Chapter 63: A Deal with the Centaurs
"Professor Dumbledore."
Instantly, relief washed over everyone's faces.
They could finally breathe again.
The surrounding Acromantulas hesitated, slowing their advance.
"Withdraw at once," Dumbledore commanded calmly. "Return to your nest."
The click-click sounds grew louder, sharper—almost like an argument.
It was clear they were deliberating whether to obey.
In the end, they reached a consensus.
They ignored him.
The Acromantulas continued closing in.
Dumbledore sighed softly.
Russell knew it—these spiders were in serious trouble.
If they thought Dumbledore was merely a kindly old headmaster, then they were gravely mistaken.
This was a man who had once shaken the world alongside Grindelwald.
A vast, roaring blaze erupted from Dumbledore's body, sweeping past Russell and the others.
Oddly enough, it didn't burn them at all—instead, it felt warm… even comforting.
The flames then burst apart, scattering into countless sparks that streaked through the air with terrifying precision, landing on each Acromantula.
Shrill screeches filled the forest.
A ring of fire formed around them, trapping the spiders inside as they writhed and rolled in agony.
Had Snape been present, he would have loudly condemned this as an unforgivable waste.
So many Acromantulas—how much venom could have been extracted from them?
One by one, the spiders turned to ash.
The flames vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.
Dumbledore's expression was unreadable.
He merely told Russell and Professor Corvey to come to his office later.
Then, in a flash of firelight, his form dissolved into glowing embers and disappeared.
"Fythorne," Corvey said seriously, resting a firm hand on Russell's shoulder,
"don't say a word later. Let me do the talking."
"Come on. We should head back," he added, waving to Ailene and turning to leave.
"Russell," Ailene suddenly called out.
"Could I speak with you alone for a moment?"
Russell glanced at Professor Corvey. Seeing his nod of approval, he followed Ailene into a nearby stretch of trees.
"Miss Ailene—may I ask what this is about?" Russell asked, deciding to take the initiative.
"Just call me Ailene. 'Miss Ailene' sounds strange," she frowned slightly. "I want to make a deal with you."
"A deal?"
"I want something shiny."
"You mean… jeweled necklaces?" Russell asked cautiously.
"Yes! Exactly that," Ailene nodded enthusiastically. "In exchange, I can help you gather materials from the Forbidden Forest."
"That won't be a problem," Russell agreed. "But why not ask Professor Corvey for help?"
"That won't work. Corvey is too close to my brother. My brother doesn't like human trinkets. If Corvey found out, he'd definitely tell him—and that would be disastrous."
"Then how would we trade?" Russell asked, raising another concern. "You know how dangerous the Forbidden Forest still is for me."
Ailene looked troubled for a moment, and Russell quickly offered a solution.
"How about this: I'll leave the items behind Hagrid's hut. I'll mark the spot. After you take them, you can leave the materials there in return."
"Deal," Ailene said decisively.
Afterward, Russell felt slightly worried that Professor Corvey might ask what they had discussed—but he didn't.
---
Professor Dumbledore's office was located on the eighth floor of the castle. At the entrance stood a stone gargoyle with a dripping spout. It opened its eyes as they approached, fixing them with a sharp gaze.
"Password?"
"I'm Corvey. Professor Dumbledore asked us to come," Corvey replied.
The gargoyle nodded and hopped aside. The wall split open, revealing a spiral staircase slowly winding upward.
"Let's go."
The Headmaster's office was a large, elegant circular room filled with faint, peculiar whirring and clicking sounds. Long-legged tables held strange silver instruments that rotated gently, occasionally puffing out small clouds of smoke. Portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses lined the walls, every one of them sound asleep, softly snoring.
A large desk stood at the center, its legs carved like claws. On a shelf behind it sat an old, battered wizard's hat—the Sorting Hat.
Dumbledore, dressed in pale blue pajamas, sat behind the desk, his light blue eyes calmly fixed on them.
"Professor Dumbledore, I—" Corvey began, but Dumbledore raised a hand, signaling him to stop.
"I'm already aware of what happened," Dumbledore said gently. "I won't fault you. With such a naturally gifted student, it's only reasonable that you'd give him some special guidance."
He paused, then added mildly,
"Still, I hope you'll be a little more careful next time. Sleep is quite important to an old man like me."
With that, Dumbledore yawned and waved them away. From start to finish, he didn't say a single word to Russell.
Once they had left, the portraits on the walls slowly opened their eyes.
"So that's the Fythorne boy? He really does look just like his father," said a former headmistress with admiration.
"A shame he ended up in Ravenclaw. He ought to have been in Slytherin," muttered a thin, dark-haired man with deep-set eyes and a scraggly goatee.
That was Phineas Nigellus Black—the most widely disliked headmaster in Hogwarts history.
"How dare you say that, Black!" snapped a former Ravenclaw headmaster.
As it looked like the others were about to gang up on him, Dumbledore sighed and interrupted.
"One does wonder whether this will turn out to be a blessing or a curse for him," he murmured, turning his gaze toward the Sorting Hat.
"My old friend… why did you make that choice?"
---
When Russell returned to the dormitory, he found that Fawley was absent once again. He hadn't been back to sleep in quite some time.
Russell wasn't particularly worried—just mildly puzzled. Where could someone keep going every night?
Rosen and James clearly didn't care. They were enthusiastically devouring the Acromantula meat Russell had brought back. With both pincers already gone, they were working on the spider's legs instead.
"This is incredible!" James said with his mouth full, white meat clinging to his lips as he looked up.
"Where did you get this?"