Chapter 28: The Headmaster’s Suspicions  

What? 

Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, the greatest wizard in the world, wants to see me? 

Edward was sure he must have misheard something. 

Whether it was at his school in his past life or here at Hogwarts, being called in by a teacher was rarely good news. 

And this wasn't just any teacher—it was the headmaster. 

What could I have possibly done at school to warrant this? 

"Time to pack your bags, Bedivere?" 

Malfoy shot Edward a gleeful smirk, clearly reveling in the moment. 

He felt like he'd finally gotten his day in the sun. 

Living in Edward's shadow—in every sense—had been eating at him. 

"All you Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years, get to the Quidditch pitch for your flying lesson—now!" 

Snape shot Malfoy a glance, swished his black robes, and ushered the first-years out of the Great Hall. 

As for himself, he strode purposefully toward the upper floors of the castle, leading Edward without a word. 

"Sir, could you tell me why Professor Dumbledore wants to see me?" Edward asked, trailing behind Snape. 

"I'm only tasked with bringing you there. But if you think flying lessons are more important than meeting the headmaster, feel free to turn around and head to the pitch," Snape replied, not breaking his stride. 

"And don't think this gets you out of detention for the term, Bedivere." 

Even without his knightly intuition, Edward caught the meaning behind Snape's words. 

It was clear he was reassuring him that this wasn't about expulsion or some serious punishment. 

Still so indirect, Professor. 

Is being a tsundere some kind of Slytherin tradition? 

Soon, they reached the eighth floor and stopped before a statue of a gargoyle. 

Even with Edward's good nature, he struggled to find any word other than "ugly" to describe it. 

"Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans," Snape said to the gargoyle. 

The statue sprang to life, leaping aside as the wall behind it rumbled and split, revealing a narrow, spiraling staircase leading upward. 

At the top was a spacious, circular office. The walls were lined with large portraits of men and women—former Hogwarts headmasters, Edward recognized. Most were snoring, while a few frames stood empty. 

The room was filled with spindly-legged tables, each holding an array of whirring, puffing silver instruments. 

As the school's top leader, you really do get the best view and the grandest office, Edward thought, impressed. 

Through the window, he could see tiny, ant-like figures on the Quidditch pitch below—his classmates, no doubt. 

"Thank you, Severus. Good afternoon, Mr. Bedivere," came a voice from behind a massive desk at the center of the room. 

A kindly old man in a pointed wizard hat peered at Edward over half-moon spectacles. 

"Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore," Edward replied with a slight bow. 

"Care for something to drink? Coffee? Tea? I hear Muggles have invented something called 'cola.'" 

"Honestly, if that catches on, the Three Broomsticks might struggle to sell their Butterbeer," Dumbledore said with a warm chuckle, flicking his wand at the desk. 

Three cups materialized, each filled with a different liquid—two exuding the scents of jasmine and coffee beans, the third fizzing with bubbles, unmistakably cola. 

"Uh, cola, please, Professor," Edward said, picking up the fizzy drink naturally. 

"But is this Pepsi or Coca-Cola?" 

A flicker of confusion crossed Dumbledore's face. 

Pepsi? Coca-Cola? How does this boy know more about Muggle drinks than I do? 

"Professor, I'm guessing you didn't call me here just to share a cola?" Edward asked bluntly. 

He was eager to wrap this up and get back to flying lessons. 

"Of course not, though it's not anything too serious," Dumbledore said, gesturing for Edward to sit. 

"Professor Snape often mentions you. He's given you quite high praise. And I've also noticed some things that have happened in your first week here." 

"Let me think… the first student in Hogwarts history to earn over thirty house points in their first week? Even I only managed twenty for my house." 

Edward scratched his head, a bit embarrassed. 

"It's nothing, Professor. I just did what I thought was right." 

"Did you now? What you thought was right?" Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully, then continued, "So, when you specifically requested to be sorted into Slytherin, was that also something you thought was right?" 

"No misunderstanding here," he added with a smile, gesturing to the Sorting Hat nearby. "Just a guess." 

"Even with Professor Snape standing here, I'd wager we both think you'd fit better in Gryffindor." 

Edward hadn't expected Dumbledore to be so curious about his sorting, but he had nothing to hide. 

"Of course, Professor. I asked the Sorting Hat to put me in Slytherin because I believe that's where I can make the most difference." 

A week into school, between what he'd heard from his parents and his own experiences, Edward knew he'd likely have an easier time in another house. 

In Gryffindor, he'd have friends like Harry or Ron. In Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, he'd find plenty of like-minded peers. 

But in Slytherin, he felt like an outsider, which was exactly why he'd chosen it. 

Edward felt sympathy—pity, even—for some of his housemates. In his past life, he'd seen too many people like them. 

With the right guidance, they could find a better path, but too often, they didn't. 

Why can't I change something? Do I really have to watch these classmates, influenced by their parents and pure-blood ideals, slide into the same abyss as their families? 

Edward respected their choices, but he'd rather take the harder path. 

Dumbledore gazed into Edward's eyes, as if trying to see straight through him. 

They sat in silence, staring at each other, while Snape's brow furrowed tighter by the second. 

"Very well, Mr. Bedivere," Dumbledore finally said, breaking the gaze and glancing out the window. "I'm delighted Slytherin has gained such an exceptional student." 

"Oh dear, I've kept you too long. That's enough for today—off to your flying lesson! Your classmates are probably zooming around on broomsticks by now." 

"Severus, stay a moment. I have something to discuss." 

The conversation hadn't lasted long, but Edward couldn't shake the feeling that Dumbledore was probing for something in his words. What, exactly, he wasn't sure. 

Compared to Snape, whose guarded nature was like a locked door, Dumbledore's mind was more like Gringotts' highest-security vault—utterly impenetrable. 

You wouldn't even know where to look for the keyhole. 

With his current abilities, Edward had no hope of guessing what Dumbledore was thinking. 

Still, as the headmaster—the one person Voldemort feared most—Dumbledore probably just wanted to get to know an outstanding student, right? 

A bit puzzled, Edward said his goodbyes to Dumbledore and Snape and hurried to the Quidditch pitch. 

From the window earlier, he'd noticed something odd. Instead of flying around, his classmates seemed to be gathered in a huddle. 

What's going on down there? 

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