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Dumbledore observed the newspaper carefully. His brow was furrowed, and his gaze slowly shifted between the two major headlines on the front page.
One recounted the trial of Rita Skeeter, accused of being an unregistered Animagus. But the second, the one that worried him most, revealed chaos slipping beyond his control:
the massacre of the Flint family.
Arturo Flint, a pureblood patriarch, had brutally murdered every member of his lineage. Not satisfied with that, he called a meeting with several business allies and close friends, and in the midst of it, unleashed a bloody slaughter. He killed five people and wounded three others before finally being subdued by the survivors in the room.
In his hand, according to multiple witnesses, he wielded a black sword with a cursed appearance, which Flint himself blamed for controlling his mind. However, before he could be captured, the sword simply vanished as if it had been nothing more than a collective hallucination.
Dumbledore closed the newspaper with a grave expression.
His thoughts quickly began to swirl: Why, precisely, would a cursed sword be in Arturo Flint's hands? He knew very well that Flint had been one of those who supported the attack against Einar. Was it a mere coincidence? Or was something far more dangerous moving in the shadows?
The elderly headmaster furrowed his brow even deeper as he recalled another of his recent frustrations:
"Wasn't Harry supposed to storm out of Einar's office that day? Why, then, does he seem even closer to him?" he muttered irritably.
He fully trusted the portrait that had informed him about the argument, and he had expected that, with Einar intervening in Harry's affairs, the boy would feel insulted or manipulated. Yet, to his growing irritation, both Harry and Cedric seemed happier than ever training under Einar's tutelage.
Not only that " their physical and magical improvements were evident.
Even when Einar forced them to duel against other students, they didn't back down; they continued admiring him like a true master.
And the most puzzling part was that many students, seeing Harry and Cedric's strength, began seeking them out to challenge them and grow stronger, without resentment or destructive rivalries.
There was pride. Courage. Inspiration.
A murmur interrupted his thoughts.
"Dumbledore, why don't you just let it be? The improvement in those kids is obvious... Professor Einar is truly helping them," said one of the former headmistresses from her portrait, a hint of guilt in her voice.
"Isn't that what you wanted?" another former headmaster chimed in. "For the boy to feel connected to the magical world, to love it and protect it with all his heart..."
Dumbledore nodded, but his expression did not soften.
"Yes... but he was supposed to bond with the school, not with a professor who appeared out of nowhere," he replied, his annoyance barely contained.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his forehead as he weighed what was increasingly shaping up to be one of his greatest mistakes: hiring Einar.
He had thought, naively, that Einar would be easy to manipulate " coming from another time, with ancient customs long forgotten.
But instead, he had found an immovable wall, an unbreakable character who refused to dance to his tune.
"Of course... Miss Granger," Dumbledore said suddenly, his eyes lighting up as he stumbled upon a new idea.
"Mr. Weasley seems to feel jealous of her closeness to the professor..."
An uncomfortable silence spread.
One of the headmistresses spoke up, looking at him seriously:
"What are you thinking, Dumbledore? Manipulating students?"
"Of course not!" he quickly retorted, frowning. "But Mr. Weasley... he is naturally jealous.
If he constantly sees Miss Granger admiring Einar, he'll distance his best friend from the professor on his own. There would be no need to lift a finger," he said with a cold calmness, as if he weren't speaking of Machiavellian plans but rather stating simple facts.
"Enough, Dumbledore!" roared a voice then.
All the portraits swiftly turned toward Phineas Nigellus Black, who had exploded in fury.
"I'm sick of your damned schemes and your delusions about 'the greater good'!" he exclaimed, his portrait almost trembling with the force of his anger.
Dumbledore stared at him with a stern expression.
"Because of you, the last of my descendants is a fugitive, wrongly accused. You knew he was innocent!
When Hagrid told you that Sirius found the baby, saved him, and gave him his motorbike, you simply ignored it!
If Sirius had truly been the traitor, he would have killed the baby right then and there!" Phineas shouted fiercely.
"You could have helped him! You had the power to demand a trial, to save him!
And not only that: you abandoned the Potters!
You could have moved the entire Order of the Phoenix to guard them, to protect them better!
You could have brought them closer to you at Hogwarts if you truly believed in that stupid prophecy!
You were the one who let the traitor hear the prophecy and deliver it to his master!"
Phineas was panting with fury, but he still had more to say:
"And now you want to separate the boy you manipulate from the only person making him strong enough to survive what's coming?!
Don't you see you could kill him with your arrogance?!"
"Harry won't be in danger!" Dumbledore roared, standing up abruptly. "The prophecy protects him!"
Phineas stared at him, a mixture of fury and contempt on his face.
"Don't be a fool, Dumbledore! A prophecy doesn't make you immortal. And nowhere does it say the boy must remain whole or mentally stable!
Is that what you want?
A puppet without emotions, crippled, barely able to cast a spell before dying?"
"I'm doing it for the greater good!" Dumbledore snapped, his face losing all its usual serenity.
"Harry Potter is the savior of the magical world! He is the Chosen One!
When his parents died, it proved I was right to let Tom hear that part of the prophecy.
I have guided Harry, prepared him all these years to be the savior...
And if his life must serve to protect our world, he will be remembered as a hero!"
Breathing heavily, Dumbledore concluded:
"I'm sorry about Sirius... but he would have been a bad influence on Harry.
He needed to live with his relatives.
He needed to hate the Muggle world."
A deathly silence filled the room.
Phineas, his face twisted in horror, barely murmured:
"That professor is right... You've gone mad.
And your narcissism blinds you to it."
"I'm not mad, Phineas!" Dumbledore roared. "If I must become the villain in Harry's life to save the magical world... so be it! For the greater good!"
With a sharp flick of his wand, Dumbledore spun Phineas's portrait around, silencing him.
The other headmasters and headmistresses in their respective portraits simply lowered their gazes, shaking their heads in sorrow.
...….
"Have you seen this?" Ron asked as he hurried over to Harry and Hermione.
At first glance, it seemed that he and Hermione had buried their differences, though now they treated each other with a tense politeness, marked by a slight distance.
Harry and Hermione leaned in to read the newspaper Ron was urgently holding out to them, their eyes moving to the section their friend was insistently pointing at.
"Cursed black sword," Ron murmured under his breath, almost stumbling over his words. "Doesn't that remind you of something?"
Without waiting for an answer, he continued with anxious haste:
"It's the sword Professor Einar was carrying that day! I'm sure of it!"
Hermione instantly frowned, crossing her arms distrustfully.
"So what?" she replied defensively. "Professor Einar probably recovered it to keep someone from using it for evil purposes."
Ron, however, didn't give up so easily:
"What if he was the one who gave it to Flint's father to wipe out his own family? We don't know what he might be capable of!"
"But what would be the point?" Harry interjected, frowning. "Even Flint doesn't dare get too close to Professor Einar. He's afraid of him, just like all the Slytherins."
"What if it's all just an act?" Ron insisted in a dark voice. "Maybe... he's a hidden psychopath. Or worse"a serial killer."
Hermione scoffed, crossing her arms with evident irritation.
"That's enough, Ron."
Before the argument could escalate, Harry cut it off with a shake of his head:
"Come on, we're going to be late for Hagrid's class. You know he gets sad if we show up late."
As they walked away, Harry couldn't help but think about how unfair Ron's suspicions were.
After all, Einar was different.
He was the only professor who never hesitated to protect him, who trained him tirelessly to make him stronger, and most importantly, who gave him unwavering confidence to be himself.
To Harry, Einar was the father figure he had always dreamed of.
He had even helped Sirius visit him more often, something that filled Harry with joy and strengthened the bond he so desperately wanted to build.
"Still, I'm warning you, Einar has something to do with this," Ron muttered, lagging behind while Harry and Hermione moved ahead, paying him little attention.
...…
That same weekend, Einar and Hagrid decided to visit The Three Broomsticks, the famous tavern in Hogsmeade where students often gathered.
Though Hagrid preferred the rustic atmosphere of the Hog's Head, Einar was reluctant to frequent it"he didn't like crossing paths with Aberforth Dumbledore, the headmaster's brother, whose identity he had instantly perceived due to the astonishing physical resemblance to Albus.
"Look, there's Harry!" Hagrid pointed out excitedly with his enormous finger.
Harry was speaking quietly with Ludo Bagman, who seemed agitated and nervous, casting quick glances around while whispering.
"...You know, Harry, if you need help..." Bagman was saying just as Einar and Hagrid approached.
Upon seeing them, Bagman paled slightly, lowering his voice even more.
"Oh! Hello, you two!" he greeted, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Harry immediately smiled back:
"Hello, Professor Einar! Hello, Hagrid!"
"Good to see you, Harry," said Hagrid cheerfully.
Einar, for his part, nodded calmly, but he didn't take his icy gaze off Bagman.
His eyes, cold as steel, seemed to pierce through him, making the man sweat slightly under the collar of his robe.
A little farther off, a few sharp-eyed goblins were watching Bagman intently, like hunters stalking their prey.
"Well, I... I have to go," Ludo stammered, backing away. "You know, Harry, anything you need... don't hesitate to find me."
And without waiting for a reply, he practically fled the place, closely followed by the goblins.
"So you still haven't solved the mystery of the egg," Einar commented serenely as they followed Harry to a table where Hermione and Ron were already waiting.
Hermione's face lit up upon seeing Einar approach, while Ron quickly tried to hide his discomfort by lowering his gaze.
His fear of the professor was greater than his mistrust.
"Well... I'm close. I think," Harry said, a bit embarrassed.
In truth, he had barely thought about it and hadn't even followed the clue Cedric had given him.
"And how's the water-breathing spell I taught you coming along?" Einar asked, tossing out a subtle test.
"Ah! That's going great," Harry responded, cheering up. "I can last almost an hour underwater now."
"Perfect. Then you're well prepared," Einar said with a small approving smile.
Harry, delighted by the compliment, didn't notice the hidden implication in those words, but Hermione tilted her head thoughtfully, as if she was beginning to piece things together.
"We're off," said Hagrid cheerfully. "Better let the students enjoy themselves, don't you think?"
They moved to another table, leaving the young trio with their butterbeers.
"Good thing they left," Ron whispered as soon as they were out of earshot. "Not because of Hagrid, but... Einar."
"Enough, Ron!" Hermione scolded with an exasperated sigh. "Your baseless suspicions are getting old."
"I'm just saying what I think," Ron shrugged.
Hermione decided to ignore him and turned to Harry:
"By the way, did you catch what Professor Einar was trying to tell you?"
Harry blinked, confused.
"Huh? What do you mean?"
Hermione brought a hand to her forehead, frustrated.
"Honestly, Harry! Cedric mentioned a bath... Einar trained you to fight underwater... and he just said you're well prepared thanks to the water-breathing spell!"
Harry squinted, thinking hard, until suddenly his eyes widened as if a light bulb had turned on in his head.
"That's it!" he exclaimed, standing up so fast he nearly knocked over his mug. "I have to listen to the egg underwater!!"
His shout drew the attention of the whole tavern, but Harry didn't care.
From his table, Einar, seated with Hagrid, smiled faintly as he stirred his drink.
Butterbeer tasted bland, almost childish, to him, so he discreetly poured a little of his own stash of mead into his mug, mixing it to give it a real flavor worthy of his palate.