Eighth Floor — Headmaster’s Office The Headmaster’s Office was a spacious circular chamber bathed in warm afternoon light.
Strange silver instruments clicked and whirred atop delicate tables.
Shelves overflowed with books accumulated over centuries, while portraits of former Hogwarts headmasters covered the curved walls.
Most appeared asleep.
At least, they pretended to be.
The occasional twitch of an eyebrow or flicker beneath closed eyelids suggested many were listening far more carefully than they wished to admit.
Behind the great desk sat a battered old hat atop a tall wooden stool.
The Sorting Hat.
Had Alvin been present, he would have recognized it immediately.
At the center of the room, two of the most influential wizards in Britain sat facing one another.
Albus Dumbledore.
And Severus Snape.
Dumbledore smiled pleasantly.
“Would you care for some refreshments, Severus?” He gestured toward a crystal dish.
“Lemon Sherbets?” “Treacle Fudge?” “Perhaps a few Cockroach Clusters?” Snape’s expression darkened at once.
“No.” The answer carried the force of a personal grievance.
Then, without further delay, he got to the point.
“I came to discuss Alvin Gaunt.” Dumbledore’s eyes brightened.
The Headmaster closed the book resting before him and folded his hands atop the desk.
His blue eyes sharpened slightly.
“Then tell me, Severus.” “What is your assessment of Mr.
Gaunt?” Snape answered immediately.
“Calm.” “Decisive.” “Exceptionally talented.” “And possessed of a very clear sense of purpose.” He paused.
Then added in a dry tone, “And a shameless flirt.” Dumbledore blinked.
For a moment, he wasn’t certain he had heard correctly.
Had Severus Snape just made a joke?
The possibility was so astonishing that Dumbledore nearly lost track of the conversation.
“That is a surprisingly favorable evaluation,” he said at last.
“I confess, I expected the Sorting Ceremony incident to influence your judgment.” “It did not.” Snape’s voice remained flat.
“My schedule is already burdened enough.” “I have no intention of wasting additional time holding grudges against an eleven-year-old.” Then he continued.
“Despite his surname, he lacks the temperament of a future Dark Lord.” “No Dark Lord arrives at Hogwarts and immediately acquires a girlfriend.” “Nor attempts to charm a second girl from another House.” A quiet chuckle escaped Dumbledore.
“No, Severus.” “I believe you’ve misunderstood my concern.” The amusement gradually faded from his face.
“My interest in Mr.
Gaunt stems primarily from his family name.” Snape remained silent.
Dumbledore leaned back slightly.
“His lineage places him in a unique position.” “If Voldemort returns—as I believe he eventually will—bloodlines may become significant.” “Certain branches of dark magic place great importance on ancestry.” A shadow passed briefly through his eyes.
“Tom’s research in those subjects was…
extensive.” Even now, the admission seemed to leave an unpleasant taste behind.
Snape offered no comment.
Seeing no objection, Dumbledore continued.
“During the summer, I conducted a small investigation of my own.” To make matters worse, he winked.
Snape’s expression immediately became several degrees colder.
So that was it.
The Headmaster had already been investigating the boy personally.
Which made much of today’s discussion feel somewhat redundant.
The most powerful wizard of the age conducting background checks on an eleven-year-old first-year.
It was difficult not to find the situation absurd.
Entirely unconcerned by Snape’s growing irritation, Dumbledore pressed on.
“I visited the orphanage where he grew up.” “The staff spoke highly of him.” “Every year, he donates a considerable amount of money to support the children there.” “That alone tells us something important.” He paused briefly.
“But more importantly, he possesses a phoenix.” At those words, his gaze drifted toward the golden perch beside the window.
Fawkes sat quietly there, his crimson feathers gleaming in the sunlight.
“A phoenix naturally drives away darkness from the heart.” “It encourages courage.” “Hope.” “Resilience.” A faint smile touched Dumbledore’s lips.
“So no.” “He is not another Tom Riddle.” “Not even remotely.” Silence settled over the office.
After a moment, Dumbledore continued.
“The reason I asked you to observe him is quite simple.” “I believe he possesses extraordinary potential.” “And I believe he may require guidance.” His voice softened slightly.
“If the future unfolds as I fear, talented young witches and wizards will be needed.” “Mr.
Gaunt may become one of them.” Snape stared at him.
Outwardly expressionless.
Internally, however, he felt as though he had swallowed something unpleasant.
Dumbledore wanted him—the Head of Slytherin House—to mentor the student who had publicly rejected Slytherin before the entire school.
There were limits to what one wizard should be expected to tolerate.
Yet despite himself, Snape found his thoughts returning to their conversation after Potions.
The apology.
The honesty.
The reasoning behind the decision.
For an eleven-year-old, Alvin had displayed remarkable maturity.
Dumbledore noticed the hesitation immediately.
“Of course,” he added casually, “if you have no interest, Filius appears quite enthusiastic.” “Yesterday he spent nearly twenty minutes praising Mr.
Gaunt’s talent in Charms.” “I suspect he’d be delighted to mentor a promising Ravenclaw.” “No.” The response came instantly.
Far faster than Snape intended.
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.
“…No?” Snape scowled.
“Gaunt remains one of Salazar Slytherin’s descendants.” “The last known branch of that bloodline still residing in Britain.” “As Head of Slytherin House, I have certain responsibilities.” His voice became slightly sharper.
“I am perfectly capable of offering occasional guidance.” Dumbledore somehow managed to look innocent.
“Of course.” The expression was so transparent that it was almost insulting.
Snape rose to his feet.
“I’ll speak with him myself.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode toward the door.
His robes billowed dramatically behind him.
Moments later, he was gone.
The office door closed with a soft click.
Silence lingered.
Then Dumbledore smiled.
“Well.” “That was interesting.” His gaze drifted toward the portraits lining the walls.
“I believe Hogwarts has gained a rather fascinating student.” The effect was immediate.
Several portraits sprang awake.
One elderly wizard exploded first.
“Fascinating?” “Preposterous!” “As a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, the boy chose Ravenclaw!” “An insult to pure-blood tradition!” The speaker was none other than Phineas Nigellus Black.
Former Headmaster.
Professional complainer.
Full-time nuisance.
Dumbledore smiled patiently.
“Mr.
Gaunt isn’t actually a pure-blood.” “According to our investigation, his mother descended from the Gaunt family.” “His father was a Muggle.” Phineas looked personally offended by reality.
Then he launched into a stream of increasingly colorful complaints.
Several nearby portraits visibly winced.
One particularly hot-tempered former headmaster finally snapped.
“You pompous fool!” Before anyone could react, he climbed out of his frame and punched Phineas square in the face.
The office erupted.
Within seconds, the two former headmasters were wrestling across multiple portraits.
Painted furniture overturned.
Frames rattled.
Several spectators immediately began cheering.
One elderly witch produced a tiny flag and started waving it enthusiastically.
Another former headmaster looked only moments away from joining the brawl himself.
Clearly, Phineas Nigellus Black was not a universally beloved colleague.
Dumbledore ignored the chaos entirely.
Years of experience had taught him there was little point interfering.
Instead, he turned toward the window.
Afternoon sunlight stretched across the castle grounds below.
Students crossed the lawns.
Classes continued.
Life moved steadily onward.
Behind his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore’s eyes grew thoughtful.
A descendant of the Gaunt family.
A phoenix companion.
Extraordinary magical talent.
And a temperament entirely unlike Tom Riddle’s.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
For the first time in quite some time, Albus Dumbledore found himself genuinely curious about what the future might bring.