Chapter 30: The Headmaster's Office
On the way to the headmaster's office, a small interruption occurred.
Harry Potter, seeing Dumbledore, hurried after them, a torrent of questions clearly building behind his eyes. He was acutely aware something was wrong with him lately—a constant, foreign anger simmering beneath his skin. He'd told no one, not even Hermione or Ron. He needed to talk to Dumbledore.
But as he called out, Dumbledore, walking briskly ahead with Elian, gave no sign of having heard. He didn't slow, didn't turn. It was as if Harry were shouting into a void. Elian glanced back a few times, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes.
The snub left Harry feeling hollow and confused. Dumbledore had always been there for him, a source of guidance and calm. This year, it felt like the headmaster was a ghost, always just out of reach. The feeling of being deliberately avoided was crushing.
Elian could only shake his head as they left Harry behind. The connection was taking its toll.
Soon, they were in the headmaster's office. The familiar whirring of silver instruments and the gentle snores of portraits filled the air.
"Now, Mr. Thorne," Dumbledore began, settling behind his desk and steepling his fingers. "During my recent… absences… I understand you have kept things rather lively. Charging into the Ravenclaw common room and dueling older students to a standstill? I hear you left three of them in the hospital wing overnight. Madam Pomfrey mentioned her ward hasn't been so busy in years."
A cup of tea and a small plate of biscuits floated over to Elian. Dumbledore's tone was mild, almost amused. It was clear he also knew about the Weasley twins' epidemic of 'Umbridge-itis' and was choosing, for now, to overlook it.
They spoke of general things for a while—classes, Quidditch, the general mood of the school. Elian waited, knowing the real topic was coming.
Finally, Dumbledore set his own teacup down. The twinkle in his blue eyes was replaced by a deep, probing seriousness. "You are remarkably composed, Mr. Thorne. But I think we must address the elephant in the room, or rather, the prophecy in the Entrance Hall. It is my belief that Professor Trelawney's trance was triggered by her sight of you."
He paused, watching Elian intently.
Elian's mind raced. He could lie, but to Dumbledore? The man who had seen through decades of deception and dark magic? The evidence was damning: he was an anomaly, a sixteen-year-old first-year, publicly defiant, and now linked to a spontaneous prophecy. Denial would sound pathetic.
He met Dumbledore's gaze squarely. "Headmaster, I don't know if it was because of me. But she did look at me just before it happened."
The silence stretched. The portraits pretended to snore louder.
Finally, Dumbledore leaned back. A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. "An interesting young man," he murmured. "Mr. Thorne, I know you are more than you appear. I sense you have your reasons for secrecy. But I have a powerful feeling that you will come to me with the truth, in time. A very powerful feeling."
He stood, the conversation clearly at an end. "Now, you should hurry. If I am not mistaken, your next lesson is Potions with Professor Snape. He has little patience for tardiness."
Elian was dismissed. The interview was over. He had given away nothing, yet he felt Dumbledore had gleaned volumes.
As the door closed behind Elian, Dumbledore turned to Fawkes, who was preening his golden feathers. "You sensed it too, didn't you, old friend?" he murmured.
The prophecy echoed in his mind. The traveler from a world unseen… The chosen boy's fate… it twists… A power awakens… not of this earth… the Master Supreme…
Two boys' faces swam before him: Harry Potter, the 'Chosen Boy,' marked by fate and tragedy; and Elian Thorne, the 'Traveler,' an enigma wrapped in ancient magic. Was the prophecy about one? Or both? Was this 'Master Supreme' a new hope, or did it herald Voldemort's ascent to a terrible new height?
He had never heard wizards referred to as 'Masters Supreme.' The term felt older, stranger.
We must move faster, he thought, a familiar weight of urgency settling on his shoulders. The pieces were in motion, and he could not see the full board.
Office of the Minister of Magic
"What?!" Cornelius Fudge's voice was a squeak of outrage. "You're telling me that madwoman at Hogwarts actually made a prophecy? Now? Dolores, this is a disaster!"
(End of Chapter)
✨If you're enjoying this story, consider supporting me on Patreon —
Patreon.com/TofuChan
💕Patreon members get early access to chapters, bonus content, and voting power on future ideas.💕
Every bit of support helps me write more and faster. Thank you so much for reading! 🥰
✨✨ I'll release an extra chapter for every 5 reviews! ✨✨🥳🥳 For every 50 power stones! 🥳🥳
Lets hit the goal of 60 Patreon Members now for 5 Extra Chapters 💕