Chapter 117: Dumbledore’s Inquiry
This wasn’t Jon’s first time in the Headmaster’s Office—and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be his last either!
He made his way with practiced ease along the eighth-floor corridor of the castle. After turning a corner, he stopped in front of a colossal, hideously ugly stone gargoyle.
“Password?”
“Iced lemonade!”
“Why is it you again?” the stone beast grumbled before lazily hopping aside. The wall behind it split open.
Jon stepped forward onto the moving spiral staircase that carried him upward automatically. A few minutes later, he entered Albus Dumbledore’s office.
The office was quiet, save for the faint sound of snoring from the portraits lining the walls.
Jon walked into the circular chamber. It was empty—clearly, the Headmaster had not yet returned.
“Jon Hart?” came a soft voice from behind.
Startled, Jon spun around.
It was a witch with long silver curls—painted within a portrait, of course.
“Perhaps I frightened you!” the witch chuckled lightly. “Allow me to introduce myself. Dilys Derwent...”
“Wait—you’re Headmistress Derwent!” Jon exclaimed.
The name Dilys Derwent appeared at least ten times in A History of Magic. She was one of Hogwarts’ most renowned Headmistresses, once the Chief Healer at St. Mungo’s, and the first witch in European history to combine charms and potions into medical treatment.
“I was also a Hufflepuff student, once,” said Headmistress Dilys Derwent gently. “Though that was three hundred years ago... You’re waiting for Dumbledore, aren’t you? He should be back soon.”
She leaned closer in her frame. “You could check the wooden cabinet under his bookshelf—he hides plenty of sweets in there. And his bird’s perch is on the other side of the room. You could go say hello to it...”
“Sweets... and...” Jon’s gaze shifted as he stepped further inside. Sure enough, behind the door stood a tall gilded perch—upon it, a magnificent crimson phoenix.
Approach a phoenix? Jon instantly dismissed the thought. In Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, phoenixes were classified as XXXXX-level creatures—extremely dangerous, requiring expert knowledge and skilled wizards to handle.
“Stop right there, boy!” came a haughty voice from the right. “You again? Remember, rummaging through another man’s belongings is the height of rudeness!”
The portrait belonged to a familiar face—Phineas Black, whom Jon had encountered months ago.
“Headmaster Black,” Jon greeted quickly.
At Jon’s polite tone, Phineas Black’s expression softened, as if to say, ‘At least you’ve got some manners.
“Remember this: grace and etiquette are essential qualities of any distinguished wizard. Without them, you’ll end up like Dilys—dazzling on the outside, but constantly gossiped about in private...”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Phineas?” the silver-haired witch snapped, wand already in hand. “Are you saying you’ve been slandering me behind my back?”
Phineas’s face flickered with unease. “You’ve misunderstood me, Dilys...”
Headmistress Derwent shot him a frosty glare before winking playfully at Jon. “Remember this, child... As long as your portrait hangs in every major wizarding institution, no one will dare call you a rude old hag behind your back.”
Jon nodded awkwardly.
Fortunately, the office door opened just then. Instantly, Phineas, Dilys, and the other portraits scurried back into their frames, feigning deep slumber.
Albus Dumbledore walked in.
...
“Looks like I’m a bit late,” Professor Dumbledore said with a smile.
“I haven’t been waiting long, Professor...”
“How was your summer?” Dumbledore sat down at his desk, then waved his hand to conjure a small stool for Jon.
“Not bad...”
As they spoke, Fawkes flew over to Dumbledore’s side, lifting its elegant head and fixing Jon with bright, intelligent eyes.
“I heard you shared a compartment with Professor Alastor Moody on the train,” Dumbledore asked casually.
At the same time, he bent down to rummage in the wooden cabinet beneath his bookshelf and pulled out a bag.
“Yes, Professor. I was with Astoria Greengrass, a first-year student, and Professor Moody,” Jon replied, his tone a little heavier.
“Honeydukes’ latest product—Bloody Lollipops...” Dumbledore opened the bag and frowned. “Doesn’t look particularly appetizing. Care for one, Jon?”
“Uh... no, thank you!” Jon quickly shook his head at the sight of the blood-red sweets.
Dumbledore slipped one into his mouth anyway. As he spoke, the red candy made it seem as though his mouth were full of blood, giving him a grim and unsettling appearance.
“What do you make of Alastor?”
Jon frowned slightly, uncertain what Dumbledore meant. Could it be that he already suspected Barty Crouch Jr.’s true identity? Should Jon reveal it?
He thought for a moment.
“Professor Moody seems like a rather peculiar man,” he said after drawing a steady breath. “But Astoria told me he was once a brilliant Auror, so he should prove to be an excellent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher...”
“Is that so?” Dumbledore smiled and blinked. “It seems we share the same opinion.”
He pulled out a napkin and dabbed away the red syrup at the corners of his mouth.
Jon shifted uneasily, not sure how to respond.
Fortunately, Dumbledore didn’t press further. Instead, he asked a few questions about Jon’s classes and studies.
After about ten minutes, he finally said, “Forgive me for disturbing your rest so late, Jon. You may return to the Hufflepuff common room now. After all, you’ve lessons first thing in the morning.”
...
As Jon stepped out of Dumbledore’s office—
“He’s lying!” Phineas Black snapped awake, his voice urgent. “At the very least, he didn’t tell the whole truth...”
“Shut it, you idiot, Phineas...” Dilys Derwent had clearly had enough. She drew her wand, and ribbons lashed out, binding Phineas tightly while a sock shoved itself into his mouth.
“Mmm... mmm... mmm...”
Dumbledore sat silently, ignoring the commotion in the portraits. He remained deep in thought, a silver mouse figurine turning slowly in his hand.
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