Dumbledore's eyes moved over them, calm but deeply observant, as if he had already understood far more than anyone had said aloud, and when his gaze rested briefly on Ginny, something softer passed through his expression.
"I have many questions," he said gently, his voice carrying without effort, "but I think they may keep for a moment."
He turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"For now," he continued, "your first concern should be Miss Weasley. Take her straight to Madam Pomfrey. I believe she will know exactly what to do."
Ron nodded immediately, his worry overriding everything else. With Harry's help, he lifted Ginny more securely, and the two of them started toward the door. Hermione followed, though she paused for just a fraction of a second, her eyes flicking toward Victor before she left.
The door closed behind them, leaving the bathroom quiet.
Dumbledore did not move at once.
Instead, he regarded Victor thoughtfully, his expression neither accusing nor surprised, but measured—curious in a way that suggested he was already several steps ahead.
"I think," he said at last, "you and I ought to have a conversation, Mr. Malfoy."
There was a faint glint behind his half-moon glasses, something sharp beneath the calm.
"For I find," he added lightly, "that events of this evening raise… a number of interesting points."
He stepped aside slightly, gesturing toward the exit with quiet politeness.
"Shall we?"
Victor hesitated just enough to make it look natural, then gave a small, tired sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck.
"Professor… can this wait until tomorrow?" he asked, his tone carrying a hint of genuine exhaustion. "I'm already half-dead, and sleep is kind of important if you expect me to grow up properly."
Dumbledore watched him for a moment, the faintest trace of amusement touching his eyes, though his expression remained composed.
"Ah," he said softly, as if considering the request with great seriousness, "sleep is indeed a most valuable thing. I have always found that it improves both judgment and temper."
Victor nodded slightly, as if encouraged.
"Yes, exactly—"
"However," Dumbledore continued, not raising his voice, yet gently cutting across the agreement before it could settle, "I fear that tonight's events are rather too… significant to be postponed entirely."
He stepped forward just a fraction, his presence calm but quietly firm.
"That said," he added, "I would not wish to deprive you of rest altogether. If sleep is your chief concern, I can quite easily arrange for you to be excused from your lessons tomorrow."
There was a subtle glint behind his glasses.
"You may then enjoy as much rest as you find necessary."
The offer sounded generous.
It wasn't.
Because it came with the unspoken understanding—
The conversation was happening now.
Victor didn't argue further.
There was no point.
Dumbledore had already decided, and pushing against that calm certainty would only make things worse. So, without another word, he followed him out of the bathroom and through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts.
Their footsteps echoed softly as they climbed the moving staircases, passing portraits that stirred just enough to notice them but not enough to interrupt. Eventually, they reached the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office.
"Sherbet lemon," Dumbledore said mildly.
The gargoyle leapt aside.
They stepped onto the spiral staircase, which carried them upward into the circular office above.
The room was warm, filled with soft golden light. Strange instruments clicked and whirred quietly on spindly tables, shelves lined with books curved along the walls, and behind the desk, Fawkes had already returned to his perch, watching silently.
Dumbledore moved behind his desk but did not sit immediately. Instead, he turned slightly, studying Victor with that same calm, unreadable expression.
Victor remained standing.
Waiting.
Dumbledore folded his hands lightly.
"So," he said after a brief pause, his tone gentle but deliberate, "Mr. Malfoy…"
"What do you think of Voldemort?"
The question settled in the room.
Victor didn't take long.
"An arrogant fool," he said, his tone even, his face completely straight. "And an idiot."
The words landed without hesitation.
Dumbledore did not react immediately.
"Those are… strong conclusions," Dumbledore said at last, his voice mild. "I imagine they are not commonly expressed in certain circles."
"I don't see the point in pretending otherwise,"
"He built everything on fear and called it power. That only works until someone stops being afraid."
Dumbledore's expression shifted slightly, not quite a smile, but close.
"Indeed," Dumbledore said softly. "Fear is a curious foundation. It can support much… and yet, it is remarkably fragile."
He seated himself behind the desk and, with a small, courteous motion, indicated the chair opposite. The gesture was gentle, though it carried quiet expectation.
Victor sat down.
"And yet," Dumbledore continued, fingers lightly steepled, "this 'fool,' as you describe him, has managed to leave a lasting impression upon our world."
"People make things worse than they are,"
"They add fear, stories, cruelty—until it turns into something larger than reality. That works on most, but not everyone. I don't see a reason to fear someone who failed to kill a child and lost everything because of it. That doesn't sound like someone worth fearing."
Dumbledore listened without interruption, his gaze thoughtful rather than critical.
"An interesting conclusion," he said after a moment. "Though I imagine it would not be… encouraged in your household."
"My father's beliefs are his own," he replied. "They have nothing to do with me."
"Your father was once a devoted follower of Voldemort."
Victor met his gaze without hesitation.
"And I'm not him," he said. "I have no intention of becoming loyal to someone like that. Following him doesn't lead anywhere worth going."
"I prefer peace," he continued. "And I don't see how serving someone like him leads to anything close to that."
Dumbledore regarded him in silence for a few seconds, as though measuring the weight of those words rather than their surface meaning.
"Peace," he said at last, almost to himself, as if considering whether such a thing could truly be chosen so simply.
*****
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