Hogwarts: From Little Wizard to White Lord

After Peter finished his chocolate, the scene in the portraits had only grown more chaotic.

Phineas Nigellus Black and the older wizard presumably one of the former headmasters were still locked in a fierce scuffle, rolling and wrestling across their shared frame.

A gathering of elderly witches and wizards had gathered around to watch the spectacle.

In an instant, the grand headmaster's office had turned into what looked like a senior citizens' dueling club.

"Don't listen to old Black's nonsense, dear," came a gentle voice from beside him.

Peter turned and saw a red-haired witch had appeared in a once-empty portrait frame near the desk.

In the wizarding world, red hair needed no introduction.

Peter stood up and offered a respectful bow. "Hello, Headmistress Weasley. I'm sorry I don't know your full name."

She was undoubtedly one of the Weasley family's ancestors. But since Arthur and Molly had eloped and been disowned by the main family, they hadn't passed down any genealogical records. As a result, younger generations like Peter knew almost nothing about the Weasley family's lineage.

The old woman looked warm and motherly, her plump figure draped in elegant robes.

"Don't worry about names, child. I'm long gone. Family titles don't mean much to the dead."

Peter smiled and accepted her kindness without further question.

There was no need to press for clarity when she herself didn't care.

He changed the subject. "When you said the last male of the Black family, were you referring to Sirius Black?"

"Yes. That was nearly ten years ago. I still remember the day Dumbledore told Phineas. He howled like a madman."

"One of the twenty-eight sacred pure-blood families, passed down for generations, now on the brink of extinction... We all understood his grief. But ever since then, he's been trying to lure Slytherin students into helping him break Sirius out of Azkaban..."

Headmistress Weasley let out a long sigh.

"It was too much. Dumbledore had no choice but to confine him to the portraits within this office."

She looked at Peter kindly, her gaze soft but firm.

"You're still young, and it's natural to be curious about power. But you must tread carefully when it comes to dark magic."

"Foolish dark wizards like to say that power itself isn't evil it's the choices of the wizard that matter. But that's a dangerous half-truth."

"Dark magic feeds on intense, negative emotions. It demands hatred, fear, and rage. If you live in those emotions long enough, who's to say you won't lose yourself entirely?"

Peter nodded.

He agreed with her completely.

That's why he'd always been curious how had Dumbledore and Snape managed it?

How had they dabbled in such dangerous magic without losing their minds?

After chatting with the kind Weasley ancestor for a while and enjoying the endless bickering of the two portraits, Peter found himself growing a bit bored.

The two old men were still fighting tooth and nail, neither one showing signs of stopping.

So Peter stood up and began wandering around Dumbledore's office.

Near the fireplace, in a tall glass-front cabinet, he spotted something familiar.

The Pensieve.

Peter remembered reading that Dumbledore had stored many memories related to Tom Riddle in it memories he used to uncover the mystery of how Voldemort had managed to evade death.

But right now, the basin was empty.

Dumbledore must have concealed the important memories with protective enchantments.

Then, near the door, tucked in a shadowy corner behind a bookshelf, Peter spotted a tall, full-length mirror draped in black satin.

He didn't touch it.

He already knew what it was.

"The Mirror of Erised," he said quietly.

At that moment, a gentle whoosh broke the silence of the room Fawkes reappeared in a flash of flame, carrying Dumbledore in his usual phoenix-assisted manner.

The headmaster looked to be in a rather good mood after his brief excursion. He gave Peter a warm smile.

"Ah, the stuff of legend. It shows the deepest desires of your heart, Mr. Weasley. Are you not curious to take a look?"

Peter smiled faintly and shook his head. "I've read about it in an alchemy text. It may reflect desire, but it can't fulfill it. No matter how vivid the image, it's still an illusion."

"But it helps you understand what lies in your heart," Dumbledore offered gently.

Peter replied calmly, "I already know what I want. True self-awareness should come from within, not from a mirror."

His tone had a slight edge to it, and unable to resist, he shot back with a pointed question. "And what do you see in the mirror, Headmaster?"

"…"

Dumbledore fell silent.

For a fleeting moment, his mind drifted back to the image he had once seen in that very mirror four children, unchanged by time. Their laughter echoed in the stillness of his memory. In that reflection, there were no betrayals, no tragedies, only happiness. They were together again, smiling.

But the great wizard was quick to bury the surge of emotion beneath his usual cheer. He gave Peter a playful wink.

"I see a mountain of wool socks. You must understand, my dear boy, at my age, a warm pair of socks at Christmas is a true treasure."

"Heh..."

Peter responded with a vague, half-hearted chuckle.

He wasn't in the mood to play along with Dumbledore's eccentric performance.

So he cut straight to the point. "Did you find anything?"

Dumbledore's expression grew serious. He shook his head, though his tone remained composed.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley. You were correct. A powerful dark wizard is indeed attempting to obtain unicorn blood to create an elixir of immortality. He seeks to preserve his miserable, mutilated life like a flickering candle about to be snuffed out."

As he spoke, a complicated glint passed through Dumbledore's blue eyes. But it was gone in an instant.

Then his voice lightened again, as if trying to brush it off.

"I didn't find the culprit himself, unfortunately. But I did locate the herd of unicorns. Thankfully, none of them have died. Your discovery was extremely timely, Mr. Weasley. You may have saved them."

Dumbledore gave a small, emotional smile and dabbed at his eyes.

"You truly are a good person. On behalf of the unicorns, I thank you."

Peter watched him silently, lips twitching.

Drama queen.

Between Dumbledore's mysterious moods and constant theatrics, Peter found himself much preferring the company of Ron, Harry, and the others. At least with them, what you saw was what you got.

What a pity... he thought. It seems Tom didn't make an appearance in the Forbidden Forest tonight. A confrontation would've been... entertaining.

Peter sighed softly, a trace of disappointment in his voice. Then he offered a thoughtful suggestion.

"Headmaster, I think it would be wise to move the unicorns somewhere else. The Forbidden Forest isn't safe for them anymore. Hogwarts doesn't have the manpower to protect them around the clock."

"An excellent suggestion, Weasley... or may I call you Peter? It sounds friendlier that way," Dumbledore replied with a gentle smile.

Peter chuckled. "Then I'll call you Albus?"

To his surprise, the old headmaster didn't mind one bit. In fact, he seemed delighted.

"Of course. A name exists to be used, after all."

Then, before Peter could say anything else, Dumbledore continued, eyes twinkling:

"I happen to agree with you. The unicorns need a safer home. So, I've decided to ask an old friend for help. Come along, Peter, I think you'll like him. He's a good man."

Peter didn't hesitate.

He stepped up beside Dumbledore, who gently took hold of his wrist. Fawkes gave a melodic trill and fluttered down to rest on Dumbledore's shoulder.

"Ever experienced Side-Along Apparition before?" Dumbledore asked. "Relax. It's only mildly unpleasant."

"Alright, Albus!" Peter replied, grinning.

"Try not to squirm. Separation is quite... inconvenient. If your head flies off mid-Apparition, it'd be a real challenge for me to fetch it back."

"Okay, Albus!"

"...There's really no need to keep repeating my name."

"Okay, Albus!"

Pop

With a rush of twisting magic and a loud whoosh, the two of them vanished from the office.

Only the portraits remained behind, still arguing and bickering like old neighbors at a wizarding town hall.