Snape swept into the Headmaster's office, his robes billowing like dark thunderclouds in his wake.
Behind a polished desk strewn with curious trinkets, Dumbledore appeared outwardly serene, fingers still curled around a quill as though Snape's dramatic entrance had barely disturbed him.
Yet Snape knew better. Dumbledore was not a man easily surprised; he was always waiting—watching—for the next move on the vast chessboard that was Hogwarts.
Right now, however, Snape was certain the Headmaster had not foreseen this development.
"Headmaster," Snape began coldly, his clipped tone shattering the office's hush. "Potter is up to something."
Dumbledore set down his quill with deliberate slowness, each motion calculated to project a semblance of calm. "Indeed?" He peered over his half-moon spectacles, his expression unassuming. "And what might that be, Severus?"
Snape advanced with barely contained tension in each stride. "He deliberately baited me—lured me from the Great Hall by concocting some ridiculous ruse that made him appear suspicious. Naturally, I followed him, suspecting mischief. When I realised he was leading me on, I returned to my office—only to find my wards had been tampered with."
Dumbledore did not immediately reply.
Instead, he laced his fingers on the desk, inclining his head in a show of polite interest. But Snape detected the flicker of concern in his eyes—a brief crack in the old wizard's measured façade.
Snape pressed on. "Two vials of Veritaserum is gone."
Behind Dumbledore, the portraits of past headmasters shifted in their frames, some appearing to stir as if eavesdropping on the heated exchange.
"Veritaserum," Dumbledore echoed quietly, a shadow crossing his features. He leaned back, letting a small, weary sigh escape his lips. "A potent substance indeed. You believe Harry is responsible?"
"Who else?" Snape's voice dripped with derision. "Potter's arrogance has soared since the start of the tournament. He flaunts the rules. He spurns authority and doesn't attend most of his classes. Only a fool would doubt his culpability." The Potions Master crossed his arms, a sneer fixed upon his sallow face. "He acts with open defiance. Much like his father."
Silence nestled between them for a moment—heavy, tense. Dumbledore's gaze flicked to one of the little silver devices perched on a side table, its spindly needles spinning restlessly.
At length, the headmaster inhaled softly. "Harry has indeed grown… bolder than anticipated. His independence, while admirable in some respects, has become a source of growing concern."
Snape's lip curled in a snarl. "You call this independence?" he snapped. "It's insolence. He's been coddled for years, Albus. Allowing him free rein will only encourage more foolish behaviour."
Dumbledore tapped his fingertips together, his expression turning pensive. "Perhaps you are correct in your assessment that he has grown too confident. Yet I cannot help but feel there is a deeper motivation behind his actions. Lately, Harry rarely acts without cause."
Snape sniffed disdainfully. "Cause?" His voice carried an undertone of incredulity. "Do not tell me you still cling to the notion that everything Potter does has some grand higher purpose. He brewed an illegal Polyjuice Potion in his second year. He's pried into affairs that do not concern him time and again. He is not above the rules."
Dumbledore's mouth thinned into a contemplative line. "Indeed. The question is… why?"
The office dimmed as a cloud passed over the windows, momentarily dulling the shimmering sunlight that had been reflecting off the Headmaster's many contraptions.
Finally, Dumbledore spoke again, his voice lower, solemn.
"Harry must be reminded that his actions have repercussions. If he stole vials of Veritaserum with the intent to interrogate someone—anyone—without authority, that poses a serious danger."
Snape's face twisted in triumph at the implication that Dumbledore would indeed mete out punishment. "Precisely. You have allowed him to trespass upon the line for far too long. Let him learn, now, that there is a limit even to your patience. If Potter continues unchecked, I cannot guarantee his safety."
Dumbledore's eyes flashed with a sudden spark of warning. "Mind your words, Severus. I will not see Harry harmed."
But then the coldness vanished, replaced by regret. 'Not without making sure that the horcrux is destroyed.'
"Still, your point stands. Perhaps a reprimand is not only warranted but also vital. We must ensure Harry does not place himself—nor any others—in undue peril."
Snape gave a curt nod, though his expression betrayed lingering suspicion. "You will handle it personally?"
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Yes. I must speak with him again..."
A faint scowl marred Snape's features, as though he disapproved of leaving the matter in the Headmaster's hands alone.
"Very well," he said at last. "But I'll be watching, Albus. If the boy thinks he can get away with any further transgressions, I shall be very interested to see the consequences."
The swirl of Snape's robes announced his intention to depart, but he paused at the door, dark eyes narrowing in Dumbledore's direction. "You truly have no suspicion as to why Potter stole it?"
Dumbledore's face remained passive, though something guarded stirred behind his gaze. "I have theories, Severus. But until I know for certain, speculation only wastes our energies."
Snape's eyes flicked across Dumbledore's lined features, searching for cracks.
Finding none, he released a short, derisive snort. "See that you do uncover it. The boy is spiralling out of control."
His hand tightened on the door handle, knuckles whitening. "I've no wish to deal with the aftermath of his next misadventure."
When the door snapped shut, it left Dumbledore alone with the hush of the office.
The old man exhaled a slow breath, removing his spectacles and setting them on the desk.
It struck Dumbledore just how precarious the situation had become—Harry's rebellious streak, once merely a quirk, was now blossoming into a full-blown challenge to established order.
Yet there was a faint tremor of unease within him as he pondered on a single question. 'How far would Harry go?'
Dumbledore ran a hand through his long, silvery beard, contemplating the path ahead.
Of course, he himself knew why the boy needed the Veritaserum.
A single glance toward his old friend—Alastor Moody—had revealed that he was not who he claimed to be. After stunning the impostor and administering his own truth serum, he had quickly learned of the Dark Lord's plans.
"And if the portraits outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom heard correctly, so does Harry," Dumbledore mused, watching his silver instrument's flickering light, allowing its rhythmic hum to soothe his nerves.
"So," he said quietly, "the chessboard shifts once more."
The corners of his mouth curved into the faintest of smiles. "You have made your move, Harry… but do you truly understand the game you are playing?"
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Chapter 100: Air
Chapter 101: Confrontation
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Chapter 108: Silvery Items