Anduin bid farewell to Professor McGonagall, his mind already calculating the quickest path to the Headmaster's office. He ascended the dizzying main tower staircase, the stone worn smooth by centuries of footsteps.
On the eighth floor, he located the familiar, imposing stone gargoyle guarding the entrance. He repeated the necessary phrase McGonagall had provided: "Squeaky Honeybee."
With a grinding rumble that echoed through the circular stone chamber, the gargoyle sprang aside, revealing a majestic, spiraling stone staircase that began to slowly ascend, carrying Anduin up into the heart of the school's governance.
He used the brief ascent time to mentally review the conversation with McGonagall. Her concern was genuine, but her warning, while politically sound, ignored the reality: the best defense was proactive strength, not passive avoidance.
My progress in Occlumency and my new runic theories require absolute mental acuity. I will not be caught unprepared again, he resolved.
The staircase deposited him softly outside a heavy, oak door, which opened silently.
Albus Dumbledore was standing near a polished perch, gently chuckling as he offered a soft, mocking vocalization to the magnificent, flame-red bird perched there. The creature, a stunning specimen with bright gold talons and a shimmering tail, was unmistakably a phoenix—a vivid, almost impossibly beautiful being that seemed to radiate warm, comforting light.
Dumbledore turned, his eyes—magnified slightly by his half-moon spectacles—twinkling with immense warmth and amusement. "Ah, Anduin! Forgive me for not noticing your arrival immediately. Fawkes here has been feeling rather neglected lately. I've been rather preoccupied with Ministry affairs, and he demands a full accounting of my absence, you see."
"Headmaster, I only just stepped in," Anduin replied, slightly awestruck by the sheer magical presence of the bird. "Is he, indeed, a phoenix? He looks precisely like the illustrations in the more detailed magical zoology texts."
"Your observational skills are exceedingly sharp, as always," Dumbledore affirmed, his smile widening. "He is Fawkes, and yes, a phoenix. And precisely because he is a phoenix, his senses are unparalleled. He knew you were here long before the gargoyle moved, which, I must confess, makes this old man feel rather foolish." Dumbledore offered a slight, dramatic bow toward the bird.
Fawkes responded by turning his head coldly away, his large, intelligent eyes fixing pointedly on a distant corner of the room, clearly communicating his displeasure at being the subject of Dumbledore's public mockery. The Headmaster merely shrugged, letting the awkward moment dissipate into a soft silence.
Anduin found the phoenix's richly expressive body language fascinating and couldn't help but linger on the creature.
"Now, now," Dumbledore said, gently herding Anduin forward. "He is rather shy about his brilliance. Looking at him for too long only embarrasses him. Please, come and take a seat."
Anduin silently acknowledged the phoenix's apparent arrogance—or perhaps, just intense dignity—as he followed Dumbledore to the grand desk. This gave him a moment to absorb the Headmaster's office. It was a vast, beautiful, circular chamber dominated by artifacts of enormous magical power and historical significance.
The walls were lined with heavy shelves of books and silver instruments that ceaselessly whirred and puffed smoke, their purpose utterly arcane. Behind the massive mahogany desk hung a gallery of portraits of Hogwarts' past headmasters and headmistresses.
The subjects in the portraits were not static; they were fully alive. Some were dozing, others were whispering conspiratorially to figures in adjacent frames, and one particularly severe-looking former Headmaster stared directly at Anduin, fixing him with a disdainful glare that clearly expressed an opinion on the intrusion of first-years into the office.
"Before we discuss official matters, would you indulge an old man in a small pleasure?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes dancing as he produced an ornate, silver tin from a small, secret compartment beside him.
"I've become terribly fond of Lemon Sorbet candies lately. The delightful interplay of tartness and intense sweetness always seems to rekindle memories of my own rather mischievous youth. I highly recommend them."
"Thank you for the kind offer, Professor," Anduin replied, maintaining his polite but firm refusal. "But I confess a personal preference for the rich density of dark chocolate. Furthermore, in the non-magical world, there's a rather fatalistic saying: 'The more a man obsesses over his past, the less time he dedicates to his future.' You appear quite young and vibrant, Headmaster; perhaps you should conserve your energies for the challenges ahead, rather than reminiscing over candies."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow in genuine appreciation, a smile slowly forming beneath his impressively long silver beard.
"A wonderfully shrewd perspective, Anduin. You clearly do possess a keen forward-looking nature, which I admire. I certainly won't press the matter." With a flourish, he returned the tin to its hiding spot, but not before extracting a large, colourful handful for himself, which he immediately deposited into his mouth with an audible crackle.
He really does have an incredible appetite for sweets, Anduin noted, recalling the office password. Everything about him is deliberately eccentric, a calculated veneer.
"Now, to the reason for your summons," Dumbledore continued, his tone instantly shifting from whimsical to professional. "The Ministry of Magic, acting with unusual alacrity, has prepared a formal recognition of your assistance over the holidays. I was merely the delivery boy." He conjured a piece of thick, heavy parchment emblazoned with the Ministry's official seal and handed it to Anduin.
The document was filled with effusive praise for Anduin's "extraordinary courage," "unwavering determination," and "invaluable aid in the apprehension of dangerous individuals," a clear euphemism for the captured Death Eaters. Anduin quickly scanned the verbose preamble and went straight to the summarized reward details:
Mr. Anduin Wilson is hereby awarded the Order of Bravery, Silver Medal, and a monetary grant of 500 Galleons by the British Ministry of Magic.
"Five hundred Galleons," Anduin murmured, unable to completely suppress a faint, satisfied smile. "That is exceedingly generous. I must commend the Minister, Millicent Bagnold, for her decisiveness. She has proven to be an exceedingly efficient administrator."
Dumbledore watched his reaction with a gentle, knowing look. After a moment, he produced a small, velvet-wrapped box and a hefty, clinking leather bag. "Come now, little hero. Here is the tangible representation of the Ministry's gratitude."
Anduin took both, the Galleons satisfyingly heavy—a solid, comforting weight of financial security. He set the bag aside and opened the velvet box first. Inside lay the Order of Bravery, Silver Medal: a perfectly round, polished silver disk suspended from a short ribbon of deep, midnight blue. The central etching featured a prominent 'M' for Ministry, surrounded by an intricate pattern of magically woven knotwork.
"The Minister was, naturally, keen to have a public presentation," Dumbledore explained, leaning back.
"She saw you as a perfect young role model—a student of impeccable conduct from a formerly neutral House, displaying genuine bravery against the encroaching darkness. However, knowing your preference for discretion and... strategic invisibility, I managed to persuade Millicent that a private delivery would be most effective. I assured her that your actions would speak louder than any public ceremony. You are to remain a private hero for now, though she may yet choose to publicize your achievements if the political climate demands it later."
"Thank you, Professor," Anduin replied, his smile genuine this time. Dumbledore had expertly navigated the political waters on his behalf, ensuring he received the reward without the burden of public scrutiny or the potential enmity of certain families at Hogwarts. "Please convey my deepest thanks to the Minister. The current arrangement is more than satisfactory."
Dumbledore nodded, then, as if an entirely separate thought had just occurred to him, his eyes widened slightly. "Ah, right! I almost forgot. There is one other gift for you. This comes from an anonymous friend—someone close to the situation who wished to convey their profound admiration, but insistently wished to remain unnamed."
He reached into a side drawer and produced a slender, crystal vial that seemed to shimmer slightly in the office light. The potion within was a cloudy, pale silver, swirling slowly as if caught in a perpetual, internal vortex. It looked utterly unlike the crude, thick glass phials commonly used in the Hogwarts dungeons.
Anduin took the vial, immediately recognizing the complexity and cost of the vessel itself. He looked up at Dumbledore, an intense surge of curiosity replacing his earlier composure.
"This," Dumbledore confirmed, observing the bottle's reflection in his lenses, "is a vial of Buffet Mind-Awakening Potion. It is, quite literally, liquid mental acceleration."
Anduin's breath caught. He knew the name: Buffalo Mind-Awakening Potion—a potion renowned for its unparalleled difficulty and prohibitive cost, often fetching several hundred Galleons per ounce due to its rarity and the sheer complexity of the brewing process. Its synthesis was a nightmare, requiring ingredients that were both scarce and volatile, and a single mistake could result in a fatal neurotoxin.
"I have personally verified the contents," Dumbledore assured him, sensing his astonishment. "It is, in fact, an impeccable brew. It significantly enhances the user's mental agility, clarity, memory, and—crucially for you, I suspect—focus and magical endurance. It is a profound aid for difficult research and intense study."
Dumbledore then adopted a serious, cautionary tone. "However, it is exceedingly potent. You must treat it as a controlled substance. I urge you to use only half an ounce daily, diluted in water or juice. Consuming more—or taking it without sufficient rest—will cause severe side effects: debilitating headaches, intense nausea, and, in cases of overuse, potential neurological collapse and coma. It accelerates the mind, but also burns the mind's resources at an alarming rate. Treat it with the utmost respect."
Anduin stared at the shimmering vial, the silver liquid representing exactly what he needed for his dual pursuits: the focus for Occlumency's mental stamina and the clarity for Runic engineering. It was a catalyst for his entire academic life.
"This is not merely valuable, Headmaster," Anduin said, his expression completely serious as he carefully tucked the silver medal away.
"It is an exponential accelerator for magical research. To produce a potion of this caliber, in this quantity... I must know the source. Who would dispense such a powerful and sensitive magical elixir to a first-year student?" He looked at Dumbledore, demanding an answer, knowing the donor had to be either Lily Potter, a masterful Potions Mistress, or someone equally dedicated to his clandestine education.