It was obvious to the entire school where the information in the paper had come from, especially with Julian openly enjoying the stunned look on Dumbledore's face. The Great Hall buzzed with reactions, and the staff table was no different.
Some professors looked shocked. Others looked vaguely entertained.
Snape, of all people, seemed faintly proud. He understood better than most the kind of things the old man had done "for the greater good," and he had carried a long simmering frustration at how little consequence Dumbledore ever seemed to face.
...
McGonagall sat in disbelief, staring at the paper as if it might change if she looked hard enough.
For years, she had convinced herself her friend was a paragon, a man who did what was necessary because it was right. She had ignored the moments that troubled her, swallowed her doubts whenever he repeated the familiar phrase.
For the greater good.
But the list laid out in print was dreadful.
To her, the worst piece was Harry. She had always believed he was safe and cared for. Now she understood the truth.
...
Flitwick's anger was sharper, less complicated by history.
Unlike the others, he had never deeply involved himself in political games or the wider world beyond what he read in the papers. Most of his impressions of Dumbledore had been built from student gossip, public reputation, and personal interactions. He had assumed Albus was unwaveringly aligned with the Light and held to a strict moral standard.
Clearly, that assumption had been wrong.
From Dumbledore's expression alone, Flitwick could tell the accusations were not fabricated.
Which raised an unsettling question.
How had Julian uncovered any of it?
...
Dumbledore knew some of the details in the article could be verified with enough effort. Records existed, witnesses could be found, patterns could be traced. But other points were deeply personal, the kind of knowledge shared by no more than three people at most.
He reached the most plausible answer quickly, and dread settled into him.
It went back to when he first noticed the boy, when he had attempted to read Julian's memories and had been struck by a vicious mental counterattack. There was a chance Julian had caught glimpses of his own guarded thoughts in that brief clash, fragments of Dumbledore's most private memories.
And Julian had held them close until now.
...
By violating Julian's privacy, Dumbledore had forfeited the right to expect his own to remain untouched.
He understood that.
It was bitter, humiliating, and painful, but it was also a consequence he had accepted the moment he chose to act.
Dumbledore would not deny the blow might be permanent. His reputation might never recover.
But what he had done to Julian could not be undone either.
In a grim way, he considered them even.
...
Julian, for his part, was in an excellent mood. Dumbledore had finally tasted consequences, and Julian was savoring it.
"How do you know all of this, mate?" Ron asked, still baffled, since it was obvious Julian had tipped off the press.
"That I'll keep to myself," Julian said with a broad smile. "But I will say, if you look closely at past records, proof of what's written there can be found."
After what he did to you, I'd say he deserves this," one of the twins said frankly from further down the table.
Most of Gryffindor nodded in agreement.
...
When breakfast ended, Julian made sure to catch the twins before they could vanish into the crowd. He needed their help to enter the Forbidden Forest without being caught.
"Now why would an ikkle firstie like yourself need to go there?" one of them asked, wearing an amused expression.
"Quite hard to believe it is, dearest brother of mine," the other added, matching the grin.
"I need something for a project," Julian said bluntly, impatience slipping into his tone, "and it isn't exactly easy to obtain elsewhere. It's in there. So are you helping me or not?"
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, mate. We'll help you," one of them said easily.
Then both of them broke into wide smiles.
"For a price, of course," they said together.
Julian shrugged, reached into Greed, and produced ten gold coins. "I assume this will do?" he asked neutrally.
Julian might have been greedy, but it was a practical sort of greed. Money made things happen. With enough of it, very few problems stayed problems.
And if a small sum bought a much more valuable service, he had no issue paying.