Hogwarts Raven (Harry Potter)

Ian had assumed he'd be left chatting with Fawkes about how best to raise a young Phoenix while he waited, possibly for quite a while, for the headmaster, who would surely be delayed tidying up the aftermath of recent events.

He hadn't expected this.

Even after using the Black Phoenix's peculiar teleportation magic, a skill more akin to a rare form of Phoenix-assisted Apparition, Albus Dumbledore had somehow arrived before him. Or… had he been here all along?

Ian's eyes flicked to the headmaster's attire. Though he wore the familiar deep-purple robes, this version of Dumbledore also had a deep crimson scarf looped neatly about his neck.

More telling, though, was his appearance, well-groomed and polished. The Dumbledore Ian had seen in the underground chamber had been noticeably dishevelled, with soot-streaked robes and hair astray from battle.

Could the old wizard truly have moved faster than a magically transported student, and had time to tidy up besides? Feeling a chill of unease, Ian's mind whirred as he asked, cautiously:

"Mr. Aberforth?"

It seemed like the most logical conclusion.

"If my memory serves, Aberforth is presently in our hometown," Dumbledore replied with a mild smile, "Shutting up the Hog's Head and muttering darkly at Ariana's grave about my many, many flaws." He gestured for Ian to take a seat.

"Er… I recall you saying you and Professor Flamel needed to deal with Voldemort's aftermath. That we'd meet later…"

Ian trailed off as a thought struck him. He swiftly pulled out the Marauder's Map from his robes, only to find it showed a single dot marked Albus Dumbledore, who was currently with a large group of Ministry officials near the Great Hall.

Even the other Heads of House had gathered in Snape's office, no doubt investigating Professor Quirrell's unexpected demise.

"Sharp thinking. The Sorting Hat clearly chose well, you've the qualities of several founders," Dumbledore said, smiling with quiet approval as he glanced at the map. "Your handling of Voldemort shows not only bravery and wisdom, but also strategy… and a degree of cunning that is well beyond your years."

Then his expression shifted slightly, voice lowering:

"But Ian, in our world… there are times when you mustn't even trust your own eyes. Relying too heavily on enchanted items, yes, even your map, can prove unwise."

Ian's expression twisted, flickering through surprise, disbelief, then mild dread.

"I swear, I must be seeing ghosts…"

He stared at the empty headmaster's office on the map, his face half-twisted in frustrated confusion. "Did you enchant my map, or worse, enchant the entire castle?"

He was truly at a loss.

There were only a handful of wizards in the world capable of meddling with Hogwarts or the Marauder's Map at such a level. And Ian had met several of them already.

'What a bloody freaking coincidence.'

"Yes, I may have performed a small enchantment," Dumbledore admitted easily, nodding with that ever-serene smile of his.

"After all, your little map has made its way into many young hands. We couldn't be entirely sure Quirrell hadn't gotten hold of one himself, to monitor my movements or those of other professors."

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

And one Ian couldn't argue with.

His map was contraband, technically speaking. The fact that he hadn't been dragged before the Board of Governors for distributing magical surveillance tools was already generous. It would be unwise to accuse Dumbledore of deception on top of that.

"I really only wanted to help the poor lost souls, students who couldn't tell the Astronomy Tower from the Owlery," Ian muttered in his defence, not exactly softly. Still, his tone carried a guilty undercurrent, as if trying to justify the whole thing to himself.

Oh, he knew.

Albus Dumbledore raised an amused brow. "Selling each map for over a dozen Galleons… I suspect your definition of 'poor souls' is quite selective. Most struggling students couldn't afford one if they tried."

Though the headmaster's voice remained kind, Ian's awkward squirming was impossible to miss.

"They find ways! They find a way to use it…" The young wizard rubbed his nose sheepishly, masking his discomfort.

He'd actually started offering an 'Ian Loan' scheme once the demand plateaued, letting students rent the map in exchange for a modest repayment schedule.

No draconian terms, no annual rates of fifty percent, just a humble five-percent service charge.

He was far more ethical than any Muggle bank!

"Your little business here at school isn't my primary concern," Dumbledore said, waving it off. "So long as you don't start tampering with Nicholas Flamel's illegal device."

Ian's shoulders tensed, but he quickly nodded.

"Understood, Professor."

"And no trying to learn how to make it, either," Dumbledore added, tone still warm but now edged with caution, as though seeing straight through the boy's thoughts.

"…"

Ian froze, his expression going blank.

Obviously.

The wily old headmaster had once again anticipated his plans. He'd even predicted Ian's idea of a workaround, leaving the boy without any plausible excuse or witty retort.

"So I was right." Dumbledore gave a weary smile and sighed. "The agreement our kind made with the goblins long ago is not something that can be violated. It would bring ruin. Nicholas came dangerously close to upending the fragile peace for the sake of a clever invention."

The old headmaster's tone left no room for argument.

It was, without question, a warning.

However.

"The agreement with the goblins…" The young wizard muttered thoughtfully.

His expression made Albus Dumbledore feel a faint unease, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Worried that Ian might drop another outrageous remark, the old headmaster swiftly changed the subject.

"You must be exhausted. Fancy a snack?" Albus Dumbledore asked, then immediately added in haste,

"I mean desserts, no roast beef or anything of that sort." He still vividly recalled some of the more memorable culinary requests Ian had made during past chats in this very office.

"How about an entire roast lamb? With extra chilli?" Ian offered helpfully, responding in kind with what he clearly thought was a reasonable counter-suggestion. He didn't like to impose, so he'd picked something that wasn't beef.

"????"

Albus Dumbledore stared at him, looking thoroughly exasperated. "Wouldn't you rather try something a bit more… conventional? Fizzing Whizzbees, perhaps? The ones from Honeydukes with real Billywig stings, they're far better than the sort you'll find in other shops. One bite and I dare say you'll be hooked."

The old headmaster's spirited recommendation didn't seem to move the young wizard in the slightest.

"Thanks, but no. I'm wary of cavities. Wizards my age are at high risk, you know." Ian's courteous refusal left Albus Dumbledore momentarily speechless.

'The boy who defeated Voldemort… was now discussing tooth decay with him.'

"There are sugar-free versions," Dumbledore offered, somewhat defensively. He had once read something about magical confections being sweetened without actual sugar.

"Let's have the lamb first, then dessert. Cuts the grease, balances the palate." Ian blinked at the headmaster with wide-eyed sincerity, his logic impeccable and irrefutable.

"…"

Dumbledore rubbed his temples and silently vowed to stop asking Ian what he wanted to eat. The responses were becoming more preposterous by the day.

"Too much greasy food is bad for your body," He muttered, though he still gave a reluctant wave of his wand.

And in the next moment, a whole roast lamb, golden and crisp-skinned, materialised atop the desk, heaped with fresh red chillies. There were corn chips arranged on a separate platter and even a pitcher of chilled lemonade beside them for balance.

This was, quite clearly, a more generous spread than the time Ian had only asked for steak. But what could Albus Dumbledore do? This little eccentric had to be handled with care.

"Transfigured?" Ian asked suspiciously, holding back from digging in.

Albus Dumbledore felt a phantom twinge in his jaw.

"It's cooked by the House-elf," He clarified, clearly trying not to sound too beleaguered.

Watching Ian, now reassured, tear into the lamb with satisfaction, the headmaster gathered his composure and spoke with deliberate calm.

"Don't you have any questions?"

He had assumed Ian would be far more shaken after everything that had happened.

Gnawing on a lamb shank, Ian looked up curiously. "Is it the Time-Turner? That's how you're appearing in so many places at once, right?"

The young wizard had suspected as much, but until now, he hadn't been certain.

"Correct. I've been using a Time-Turner," Albus Dumbledore confirmed, retrieving a curious, hourglass-shaped pendant from the inner folds of his robes.

"To properly mislead dear Tom, I needed him to believe I was thoroughly entangled in his little diversions. It gave him the confidence to act on his desires."

The headmaster's tone was calm, but Ian could hear the undercurrent of strategy behind his words. 

(To Be Continued…)

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