Transfiguration teacher ” one of my favorite classes when I was a student. There is something whimsical about being able to change your surroundings; I enjoyed the flexibility of the subject.
The Hogwarts Express had just arrived. I was visiting the loo (I do find the worst times to be in there, don’t I?) and was heading back to the Great Hall for the start of term feast. I was getting on in years, not too old, mind ” but not the image of my younger days. I entered the Great Hall, a good majority of the students already seated.
They stared at me as though they had never seen a Professor properly before. A few of them said hello to me and greeted me with smiles. I gazed at myself wondering whether or not I had some hideous thing the matter with me. Nope, nothing there but the old beard. My auburn locks, now tinged with grey, trailed to the floor. I did have the terrible misfortune to believe that I was immune from unimaginable embarrassment.
I walked up the center aisle, waving at students as I passed, not minding my feet. That infernal beard somehow became twisted around my ankles and down I went ” in the midst of wails of laughter from the other students. I hit the floor, feeling my nose crunch as it made contact with the hard stone floor.
“Albus!” called one of the teachers from the staff table, “Are you quite all right?”
“Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” I muttered; my speech entirely indecipherable due to the broken nose.
“I beg your pardon?” replied the Professor
“Nebermind…” I replied, pinching my nose with two fingers.
Well, you must believe that my face did make quite a lovely representation of the setting sun. I yanked myself up, feeling the heat rising in my face, “I meant to do dat?” I remember saying nervously.
Someone standing outside of Hogwarts might very well have wondered what could possibly have been going on inside the old castle. The roars of laughter, combined with hysterical students literally crying with mirth, were enough to make anyone deaf.
“Albus Dumbledore ” at your service!” I announced grandly, making a sweep with my hat.
I was escorted to the Hospital Wing by a lovely young lady, Poppy Pomfrey I think her name was, and never did manage to make my first feast as a Professor. Needless to say, I have had many more opportunities to join in all the fun during the Sorting Ceremony in my later years.
Well, I do hope that was entertaining enough for you. It was quite fun to put it together. The grand escapade of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, merry-maker extraordinaire, rebellious youth, founder of the Grand Order of the Crooked Noses (well, maybe not that last one). I could very well continue, but why dull your minds any further with an old man’s talk? Cheers!