The salty sea breeze drifted over the wooden windowsill, gently swaying the vibrant clusters of hydrangeas outside. Petals, like colorful wisps of cloud, fluttered in the wind, a few occasionally breaking free and drifting lazily onto the sill.
Dumbledore and Adam sat in a second-floor room, bathed in soft sunlight that draped the space in a warm, golden glow. Fawkes, the phoenix, perched on the walnut bedside table where Amy the cat usually slept, his eyes half-closed in a feigned doze. As he shifted slightly, his wing flicked away Amy, who had been creeping closer. Fawkes' amber eyes glinted, and with a wand-like flourish of his crimson wingtip, he tapped the cat's damp nose. The black ball of fur froze as if hit with a Petrifying Charm, her pink paws trembling in midair.
"Adam…" Dumbledore's voice carried a trace of weariness and exasperation as he leaned forward in the chair by the desk. "I've always known you're an exceptionally gifted child."
He paused, removing his spectacles and rubbing his temples, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening in the sunlight. "But now, I find myself wishing you were just a little less perceptive about certain things."
Adam scooped Amy into his arms, his fingers brushing the warm feathers at Fawkes' neck. The phoenix, usually so proud, squinted contentedly and nudged its crest against Adam's palm. Clearly, the time spent wrangling creatures in Newt's suitcase had paid off—his Beast Taming skill was now maxed out, earning him Fawkes' trust at first meeting.
"So, you and Professor Snape being at Gringotts at the same time wasn't a coincidence, was it?" Adam's tone was firm, not questioning.
Dumbledore didn't respond immediately, his deep blue eyes gazing out the window, fathomless as the sea.
"The Gringotts robbery…" Adam scratched the side of Fawkes' face, studying the phoenix's fiery tail feathers up close. "Newt and I were in Knockturn Alley when it happened. And when Fawkes appeared at Gringotts five minutes after the explosion, I knew it wasn't a coincidence. The only thing that could summon a phoenix across half of England in an instant is its master's life being in danger—unless…"
He looked up, meeting Dumbledore's piercing gaze. "Unless Fawkes was already nearby."
Adam's fingers paused on Fawkes' crest as he continued. "Professor Snape showed up at the Leaky Cauldron exactly half an hour before you appeared at Gringotts' front gates. While everyone, including the Aurors hiding in the crowd, was distracted by your presence, Professor Snape emerged from a dark alley, covered in wounds—wounds that looked exactly like bite marks from a weakened dragon."
Their gazes locked, a silent conversation sparking between them.
"You even figured out the wounds?" Dumbledore gave a soft, approving chuckle, his glasses catching the sunlight like the golden glint of Fawkes' feathers. "It seems you've learned quite a lot from Newt these past months."
Adam didn't reply, holding Dumbledore's gaze steadily. "So, Professor, you were looking for something in Gringotts' vaults, weren't you?"
Dumbledore's smile grew warmer, his eyes brimming with admiration. "I thought you might assume I was covering for the mastermind behind the robbery, but I underestimated your ability to see through to the truth."
Adam shook his head. "I did consider that at first, but I quickly ruled it out. As Hogwarts' headmaster, you don't lack for material things—whether it's Galleons or rare treasures."
He stood and retrieved two glasses of chilled watermelon juice from a small fridge in the room. Beads of condensation slid down the glass as he took a sip, the cool drink easing the summer heat.
Dumbledore sipped his own juice, but his expression suggested it wasn't sweet enough. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a dish of sugar cubes and dropped several into his glass. Holding what Adam considered a lethal dose of sugar, Dumbledore glanced at the fridge. "Is that a Muggle invention?"
"No, it's not plugged in. I just carved a few Freezing Runes into it."
Dumbledore's gaze shifted back to Adam, curious and probing. "So how did you deduce I was searching for something?"
"It clicked when I saw the goblin torture devices by the underground lake," Adam said. "I don't know how skilled Professor Snape is, but for a Potions Master, handling a weakened dragon shouldn't be too hard. And he'd have no reason to go to the trouble of stealing a dragon—its valuable parts would be far more tempting for someone who works with potions."
Adam's eyes twitched as Dumbledore added yet another sugar cube to his juice. After a pause, he continued. "Besides, the robbers left the dragon's skeleton behind, even though it's prime material for alchemy or potions. And along the way, we saw traces of Fiendfyre in the stolen vaults, but no signs of a struggle. So there must have been another group of robbers who, while freeing the dragon enslaved by the goblins, ran into Professor Snape, who was also sneaking into Gringotts. Two groups with different motives but similar goals clashed by the underground lake, and the commotion alerted the goblins."
Adam's fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, laying out his deductions methodically. He looked at Dumbledore, who listened patiently, like a professor awaiting a student's final answer.
"I'm glad you trust me enough to share these theories," Dumbledore said, taking a sip of his overly sweet juice, the liquid rippling in the glass. A glint of approval flashed behind his spectacles. "As you said that night at the Ministry, trust is a two-way street. I've always remembered that."
"Your reasoning is largely correct. I was indeed searching for something—research notes I lost in my youth. As for Severus being at Gringotts…" Dumbledore's voice faltered, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. "I didn't know. I never asked him to retrieve anything. In fact, he was the one who suffered the greatest loss in this robbery."
Dumbledore set his glass down gently, his gaze warm and sincere, reflecting Adam's figure in his blue eyes.
Adam frowned, confusion lacing his voice. "But why would he fight the robbers? He seems so… indifferent to everything."
"To be precise," Dumbledore said, "when the robbers used some method to silently break the protective charms on Vault 703, Severus was standing before a rack of crystal vials, carefully inventorying his potion stores."
The sycamore leaves outside brushed against the window, casting dappled shadows across Dumbledore's silver beard. His voice was soft, almost a murmur, trailing off into a thoughtful hum. "Interestingly, the seventeen vaults they targeted belonged either to former Death Eaters or families who once sheltered them."
His calm words carried a weighty undercurrent, like a stone dropped into a still lake, sending ripples through the quiet room.
Adam's expression darkened. "So… Shirley's father was a Death Eater?"
Dumbledore gave a slight nod, his gaze drifting to the treetops outside, a faint sigh in his voice heavy with sorrow and regret, as if he'd been pulled back to an era of conflict and pain.
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