HR Chapter 102 Letters! Halloween Invitation! Part 2

Although Ian hadn't paid much attention to the matter, when William brought him the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, he couldn't help but glance at it. The front page featured moving photographs of goblins and wizards in chaos, scurrying through Gringotts like headless chickens.

"No one will suspect it was me. I made sure of that— besides, I had permission," Dumbledore said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

He winked at Ian before adding, "As far as the public knows, it was one of Grindelwald's Acolytes who broke into Gringotts. There were plenty of witnesses to confirm it. Didn't you see the photograph in the paper?"

Ian was momentarily speechless.

"What does any of this have to do with my compensation? Are you saying that because the Acolytes are making trouble again, the Aurors will finally take me seriously?"

Ian decided it was best not to comment too bluntly on his headmaster's… unconventional approach.

"In truth, the Acolytes don't hold much sway in Britain these days," Dumbledore admitted, his voice tinged with something almost like regret. "But the old pure-blood families— they aren't fools. And as much as I try to keep my hands clean, even I am not entirely innocent in such matters."

He leaned back slightly, his fingers interlacing as he regarded Ian with a knowing look.

"They will undoubtedly uncover the truth— perhaps some of them already have. But trust me, Ian, they will think twice about ignoring my letter now."

Ian studied Dumbledore's expression, reading the unshaken confidence in his face.

"Aren't you worried they'll report you to the Ministry?" Ian asked, genuinely curious.

Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, the candlelight casting flickering shadows across his face. His usual kindly smile remained, but there was something sharper behind it now— something far more intriguing.

"I don't think they will," he said softly. "They understand the balance of power… Besides, after I walked out of Gringotts with the cup I sought— despite being surrounded by Aurors— the Ministry would rather claim I'd been Confunded than admit the truth."

He gave a light chuckle. "No doubt, every goblin and wizard who witnessed it will testify that they were pursuing a devoted follower of the 'dreaded' Grindelwald."

Dumbledore's voice remained calm and measured, yet Ian couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief.

This was Dumbledore speaking— Albus Dumbledore! Where was the ever-gentle, soft-spoken professor the world revered?

"Blimey… Are you teaching me that having power means you can do whatever you please?" Ian resisted the urge to poke Dumbledore's face to make sure it was really him and not some mischievous Defense Against the Dark Arts professor playing a trick.

"I thought you'd be more interested in the compensation owed to you by the pure-bloods," Dumbledore replied, smiling. "Ian, I am merely showing you that the world is not divided into simple black and white."

He adjusted his glasses, his gaze still twinkling but now touched with something far more serious.

"One day, you may come to understand that even your noble and celebrated headmaster has done his fair share of unscrupulous things for the right reasons."

Ian exhaled sharply, crossing his arms.

"I feel like I'm learning that lesson far too early."

"Who says you aren't?" Dumbledore responded with an amused nod.

Ian's attention drifted back to Hufflepuff's Golden Cup, its golden surface gleaming warmly in the dim light.

"You recognize it, don't you?"

Dumbledore slid the cup forward. Ian, who had been itching to examine it up close, eagerly picked it up. The craftsmanship was exquisite— pure alchemy at its finest. He could already tell it had the power to transmute water into wine and even adjust the taste to perfection. A true masterpiece.

"It must have belonged to Helga Hufflepuff," Ian murmured, curiosity and admiration flooding his thoughts.

He had read that this cup had been heavily cursed— protected by powerful dark magic, including a severing charm and cursed flames. Yet as he tapped the golden rim, nothing happened. He peered inside and was met with an unsettling sight: the darkness within felt vast and hollow, but more than that— Riddle's fractured soul lingered inside, trembling in silent fury.

Ian's casual handling of the cup caused a flicker of amusement in Dumbledore's gaze.

"I've already removed some of the enchantments," the headmaster said, watching Ian closely.

Then, with a small, knowing smile, he added, "Of course, what remains inside is still quite... stubborn."

Dumbledore's casual words sent a shiver down Ian's spine. Unlike Harry, Ian was not being shielded from the truth.

He was being told outright.

"This thing is a Horcrux, isn't it?" Ian asked, tilting the cup experimentally.

Though he couldn't see the soul fragment, he could feel it— the malevolent presence lurking within. It was as if something was glaring at him from inside the darkness.

"So, that thing in there really is a piece of You-Know-Who?" Ian asked, shaking the cup like a tin of biscuits.

He swore he felt the soul inside glower at him.

Dumbledore, unfazed, simply nodded. "That would be correct."

"How did he even end up in here?" Ian continued, shaking the cup again with curiosity.

Dumbledore observed him for a moment, then spoke with a certain weight in his tone.

"I rather thought you had already studied Horcruxes. After all, knowledge of Fiendfyre comes only after a detailed section on them."

Ian froze mid-shake.

"…Oh."

That was not the response he had been expecting.

He tugged at the corner of his mouth in a forced smile. "Did Aurora's grandfather tell you? He actually knows that Aurora gave me that book?"

Ian knew there was no point in playing dumb.

But he wasn't particularly nervous, either. After all, 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' was a book written by a Hogwarts professor— an officially sanctioned source of knowledge, albeit one most students weren't supposed to have.

Stealing dark magic? Ridiculous. Ian was merely attending a professor's class ahead of schedule! If Dumbledore could hire Grindelwald as a professor in his time, then surely Ian could critically study advanced dark magic under the watchful eye of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. 

Dumbledore couldn't possibly hold a double standard — not unless he fancied the idea of Ariana rising from her portrait to lecture him on fairness!

That thought alone brought a wry smile to Ian's face, but he quickly remembered the reason he had come to the headmaster's office in the first place. His curiosity had been piqued by none other than Hufflepuff's Golden Cup.

Just as Ian was preparing to retrieve the letter he had brought as an excuse, Dumbledore spoke — but surprisingly, he showed no interest in reprimanding him over the 'Secrets of the Darkest Art' book.

"It seems you've had quite the conversation with our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Yet, even so, it appears you know very little about Miss Grindelwald's grandfather."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, though his voice held an unmistakable edge.

"He is a man who conceals more than he reveals. Even when he speaks the truth, one must always question what he chooses to leave unsaid."

Ian shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Dumbledore's words, his expression faltering. However, the headmaster, never one to linger on discomfort, soon explained how he had deduced Ian's possession of the forbidden book.

"Your Fiendfyre bore distinct traces of Grindelwald's handiwork. That particular tome was once a gift from me to him. What I did not anticipate was that he would eventually pass it on to you through Miss Grindelwald."

Ian froze.

"Passed on?" He frowned. "That was Aurora's decision, not his. Could this be some twist of prophecy?"

But how could Dumbledore be so certain of Grindelwald's intentions? Was it simply an understanding that came from decades of friendship?

As Ian mulled it over, Dumbledore redirected the conversation.

"How much do you know about Horcruxes?"

Clearly, they had circled back to the previous topic.

"To be honest, not much," Ian admitted, his gaze unwavering. "I avoided that part of the book. Splitting one's soul seems both foolish and desperate. It's a path that corrupts both life and death. Besides, you warned me at the beginning of the school year — one of your students lost their future because of a similar lack of wisdom."

Dumbledore's expression softened, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile.

"I'm glad you remember my words. It shows discernment, Ian. Yes, only a fool would walk the path of self-destruction. 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.' I believe the Sorting Hat's decision in placing you was most astute."

Ian accepted the compliment with a polite nod.

(To Be Continued…)

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