Alliance

Chapter 30. Alliance

Leaving a classroom full of sleeping students attracts attention—not as much as leaving it with mutilated bodies, but still enough to be noticed.

As soon as the missing Slytherins are found, they are rushed to the Hospital Wing. However, when Madam Pomfrey exhausts all her expertise, they are sent to St. Mungo's, where the best healers also fail to provide a cure, ultimately diagnosing the students with a new sleeping disease.

The news plunges the Wizarding World into panic. The public and the authorities can't determine the origin of this disease. Even the 'greatest' wizard of the era, Dumbledore, cannot make sense of it.

Was this a malicious act from another wizard? Or was this an accidental magic, a disaster caused by the victims themselves? It can't be a natural phenomenon. The teenagers were found together in the same classroom, the reason for their congregation unknown. Saying the entire thing was odd was understating it. The whole affair was steeped in mystery.

Still, few people knew why those Slytherins were together. They knew their mission. And they knew the target. It didn't take them long to find the culprit.

This was the work of Harry Evans. It was a punishment from me.

I won't lie—it's amusing to see the terror in a select few Slytherins. The way they panic when my gaze lands on them is flattering. The way they scurry off cements their position in my mind as filthy rats, unable to bear my attention. Draco, in particular, has mastered the art of avoidance. I don't think he's dared to look me in the eye ever since that incident. The blonde prat is either smart or a coward. Either works for me since it keeps him collared. Because while I do want to play with him, it's too soon for another incident.

Already, the rumor mill has churned out countless stories. Although none are true, more than a couple cast me as an executioner passing judgement on the racist arseholes, giving them their due for attempting to ambush Iris during the Hogsmeade visit.

If only they knew it was the safety of my other sister that spurred me to take such a drastic action.

This should keep the Slytherins at bay. It should make them realise how small and powerless they are. Of course, I still have my clones shadowing my loved ones, just in case their stupidity knows no bounds. I doubt that, though. They saw their housemates shipped off to the Janus Thickey Ward for life. If they can't recognise a losing fight after it has already gored through their guts, I'll have to make a messier example next time.

"Enter, Mr. Evans." The grim voice of Dumbledore comes in response to my knocking.

As I was saying earlier, everyone is already suspicious of me, even without any sort of proof. I doubt I'd have been spared gruelling questioning by the DMLE if I weren't a student and a champion. Those two titles provide me with safety. One summons the unmatched protection of Headmaster Dumbledore, and my newfound fame gives me enough influence not to be targeted without concrete evidence. I suppose the same fame is a liability too. If people hadn't seen me accomplish bold and extraordinary stunts during the first task, I could've just shrugged and said, 'I'm just a normal student. Could I really create a curse so strong that no one can dispel it?' Unfortunately, that excuse won't fly anymore. My exceptional feats have been plastered on the front pages of newspapers across the world.

"Did you call for me, Professor?" I ask politely, stopping in front of his claw-footed desk.

One glance is all it takes to confirm that his office is just as peculiar as ever. The walls are lined with shelves stuffed to bursting with books, some so ancient they look as if they might disintegrate if I breathe too hard. Strange, delicate instruments whir and click on spindly tables, their glass surfaces catching the light and scattering it in colourful patterns across the room.

Behind Dumbledore's desk, Fawkes the phoenix sits on his perch, preening his brilliant scarlet and gold feathers, looking utterly unimpressed by my arrival. And then there are the portraits—dozens of them, all of former headmasters, most pretending not to eavesdrop on our conversation by feigning sleep or appearing lost in their own thoughts. It's the kind of place that always feels one shove away from absolute chaos.

"Indeed, Harry. Take a seat. We have a few things to discuss." Dumbledore pushes aside the Daily Prophet he was reading and fixes me with a penetrating stare.

It's not accusatory—it's knowing, as if he's aware of everything I've done.

After a nod, I slide into the cushioned chair before him.

Dumbledore doesn't scare or intimidate me, not anymore, but the absence of his grandfatherly smile is a little eerie. He doesn't even offer me a lemon drop, as he so often does. If that doesn't convey the sombre atmosphere, his soft, weary sigh certainly does.

"I must ask for your honesty, Harry," he begins, his tone grave yet gentle. "There is little that escapes my notice, and I have been observing you closely of late. I am aware of the choices you've made—every one of them."

That's ominous and horrifying, but I can tell the claim for what it is: an empty bluff. And even if he's being honest, which he is not, what can he do? Unless he's hiding his true power, like Teresa, he's nothing before me.

"What do you mean to say?" I frown, still relaxed instead of tense like a trapped bird. "I don't understand."

He exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he adjusts his half-moon glasses. When he speaks, his voice is calm but edged with disappointment.

"You are responsible for this attack, aren't you?" he says quietly. "If I didn't have such a high opinion of you—or of your mother—I might have already handed you over to the Aurors. But I am giving you this chance, Harry. Tell me the truth. Why did you do it? Perhaps there is still a way to help you, to shield you from the worst of the consequences. But understand this—do not lie to me. I will know."

Funny. I know he's lying because I can't be lied to.

[Aura of Truth]

— Grants the user the ability to discern truth and lies.

This is what I got for that intimate dance with Fleur on the night of the Yule Ball.

With this skill activated, I see an aura around him. Whenever he lies, the white aura flickers red, and it shifts to green when he turns to truth.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Professor. You can't possibly mean it was me who cursed those Slytherins with such a powerful sleeping curse that no one, including you, can do anything about it."

"It's not a question of whether you can, Harry—it's whether you did." He leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Simply concealing your magical reserves isn't enough to mask your true strength. It's in the way you carry yourself, the way you face danger, that your capabilities become conspicuous. You broke through my age line to enter the tournament, an impressive feat in itself. Then, you defeated the dragon as though it were a mere pup, wielding an obscure power. And if that weren't enough, you stopped the Slytherins from attacking with nothing but your words. You ordered them to stop, and they obeyed—as if they had no choice."

His aura is green. He believes in what he's saying. But, it's all just conjecture. He has no proof.

"You flatter me, Professor." I place my hands on the armrest. "Even if you're right and I have the means to cast such a curse, why would I do that? As you just confessed, you're not certain it was me. You doubt me because I'm powerful enough. If that's the only criteria for your suspicion, Teresa and Thyra must be suspects too. Why, even you yourself are the suspect, then."

"You have a motive. You've clashed with them many times before. That's why you're the prime suspect."

"Why would I wait for the Yule Ball to attack them, then? If revenge is the reason behind it, I'd have already done it."

"Something happened that night, didn't it? Something that angered or hurt you so deeply that you felt driven to this. And it's that 'why' I need to understand. You're a good boy, Harry. I've never heard a single complaint about you from either the students or the professors. Please, tell me why you did it. Let me help you."

Again, the aura is green. He meant everything he said. My first instinct is to keep denying, but Dumbledore has already decided on the convict, he just wants to know the reason. My denying won't change anything.

I take a deep breath and opt for truth. "They were going to rape Rose on the orders of Bellatrix Lestrange. Because we have taken the 'rightful' place of purebloods in the tournament, apparently."

…

…

The sudden protective rage in his blue eyes assures me that I made the right choice. He grimaces. "I was afraid that this might be the reason. I won't contact the Aurors. To think that even third-years were involved in this…"

"Is that it?" I utter, flabbergasted, because I was sure he'd be more difficult to deal with. "You're not going to convince me to let them go? To undo my curse?"

A humorless smile is the answer. "I doubt I have the power to persuade you to take a different path. And I believe that if someone is old enough to commit such an attack, they are old enough to face the gravest consequences. They made their choice, and now they must pay the price for it. There's nothing more to do."

That's quite… ruthless and efficient. I guess I should've expected it from the man who bested two dark lords in his lifetime. Wars aren't won by soft-hearted fools, after all. They're won by the ones willing to pay any price for victory. And there's a very rational man behind the veneer of a kind grandfather.

"On the topic of Bellatrix Lestrange, read this." Dumbledore pushes the Daily Prophet towards me, allowing me to see the headline.

Azkaban Breached Again! Dangerous Criminals On the Run! Remain On Guard!

I skim through the text with narrowed eyes.

Basically, no one knows how it happened. But considering the escapees are Death Eaters, including the likes of Rodolphus Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov, they suspect who did it.

The picture of Bellatrix Lestrange is printed just beneath the text.

"Lovely. Now she has her deranged colleagues back. This will have no consequences at all."

He presses his lips together, his expression darkening. "I'm afraid you don't fully grasp the gravity of the situation, Harry. While Bellatrix is undoubtedly a powerful witch, she lacks the strength and cunning to break into Azkaban and free the Death Eaters. There's only one man who has ever employed Dementors, and I fear he's returned—he may very well be the true mastermind behind this attack."

Ah, now I get why he's being so understanding of my situation. He believes Voldemort is back, and if a second civil war erupts, having me on his side will be crucial. So what if he had to disregard the plight of a few Slytherins? They brought it upon themselves with their dastardly attack on Rose. Dumbledore is indeed sly, knowing exactly how to twist a situation. I came here worried he might try to apprehend me, when in reality, he was trying to recruit me.

"You're saying Voldemort is back?" I act clueless.

I genuinely believe the Dark Lord has returned. If Daphne's allusion and Draco's sudden audacity were only hints, then Dumbledore's intuition and the Azkaban breakout are all the confirmation I need.

Dumbledore rubs his palm over his wrinkled face. "I believe so. Dark times are approaching, Harry. I'll need every powerful wizard on my side when that day comes. Can I count on you to stand against him and help me defeat him once and for all?"

"Bellatrix is after Rose and me for simply being in the spotlight. You don't need to convince me. When the time comes, I'll help you defeat them."

For the first time since my arrival, he relaxes, and the familiar twinkle returns to his blue eyes. "It heartens me to know that I won't be facing Voldemort alone this time."

As if I'll miss this chance to boost my reputation and gain unprecedented fame.

"If that is all, may I be excused?"

"You can go, Harry."

As I reach the door, I hesitate for a moment. Should I ask him about Nicolas Flamel? From what I've read, Dumbledore was once his student. Should I get direct intel from him?

Dumbledore peers at me from his throne-like chair. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing, Professor." I shoot him a parting smile and leave the office.

Just because our goals align doesn't mean he can be trusted with everything. For all I know, he could be Flamel's stooge, and me poking my nose where I shouldn't might tip off the greatest alchemist. The element of surprise is on my side. I'd be a fool to squander it for a few crumbs of information.