Why Was Dumbledore's Hand Black Novels & Stories

Alas, he suddenly halted in shock. Originally, one of his hands had been the normal white color while the other was riddled by black veins from his last battle. They had already spread a bit, delaying the response when he told his fingers to move. Now, however, he couldn't tell anymore which hand it had been. They were both pure white. If he didn't know any better, he would think that he was never affected to begin with.

"Manus validates manu facta cum vita mea vim, matters and deep tenebris ad implandum voluntem meam [Spectral Hand]" Created from the condensation of necromantic energy, Viktor produced a hand which seemed the product of the worst nightmares. Black as night, the spectral hand possessed fingers shaped like dangerous claws. Driven by the power of black magic, the spectral hand reached for Herwin's neck, who gasped as the dangerous hand grabbed hold of him. His panicky eyes met Viktor's cold, glassy eyes. the ghostly hand closed tightly around Herwin's neck. Viktor was not a necromancer. He would not allow anyone to call him that!

“You’re a witch now.” She said it like a correction. Like a fact. Like she was adjusting my name. Then her gaze flicked to my right hand. “And look at that,” she muttered. “It’s getting worse.” Confused, I lifted my hand. My pulse jumped. Only a few spots of skin still held their normal color. The rest… was nearly black. It was spreading fast, the black streak now at my wrist. Was it because I kept using my powers? I wondered. “Ma’am we sorry please you can continue,” one of the sick lady in front said her hand as if in prayer.

His eye sockets were slightly deep, and his eyes were a profound ink-black—calm, they were like an ancient cold pool; when stirred, they surged with world-destroying malice, his entire body shrouded in a faint black aura. A faint black light glowed at his fingertips as he slowly pressed them against the crown of the man kneeling before him. The man was half-kneeling on the ground, his upper body bare, his chest and back covered in hideous wounds with torn flesh. Faint scars remained deep in the wounds—he was the very man who had fought fiercely with Amelia earlier, resulting in mutual injury.

I replied, not sure of where this was going. “There were reports that your hands glowed, could you describe how it happened in your own words?” Albus asked. “All I know is that I got tired of getting my butt kicked and I got serious, then my hands lit up,” I said with a shrug. “What emotions were you feeling when it happened?” Albus asked. “I was kind of pissed off, to be honest,” I replied. A look passed between the chancellor and the dean. What were they thinking? “How close are you with Lycan Frostwood?” Albus asked.

That’s why I have decided to go stir some trouble on my own. Besides, my time is running out faster than I expected. I glance at the lacy white sleeve, which has ridden up a little, exposing the black veins on my left wrist. After the necromancer did that shitty voodoo on me, the veins of my whole left arm turned black under my skin. I was horrified when I first saw my arm, but then it slowly dawned on me. Moon Goddess mentioned something about rotting. I assume it’s the starting stage of that.

It was so dark I couldn't see a thing, not even my hand in front of me. I searched for my magic and it answered immediately, light bursting from my hand. I held my hand in front of me and my heart skipped a beat when I saw Eryndor standing in front of us, his eyes black, not a single white in them. "I can't let you leave," he said. I shot a beam of light at him, but he dissolved into shadows. Before I could react, my hands and legs were bound, and I felt something sharp press against my neck. Unable to summon the light with my hands restrained, everything went dark again.

He slumped on the cobblestone, unconscious. “What are you doing?” the Dark Lord cried out. “Now I gotta kill you and replay this exact moment to fix it!” The creature stretched its hand, but Alexander stretched his arms faster. A bright light appeared from his palm. It shot directly at the Dark Lord, hitting the creature straight in the chest. The Dark Lord went still, as a hole suddenly appeared in the center of its cloaked figure. “D–did you just…?” Suddenly, the Dark Lord wailed in pain. At the rim of the hole, the creature started burning. It spread like wildfire to the entire body until there was nothing left of the Dark Lord other than ashes.

He shifts. It is not like anything I have seen from him before. The man I have come to know over these weeks, controlled and careful and learning to be tender, is still in there somewhere. But the thing that rises in his place is ancient and massive and utterly without the hesitation that has defined him since his return. A black wolf, enormous, filling the center of the ruins with presence alone. Dorian actually takes a step back. Just one. Then he steadies himself. "Impressive," he says. "But you can't fight binding magic with teeth."

His ash-gray eyes flared with a blinding, terrifying ring of molten gold, fixing instantly on the figure standing in the doorway. "Seize him!" the alpha’s voice roared, echoing off the high stone ceiling with a lethal, commanding force that made my knees shake. Half a dozen armed guards drew their silver-forged blades and rushed forward like a pack of hunting wolves closing in on their prey. The cloaked stranger didn't even flinch. He let out a low, musical chuckle that carried clearly across the silent hall. With blinding, unnatural speed, he whipped back his cloak, his hands moving in a fluid, complex motion. A sudden, blinding flash of brilliant blue light—the exact same color as the heal