— — — — — —
On the sixth floor of Hogwarts Castle, sunlight poured into a bright sitting room, warm and golden as it filtered through stained glass windows. The light fell in shifting patches across a round table draped in lace.
Daphne lounged lazily in a velvet armchair, enjoying afternoon tea with Penelope and several Ravenclaw girls.
A faint aroma of Earl Grey rose from the silver tea set. Exquisite little cakes and fruit tarts were arranged neatly on porcelain plates. The house-elves had prepared everything with meticulous care. It was leagues above anything sold at Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.
The girls invited to this tea gathering shared two traits: they were on good terms with Daphne, and their families all had someone working at the Ministry of Magic.
Who said Ravenclaws were just bookworms? The little eagles were sharp. Sharp meant observant, and observant meant ambitious.
They weren't hovering around Daphne just because of Tom. To be precise, the real person they wanted to stay connected to was Lady Greengrass, Daphne's mother, who held a high-ranking position in the Ministry.
Everyone knew that right now, two women truly ran the Ministry. Amelia Bones and Lady Greengrass. Even Cornelius Fudge barely dared to argue with them anymore. He'd become little more than a stamp machine.
And those two women were genuine best friends, not the backstabbing kind.
In the corner sat a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, both sensing that the atmosphere felt a little off, but once the gossip started flowing, the mood quickly shifted.
"For Beauxbatons, your biggest rival is Fleur Delacour. Well, technically that's an internal fight. As for Castelobruxo, there's one girl to watch. Her name's Quinta. No idea why she didn't attend the dueling tournament last term, but she's very strong. She's ranked first since she enrolled."
Hermione, the Gryffindor who was forced to join, set down her teaspoon and asked curiously, "Where do you even get this information? You even know her past grades?"
"A friend from Castelobruxo told me," Pansy Parkinson replied matter-of-factly. "I traded some Hogwarts relationship gossip for it. Easy deal. Anyway, Quinta isn't just top of her class. Apparently she has some kind of special talent. The teachers gave her special treatment from the moment she arrived. No one knows exactly what it is. Not even her classmates."
"..."
"Pansy." Daphne gently set down her gilded teacup, her long lashes fluttering. She looked completely uninterested in rival intel. "Why don't you dig up some gossip from the other schools instead? I'm bored of all this championship stuff."
"Daphne," Hermione said helplessly. "Shouldn't you worry about the first round of the competition before worrying about gossip?"
The heiress stuck out her tongue playfully, looking completely unconcerned.
"Gossip is good for mental health. And honestly, if the competition were actually difficult, Tom would've dragged me off for special training already. The fact that I'm sitting here peacefully having tea with you means it's probably fine."
Hermione fell silent.
That logic was very Daphne. And very Tom.
"Just wait." Pansy, slightly surprised by Daphne's relaxed attitude, changed gears. "I've already added tons of people to my contacts and even set up a group chat. There's going to be endless gossip."
The atmosphere grew even more relaxed after that. Daphne remained mostly uninterested, but Pansy still enthusiastically spilled every bit of information she had.
It wasn't until she mentioned that Mahoutokoro and Durmstrang each had only one registered competitor that Daphne finally straightened a little.
That Kamio girl. Tom had said before there was something off about her. Now it seemed he'd been right.
And she was always staring at Tom.
That alone was enough to make Daphne dislike her.
Maybe she should just eliminate her early?
Daphne's increasingly simple worldview had conditioned her to solve problems in the most direct way possible. If something annoyed her, remove it.
But not everyone could act based on mood alone.
For example, Albus Dumbledore.
Gellert Grindelwald's public declaration had already brought him trouble. That very morning, The Daily Prophet had exposed his relationship with Ariana, as well as Grindelwald's connection to her.
The headline screamed: {The Future Dark Lord, the Second Helmsman of the Acolytes, a Girl Who Will Shape the World Order!}
It sounded sensational.
But compared to the Prophet's usual exaggerations, this one wasn't inflated at all. If anything, it was restrained.
Ariana's resurrection had altered too many destinies. Most crucially, it had changed Dumbledore's state of mind.
When an ordinary person shifts their outlook, it affects only themselves and maybe a handful of people around them. But when someone at Dumbledore's level changes their thinking, entire governments lose sleep.
The moment the news broke, high-ranking officials from multiple Ministries of Magic, along with administrators from the International Confederation of Wizards, erupted.
What did this mean? The greatest white wizard in history couldn't teach his own sister, so he handed her over to Grindelwald?
And Grindelwald publicly declared, before thousands, that she would be the future leader of the Acolytes?
Unacceptable.
Dumbledore's ideology must have gone wrong.
---
In the Headmaster's office, several Lume-Lens flickered with overlapping figures. One after another, they pointed at the elderly wizard behind his desk, demanding that he keep Ariana at Hogwarts and publicly sever ties with Grindelwald.
Dumbledore remained silent.
His expression was calm, unreadable. No one could tell what lay beneath that composed surface.
Gradually, the accusations slowed. Arguing required participation. It was awkward when only one side was speaking.
"Albus," said Pierce, who had just formally assumed the role of Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation, his voice stern. "You need to state your position."
"What position would you like me to state?" Dumbledore slowly lifted his head.
His tranquil gaze made Pierce's heart skip.
Still, Dumbledore's lifelong image as a genial old man emboldened him. Pierce's tone turned almost commanding.
"Convince your sister to come to her senses. Have her publicly announce that she will transfer from Durmstrang to Hogwarts. Or any school she prefers."
"She must tell the wizarding world she has no connection to Grindelwald and will not be the future leader of the Acolytes. That will calm the public."
"And if she refuses?" Dumbledore asked quietly.
"Refuses?" Pierce gave a disbelieving laugh. "Albus, are you joking? What influence does a child's opinion have in a matter like this?"
"Frankly, your sister needs proper discipline. Associating with a dark wizard like—"
Bang!
Before he could finish, a streak of crimson light shot from the tip of the wand resting on Dumbledore's desk. It struck Pierce's mirror without warning, shattering it into fragments of fading light.
The others, who had been nodding along seconds ago, stared in shock as Dumbledore suddenly moved.
"My sister," Dumbledore said slowly as he rose to his feet, "is not yours to criticize."
Though they were separated by vast distances, the pressure in the room felt real. It poured through the mirrors like a physical force. His blue eyes seemed to deepen into oceanic whirlpools, close enough to drag them under.
"I will say this once. Remember it well."
He swept his gaze across the silent mirrors.
"Ariana is the most precious treasure of the Dumbledore family. She stands above all else. My honor and my position mean nothing compared to her wishes."
"If she wants to study under Grindelwald and become the future leader of the Acolytes, I will not stop her. And I will not allow any of you to comment on it."
"If anyone attempts to use her as a political tool, I swear in Merlin's name that I will make you pay the price in the cruelest way possible. Believe me. I may be a white wizard, but my mastery of dark magic is no less than Grindelwald's."
"Pass a message to Pierce. I will resign as Honorary President of the International Confederation myself. From this day forward, he is the least welcome guest at Hogwarts. As long as I remain Headmaster, he will never set foot here."
With a sweep of his hand, the remaining Lume-Lens shattered in unison, crystalline shards scattering across the velvet carpet.
When it was over, the old man seemed to lose all his strength. He sank back into his chair.
For a brief moment, the office was deathly quiet.
Then a voice broke the tension.
"Well done, Dumbledore!"
It was Phineas Nigellus, applauding from his portrait, eyes gleaming with unmistakable approval.
"..."
"Well done?"
Dumbledore gave a wry smile after catching his breath. "I've thoroughly offended everyone today. By this afternoon, or tomorrow at the latest, the papers and media will start tearing into me."
"Why do you care?"
Phineas twirled the ends of his pointed mustache inside his portrait, eyebrows raised in disdain. "Dumbledore, you care far too much about how others see you. Always worrying about everyone else's feelings. That's exhausting."
"Isn't it tiring, constantly brooding over these headaches? If you were the Minister for Magic or the head of the International Confederation, fine. But at the end of the day, you're just the Headmaster of Hogwarts. The more you meddle, the more they'll label you ambitious. Who knows how many people curse you behind your back?"
"You know what that is? That's being awkward."
"It's only because Grindelwald is out there causing trouble and that brat Tom is even darker than a Dark Lord that they remember you as the greatest white wizard. In the old days, they would've loved to see you disappear. Less competition for attention."
"Take Fudge, for example. You can't tell me you don't see how wary he is of you."
"You've done nothing wrong. Family comes first. I can scold my own children and complain about the Black family all I like, but I'd never let anyone else say a single bad word about them."
"If I'd had your strength back then, I wouldn't have lived so pathetically… Wait. Am I forgetting something? Why do I see green light flashing every time I try to remember my years as headmaster?"
Dumbledore listened quietly to the rant. It was the first time he had heard something so incisive from Phineas' notoriously sharp tongue.
Awkward.
That single word pierced straight through him.
He knew his contradictory nature confused people. When others couldn't understand or see through him, suspicion naturally followed. Then slander.
It was exhausting. Truly exhausting.
Yet today, for once, he felt a release. Venting the resentment he had bottled up for days left him strangely clear-headed.
When the things you care about grow fewer, fewer things can control you. And a man willing to cast everything aside at any moment is a man others fear.
No wonder Tom behaved so recklessly, never caring about public opinion or so-called balance. It probably felt liberating.
"Dumbledore, stop overthinking."
Dilys Derwent spoke gently from her portrait. "Haven't you noticed? Whenever you follow other people's expectations, the situation slips out of your hands. Trying to please everyone just waters everything down. In the end, you accomplish nothing you truly wanted."
"As for guarding against Grindelwald, it's unnecessary. The world isn't a simple two-pole struggle anymore. He can't sweep across the globe like before. The real center of the storm now is Riddle, and you can't influence him anyway."
"If that's the case, why not cast off the restraints and do what you genuinely want?"
.
.
.