Chapter 49: The Headmaster's Inquisition
This whole situation felt... strangely familiar. It was like something he had read in the history books of his past life. Am I the rebel king? But Dumbledore was the legitimate heir... Wait, was Dumbledore's duel with Grindelwald for the fate of the wizarding world a kind of civil war? From a certain point of view, it was a battle between two close friends for the future... A thousand absurd thoughts swirled in Ryan's mind.
Before Dumbledore could offer him another metaphorical carrot, they heard the sound of the spiral staircase rising, followed by a knock on the office door. "It seems I'm not the only one who assumed you'd still be awake," Ryan said with a wry smile. He saw that Dumbledore had no intention of getting up, so he went to open the door himself.
As he stood, he "accidentally" knocked over a small, silver instrument from Dumbledore's desk. It hit the floor with an inordinately loud crash.
"Albus?" Professor McGonagall pushed open the door, her face a thundercloud. She was in her full, black teaching robes. Mr. Filch stood just behind her, his expression a strange mixture of post-traumatic stress and triumphant glee. Following them was a long, familiar line of students.
Ryan looked from the students to the fallen instrument on the floor. Is today a good day for a coup? he thought, bewildered. I don't remember stationing a platoon of assassins outside the Headmaster's office. He saw Vaisey, Percy, Fred, George, Harry, Malfoy, Hermione... With the exception of Ron Weasley, they were all key members of his Adventurers' Club. Is this a military intervention? Ryan's thoughts were becoming increasingly unhinged.
"What was that noise, Albus?" Professor McGonagall demanded, striding into the room.
"Just a small accident, Minerva. Mr. Welles bumped a silver instrument from my desk," Dumbledore said with a wave of his hand, and the instrument floated back to its place. "And you, Minerva? What brings you here with a flock of students at this hour?"
"Merlin's beard, Albus!" she exploded. "Can you imagine? Two fifth-year students leading a group of first-years out after hours! And one of them is a Gryffindor prefect!" Percy hung his head, wishing a hole would open in the plush carpet and swallow him whole.
"And Fred and George! Attacking a staff member! They used dungbombs on Mr. Filch!" Behind her, the twins looked utterly unconcerned.
"And four of them are first-years!" Her voice was now practically a roar. "Out of bed after hours! For a wizard's duel! I have never, in all my years, heard of such a thing!"
Besides Ron, who was still glaring at Malfoy and muttering what appeared to be a string of vicious curses, the other three first-years were too terrified to even breathe in the face of Professor McGonagall's wrath.
"And you, Mr. Vaisey Selwyn," she said, her tone softening slightly. "When I arrived on the third floor, I expected to find a pile of dismembered students. Instead, I found you... training the Cerberus." The beast had been lying on its back, all three of its heads lolling in apparent bliss as the younger students patted its belly. Vaisey had even managed to get it back into its room without a fuss. "While you are still in trouble for being out after hours," she said, "in light of your actions in protecting the other students, I believe we can come to a fair judgment."
Vaisey bowed apologetically. "Professor, I am deeply sorry for this mess. It was a personal matter that got out of hand. I will accept whatever punishment the school deems appropriate." Under his breath, however, he was fuming. His perfect escape plan had been foiled by a three-headed dog with a strange addiction to ice.
"Minerva, please, have a seat," Dumbledore said after she had finished her tirade. "I believe we need to hear the whole story before we pass judgment." He conjured a chair for her, then gestured to Ryan. "You as well, Ryan. As the acting professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, I believe you should be a part of this."
"And you, Argus," he said to Filch, who was practically vibrating with a desire to see the students flogged.
"Now," Dumbledore said to the assembled group of delinquents, "who would like to explain what happened tonight?"
Fred and George immediately and simultaneously took a step back, hiding behind Harry and Ron. Ryan smirked. They were definitely about to be singled out.
"Ah," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling, "it seems the two Mr. Weasleys have volunteered. Let us hear their account."
The twins, now the subject of a dozen smug looks, reluctantly recounted the night's events, knowing better than to lie to Dumbledore. They made sure to emphasize that the whole thing had started with Malfoy, and that they were merely accessories to the crime.
"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Selwyn," Dumbledore said, turning to Percy and Vaisey. "As the senior students, I am sure you have your own perspective on this matter." After Percy had given his stammering account, Vaisey concluded his own by asking about the Cerberus. He wanted to know why a freely-roaming, three-headed dog was being kept in a school full of children.
Freely-roaming? Ryan thought. He remembered that Fluffy's movements had been restricted by a set of magical chains. Someone must have unlocked them. He mentally scrolled through a list of suspects.
McGonagall and Dumbledore both looked concerned, but they did not answer.
Next, it was Malfoy's turn. Despite his recent… broadening of horizons… in the Adventurers' Club, eleven years of Malfoy conditioning was hard to shake. His account of the events was approximately seventy percent true, once all the emotional and self-serving language had been stripped away.
No one—not Percy, not Fred, not George—mentioned Ron's breakdown over the single Galleon. They all, in their own way, wanted to protect the Weasley family from the embarrassment.
"Mr. Ron Weasley," Dumbledore said finally. "Do you have anything to say?"
Ron just stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence, a far cry from the righteous fury he had displayed earlier. The other three Weasleys were not surprised. This was classic Ron: brave when he shouldn't be, and useless when it mattered.
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