The Sorting Hat fell into stunned silence.
"…It does?" It asked in a much smaller voice.
"But my embroidery…"
Though it was somewhat mollified, it still sounded a little mournful. A thousand years of tradition wasn't so easy to let go.
"Pfft, Pfft, Pfft!"
Ian rushed to the nearest wastebasket, spitting several times. When he returned with Fawkes still firmly balanced on his head, he lifted the dried treat once more.
"Headmaster, would you care for a snack?" His tone was that of someone eager to share.
Dumbledore, however, was not so easily swayed.
"I think I shall stick to Cockroach Clusters."
He declined Ian's offering with an air of finality, instead reaching into his desk and producing a handful of peculiar brown sweets.
"Would you like one?"
Ian eyed them warily. They could have been merely cockroach-shaped candies, or they could have been actual cockroaches charmed to look like sweets. Either way, the outcome would be unpleasant.
"No, thank you."
Tucking the dried treat back into his robes, Ian decided not to let it go to waste. He could always feed it to Scabbers. That rat would eat anything.
And when hungry enough, Pettigrew's Animagus form wouldn't turn up his nose at slightly stale food.
"Perhaps something else, then?" Dumbledore offered, his tone warm as he popped a Cockroach Cluster into his mouth, motioning for Ian to take a seat.
"Can I have steak?"
Ian hadn't eaten much at dinner, thanks to Marcus Flint keeping a close eye on him, which had significantly hindered his ability to compete with his roommates for food.
"Must it be steak? I believe I only have desserts here." Dumbledore stroked his beard, looking mildly troubled.
Ian considered this for a moment.
"Then I'll have honey steak."
This was a massive compromise.
"…"
Dumbledore was silent for the second time that evening. After a moment, he clapped his hands in the air.
A goblet of honey water appeared before Ian, no doubt courtesy of the house elves.
Ian's expression dimmed slightly.
"I suppose there's still some steak left in my stomach," He muttered, attempting to console himself. Taking a sip of the honey water, he decided this was, in some abstract way, the same as having honey steak.
"…"
Dumbledore looked faintly bewildered.
"Well then, Headmaster, I'm ready to talk."
Ian set down the goblet, straightened his back, and braced himself for Dumbledore's impending lecture.
"There is no need to have any form of talk between us, Mr. Prince. I am quite aware that you have shown remarkable restraint in this situation, and for that, I commend you."
Dumbledore's gaze, deep and thoughtful, held an inscrutable weight. His voice, gentle yet firm, carried a certain quiet understanding.
"That's not restraint, that's being bullied!" Ian corrected indignantly.
"Indeed. An unfortunate series of events… but one I happened to witness," Dumbledore conceded. "I trust Severus will be able to manage his students accordingly. I have already sent the rather shaken young wizards to him."
Ian smirked, satisfied at the thought of what awaited them in the dungeons.
"I'm the one who was frightened! Look, I've lost weight from sheer terror." Ian sighed, still feeling the lingering effects, and patted his not-so-full stomach.
"…"
Dumbledore's expression shifted slightly, a trace of helpless amusement flickering across his face. "As I said, Mr. Prince, I bore witness to the entire ordeal— without missing a single detail."
He emphasized the words "the entire ordeal."
"I was only hoping for a little compensation."
Ian chuckled awkwardly, abandoning any lingering hope, and his tone turned more candid. The phoenix, Fawkes, perched atop his head, seemed to have settled in quite comfortably.
"In truth, there are two reasons I refrained from stepping in. First, I wanted to see how you would handle the situation yourself. Second, you framed the confrontation as a duel from the very start."
Dumbledore spoke with complete openness, not concealing his personal motivations. His voice carried its usual warmth, gentle yet brimming with authority. "A duel is a sacred tradition, a test of honor. Even I could do no more than ensure that no serious harm was done."
"Of course, your performance did not disappoint me. A lesson that left a lasting impression, yet without truly harming anyone— such restraint is a rare quality in wizards who possess power."
"Especially that final, rather spectacular Lumos Charm. Even I was nearly caught off guard… Hmm, quite the ingenious approach— it felt remarkably convincing."
Dumbledore's tone took on a curious note but Ian pretended not to hear him.
"My original intention was to guide them toward better choices, to help them recognize their mistakes. If they were willing to compensate me, it would at least prove they were capable of remorse."
Ian had not yet abandoned his hope for some form of reparation.
His choice of words left Dumbledore silent for a long moment.
"I believe the young ladies and gentlemen of Slytherin have already come to realize the inappropriateness of their actions. However, extracting compensation from them will be no simple feat."
Dumbledore's tone was carefully diplomatic.
"Is it because Marcus Flint's family has strong connections in the Ministry?" Ian recalled how Marcus had boasted of his family's influence more than once during both of their clashes.
This one was an even bigger classic than Malfoy— before Malfoy had even started school.
"It is because the proud wizards of Slytherin are not known for lowering their heads to others." Dumbledore's answer was, to Ian, an entirely unconvincing attempt to placate a naïve young wizard.
Ian knew perfectly well how swiftly these so-called proud pure-bloods had bent the knee to Voldemort.
Hmm.
They hadn't merely bowed their heads.
They had groveled.
"So it really is because Marcus Flint's family is shielding them, isn't it? These so-called ancient families are all the same— never willing to admit fault, even when it's undeniable."
Ian sighed.
Dumbledore neither confirmed nor denied, merely nodding.
"In truth, Severus will need to make considerable effort to contain the repercussions of this incident on your behalf. The greatest pressure comes from the families of the students involved."
"Mr. Flint's relatives do indeed hold sway in the Ministry, given the Flint family's longstanding influence. Other pure-blood families also carry a certain degree of power."
"Mr. Prince, you are more perceptive than many young wizards your age. You must understand that among certain circles, questions of right and wrong are often irrelevant."
Dumbledore's words seemed to be a subtle warning against seeking further retaliation.
"You're right."
Ian nodded, though with some reluctance.
His fingers brushed against the Sword of Gryffindor, which rested across his lap since he was seated. He wished the blade possessed some enchanted will of its own— one that would simply act first and explain later.
Unfortunately.
It did not.
"So not only am I unlikely to get any compensation, but I also have to brace myself for a swarm of petty grievances. Professor Snape will probably be run ragged dealing with the fallout on my behalf."
Ian felt thoroughly vexed.
All he wanted was to focus on his studies and improve his abilities. How had he gotten entangled in this mess? Everything had seemed to spiral out of his control ever since Marcus Flint had been placed under the Imperius Curse.
"Don't think Severus is always gritting his teeth at you. In truth, he is more than willing to handle matters like this for you. It grants him a measure of self-reconciliation." Dumbledore's voice was soft as he spoke.
"Self-reconciliation?"
Ian frowned.
(To Be Continued…)
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