"You're welcome," Harry accepted the gesture graciously, "but you really can't keep disappearing like that. You've put a lot of pressure and responsibility on Professor McGonagall that she shouldn't have to bear."
"I understand, and I'll apologize to Minerva," Dumbledore nodded.
"It's your call," Harry shrugged. "The diary doesn't matter much, but Ravenclaw's Diadem is worth saving. I'm not a Ravenclaw student, but I know how much it means to them."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said with a hint of humor, "if Professor Flitwick saw you smash Ravenclaw's Diadem into this state, he'd probably let out a shriek." Both of them burst into laughter.
"So, I'd like to repair it," Harry said, grinning. "At the very least, it shouldn't look this bad. I don't want Professor Flitwick thinking I'm someone he needs to duel. Hogwarts' treasures deserve a better fate, don't they?"
"I don't know much about wizarding alchemy. Can you fix it, or is it even possible?"
"It's difficult, and I can't do it," Dumbledore admitted, examining the diadem closely. "As for Nicolas… I'm not sure it's right to trouble someone who's already preparing for their final days. Since our last meeting, Nicolas has refused all visitors."
"You think he'd say no?" Harry asked.
"Of course not," Dumbledore said with a sudden shift in tone. "This is Ravenclaw's long-lost treasure, said to enhance the wearer's wisdom. No alchemist could resist the chance to handle such an artifact. I couldn't, and Nicolas certainly wouldn't either."
As he spoke, Dumbledore placed the diadem on his head.
"Hmm… it's definitely broken. I don't feel any smarter," he said with mock disappointment.
"That's what happens when you smash it with a warhammer forged from a basilisk fang," Harry said, glancing at the diadem. "It's not just deadly to people—it seems to wreak havoc on magical artifacts too."
"A basilisk, after all," Dumbledore nodded. "This is good news. It gives us another way to destroy Horcruxes, and it's relatively safe."
"One diary, one Ravenclaw Diadem," Harry mused. "How many Horcruxes do you think Voldemort made?"
"Not too many, Harry. Splitting one's soul too many times would drive a person mad… though Voldemort's already mad enough. Even so, I'm certain he wouldn't create too many. I know him well, Harry—very well. He's an intensely proud man. Not just anything would qualify as a Horcrux for him."
"The diary was a record of his youth, and the soul fragment inside looked young too. Maybe it represents his past, which is why he chose it," Harry analyzed. "And Ravenclaw's Diadem? It's valuable enough—priceless, even. Are all the founders' artifacts gone?"
"Gryffindor's Sword, Slytherin's Locket, Hufflepuff's Cup?" Harry asked, referencing Hogwarts: A History.
"I can assure you Gryffindor's Sword isn't a Horcrux. It's been held by successive headmasters and never left Hogwarts. But the locket and the cup have been missing for a long time," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "It's an interesting theory, and I think you're likely right. Hogwarts means something special to Voldemort. He might well have sought out these artifacts."
"I heard that after graduating, he worked at a dark magic shop for a while before disappearing. When he resurfaced, he was already Voldemort."
"Then we have a new lead," Harry nodded. "What was that shop called? Does it still exist?"
"Borgin and Burkes," Dumbledore replied. "It's in Knockturn Alley, dealing in dark magical items."
"I'll look into it."
"Be careful. The Burkes are a pure-blood family, and old Borgin is no pushover," Dumbledore warned. "Try not to cause too much of a stir in Diagon Alley. The Ministry's got enough on its plate."
Neither Harry nor Dumbledore cared much about a shop like Borgin and Burkes. After exchanging information, Dumbledore fell into a deep sleep, clearly needing rest.
He didn't reappear immediately. After waking, he visited the Ministry of Magic and then vanished again, only returning to Hogwarts the next evening during the feast.
When students spotted the familiar white-haired figure at the high table, cheers erupted.
"You're back, Professor Dumbledore!"
It was the kind of adulation Gilderoy Lockhart could only dream of. Students greeted Dumbledore warmly, and he responded to each in kind until McGonagall's stern glare quieted them down.
"I'm delighted to see you all again, safe and sound," Dumbledore said before the feast began, his voice carrying across the Great Hall. "In recent times, Hogwarts has faced many challenges."
"A traitorous professor, invading demons… Most importantly, as Headmaster, I failed to stand with you and protect you during these dangers. That is my failure." His apology was sincere. "I owe you all my deepest apologies. I'm sorry, children. I failed you."
"Don't say that, Headmaster!" Fred Weasley shouted. "We know you were off doing something important. The world out there's a mess! Those who left will regret it!"
Fred's words sparked agreement. Students jeered at those who'd fled, shouting their support for Dumbledore until he conjured a loud burst of fireworks to restore order.
"I ask you not to blame those who left," Dumbledore said firmly. "They've done no wrong. Hogwarts is a school, a place for you to gain knowledge, not to face mortal danger or bear responsibilities that aren't yours."
He sighed. "I must admit, Hogwarts has become less safe in recent years. Death Eaters, basilisks, even demons. You are the future of the wizarding world, and you're not yet ready to bear such burdens. If Hogwarts cannot protect you, you have every right to leave. You're here to learn, nothing more."
"But I'm also grateful to those who stayed. Thank you for your trust in Hogwarts," he continued. "I cannot make promises, as I've already failed you too many times. Promises from someone like me lack credibility."
"We'll always trust you, Professor!" a Hufflepuff student stood and shouted.
"Thank you, truly," Dumbledore said warmly. "But as Headmaster, I wasn't here when Hogwarts needed me most. That's something I cannot forgive myself for, and it's why I feel I'm no longer fit to serve as Headmaster."
Silence fell over the four long tables. Even Slytherin students, often at odds with others, were stunned. Professors and students alike stared at Dumbledore, unable to believe their ears.
Dumbledore, stepping down?
"I've submitted my resignation to the Wizengamot and the Ministry," he said. "I'm stepping down as Headmaster of Hogwarts, passing the role to someone more capable of protecting this school."
The hall remained silent.
"Why the long faces?" Dumbledore chuckled. "I thought you'd congratulate me. One less burden means I can focus my energy elsewhere."
"You can't leave, Professor!" Ron stood, shouting. "You're Dumbledore! Hogwarts isn't Hogwarts without you!"
His words unleashed a chorus of agreement.
"Oh, I didn't expect to teach you one final lesson before I go," Dumbledore said gently. "No one is irreplaceable, not even me. There are many exceptional wizards out there."
"But—but—" Ron stammered, at a loss.
"Who'll be the new Headmaster, Professor?" Roger Davies, sensing Dumbledore's resolve, asked. "Professor McGonagall?"
"That'd be brilliant!" George chimed in. "Professor McGonagall! We'd back you as Headmaster!"
Laughter erupted, though McGonagall's face darkened at George's comment. He was in for it now.
"Minerva is an excellent choice," Dumbledore nodded. "I owe her thanks for taking on so many of my duties over the years. Thank you, Minerva."
"You're welcome, Albus," McGonagall said, her face tight.
"She's a fine candidate, but I'm afraid the new Headmaster isn't her," Dumbledore said with a smile, no hint of suspense. "You've all heard, through newspapers or letters, that the world outside is changing rapidly."
"A faltering Statute of Secrecy, awakening elemental spirits, and countless conflicts," he continued. "Hogwarts is a place for learning, and safety is paramount. You need a Headmaster who can protect you in a world on the brink of war and new dangers."
"Who is it, Professor?" Fred called impatiently. "Spit it out, I can't wait!"
"Someone you know well," Dumbledore said, winking at Fred. "Our very own Professor Potter."
"Harry Potter?!"
A piercing shout rang out, and the hall exploded. Students yelled, their eyes turning to the boy—no, the man—sitting at the side of the table.
"That's my brother! My brother!" Ron was so excited his whole body shook. He stood on the bench, shouting to everyone, "My brother's gonna be Headmaster! Harry Potter's the Headmaster of Hogwarts!"
"I told you he'd be the next Dumbledore! No—he is Dumbledore already!"
The cacophony of voices filled the hall, and this time, Dumbledore didn't stop it. He just smiled, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold.
Surprisingly—or perhaps not—there was little opposition to Harry becoming Headmaster. A few faces soured, but most, even Slytherins, seemed relieved. Harry Potter's strength was undeniable. No student saw him as just another peer anymore; he was firmly in the adult category.
Unbeatable. Truly unbeatable.
The excitement wasn't limited to the students. The professors at the high table were just as stirred.
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