Harry Potter: The Legend of Nero Ravenclaw

Nero stood at the base of the grand staircase, staring up at the towering gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office. Its stony eyes seemed to scrutinize him, as though deciding whether or not he was worthy.

Taking a deep breath, Nero stepped forward.

"Sherbet lemon," he said firmly.

The gargoyle shifted with a grinding sound, stepping aside to reveal a spiral staircase that began to rise, like a corkscrew winding itself upward. Nero stepped onto the moving staircase, excitement bubbling in his chest. This was it, Dumbledore's office.

As he reached the top, the doors to the office stood slightly ajar, and he pushed them open with both hands.

His eyes widened as he took in the sight before him: shelves packed with books that seemed older than time itself, whirring silver instruments that emitted faint puffs of smoke, and the gentle hum of unseen magic filling the air.

Nero's gaze flickered from object to object, his mind racing with curiosity.

There was a strange globe glowing softly in the corner, a basin he recognized as a Pensieve, and a series of portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses.

He moved closer to one of the magical contraptions, his fingers itching to figure out its purpose.

A sharp chirping noise interrupted his thoughts. Nero turned toward the sound, his eyes landing on a magnificent phoenix perched nearby.

Fawkes spread his brilliant red-and-gold wings and fluttered over to him, landing gracefully on his shoulder.

The phoenix rubbed its head against Nero's cheek, the soft, warm feathers brushing against his skin.

"Fawkes seems to have taken quite a liking to you," came a gentle voice from behind him.

Nero turned to see Albus Dumbledore seated behind his grand desk, his half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose. The headmaster's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"This is only the second time I've seen Fawkes behave this way with someone," Dumbledore said, removing his glasses, his tone light but thoughtful.

Nero smiled, stroking Fawkes' feathers. "I'll take it as a compliment."

As Nero sat down opposite Dumbledore, he couldn't help but study the man in front of him. For someone who must be over a century old, Dumbledore looked remarkably vibrant, almost exactly as he had seen in an old photograph from the 1940s. Yet, beneath the surface of his gentle demeanor, Nero sensed a vast and profound presence, like an ocean hidden beneath calm waves.

"Tea?" Dumbledore offered, gesturing to a delicate china teapot that had just poured itself a cup. "And perhaps some sweets? I find a sherbet lemon to be particularly delightful."

Nero chuckled, his sharp wit on full display. "As long as there's no Veritaserum in it, I'd be happy to."

Dumbledore smiled, a soft laugh escaping him as he handed over a cup of tea.

"Not today, Nero, not today."

They sipped in comfortable silence for a moment before Nero leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

It was Nero who broke the quiet. "Thank you for your help in preparing my grandma's funeral. I heard from Grandpa Aberforth that you had a hand in it."

"No need to thank me, Nero. It's only natural," Dumbledore said, his tone soft and reflective. "Melina and I were like-minded in many ways." He seemed momentarily lost in thought, his expression pensive.

Nero smiled faintly, sensing the depth of Dumbledore's sentiment.

"By the way," he began, his tone lightening, " as I have been calling Aberforth 'Grandpa' for a while now, do you think I could call you the same? After all, you are brothers."

Dumbledore blinked, momentarily stunned. "Grandpa?" he repeated, as though testing the word.

After a beat, he chuckled, a deep, warm sound that filled the room. "Very well," he said, a twinkle returning to his eyes, "but only when we are alone. My impartiality might not survive such familiarity in public."

"Deal," Nero said, raising his tea in a mock toast.

"Speaking of which," Nero continued, mustering his sweetest voice, "the day I accepted to call Aberforth 'Grandpa,' he agreed to give me a gift. Do you think you could do the same, Grandpa Albus?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his expression. "A gift, you say? Well, as long as it's nothing extravagant, perhaps some sweets, or"

"Could you let me inspect your wand? It looks so pretty," Nero interrupted, his voice dripping with innocent curiosity.

Dumbledore went into a series of coughs, clearly caught off guard. "Ah, Nero… as you know, a wand is a deeply personal item for a wizard."

The portraits of past headmasters erupted into laughter, their painted faces alive with mirth.

"Never thought I'd see the day when Albus would be cornered like this." muttered Armando Dippet's portrait.

Another chimed in, "Not even the Minister of Magic could fluster him like that boy just did!"

Dumbledore cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "Perhaps another time," he said diplomatically, his usual calm exterior restored.

He set his cup down and folded his hands on the desk. "Now, Nero, do you know why I called you here?"

Nero nodded, his expression shifting to one of seriousness. "I do. But, actually, I have two purposes for being here. The first, as you know, is to discuss with the Sorting Hat. The second…" He hesitated, glancing at Dumbledore. "…is to talk to you."

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "A dual purpose, then. I'm intrigued. Which shall we address first?"

Nero glanced at the Sorting Hat, perched on a high shelf. "I'd like to talk with you first, Grandpa. If that's alright with the hat?"

The Sorting Hat stirred slightly, its raspy voice echoing in the room. "Take your time, young man. I usually sleep through 364 days of the year, anyway."

Nero smiled in thanks, leaning back in his chair. His expression grew thoughtful, even somber. "Grandpa," he began, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

"Yes, Nero?" Dumbledore asked, his voice calm but attentive.

"I'm sorry for this request, it might seem rude, but could you ensure that only the two of us can hear what I have to say?"

Before Dumbledore could respond, several of the portraits erupted into indignant protests.

"Untrustworthy? Us?" huffed Phineas Nigellus Black, his sharp features contorting in outrage. "How dare you imply that we, the esteemed guardians of this office, would betray a secret!"

"That boy has no respect for tradition," muttered a stout witch in a powdered wig. "I've kept more secrets than he's had hot meals!"

"I was trusted with the Ministry's most sensitive matters during my tenure!" bellowed a portly wizard with an impressive mustache. "To suggest we'd eavesdrop or gossip is an affront to our honor!"

"Calm yourselves," Dumbledore said, his tone gentle but firm. The uproar subsided, though the portraits continued to grumble under their breath.

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened slightly, though his expression remained composed. "You can rest assured, Nero, that what is said in this room stays in this room."

Nero shook his head, his voice firm. "I must insist, Grandpa. For the greater good."

Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly at the familiar phrase, but he said nothing. Instead, he raised his hand, and with a subtle, wandless gesture, the air around them seemed to shimmer.

The surroundings distorted as though viewed through rippling water. "Barrier magic with a diffraction effect," Dumbledore explained. "We can see out, but no one can see or hear in. Is this sufficient for your request, Nero?"

Nero nodded. "More than enough."

Taking a deep breath, Nero exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, yet laced with gravity.

"Grandpa… do you believe in reincarnation?"

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