Erwin rose and strode toward the door without another word.
Dumbledore blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected such abrupt finality. The old wizard was utterly thrown off balance.
"If you're going to negotiate, at least make a counteroffer!" he thought. "What's this—walking out and upending the table?"
Dumbledore prided himself on outmaneuvering foes far more formidable than this boy. Yet Erwin defied every script. In every conversation, Dumbledore usually held the reins. With Erwin, it was the reverse: the young wizard dictated the tempo, every pause and phrase under his command. The moment control slipped, Erwin simply ended it.
Such unpredictability was maddening. Even Dumbledore's oldest adversaries played fairer than this.
That was Erwin's edge. He knew he couldn't outthink Dumbledore in a straight battle of wits, so he never tried. Before their talks, Erwin mapped his red lines—demands and leverage clearly defined. Anything crossing them earned a hard shutdown.
Was the Philosopher's Stone truly vital to him? Not desperately. Erwin sought it for research: what if unraveling its secrets yielded an immortality elixir? The potential windfall was immense. More practically, its transmutation powers could fund a magical battery project. Gold didn't come cheap, and even the Cavendish family's coffers weren't bottomless. The Stone would change that.
As Erwin neared the door, Dumbledore called out, "Wait, Erwin. I agree to your terms."
He had little choice. This was all a calculated ploy against Voldemort and Harry Potter—to let Harry mature while luring Voldemort into exposing his Horcruxes, one by one, like a fool delivering gifts to his enemies' doorstep. Destroy them as the boy grew stronger.
Dumbledore couldn't interfere directly; the slightest meddling would spook Voldemort, who still feared him deeply. That's why Erwin could push so boldly: Dumbledore needed Harry alive and thriving, more than ever now that Ron's brute strength and Hermione's sharp mind were absent. Without those friendships to anchor him, even Dumbledore doubted Harry's resolve.
Erwin was the only viable stand-in. For that, concessions were inevitable.
Erwin turned, a faint smile curling his lips. "Excellent, Professor. Here's to a fruitful partnership."
Dumbledore nodded. "Pleasure doing business, though retrieving the Philosopher's Stone will take time—after I depart Hogwarts. It's not with me at present."
Erwin inclined his head, unsurprised. Dumbledore's exit was a given; without it, Voldemort would stay hidden.
"Poor, timid mentor," Erwin thought. "Always one step from the fray."
"No rush," Erwin replied. "Oh, and Professor—I'll be opening a new shop in Diagon Alley over the holidays. Novel gadgets, nothing too flashy. I'd be honored if you'd stop by. I'll have a little something for you."
Dumbledore arched an eyebrow. "Part of the deal?"
Erwin feigned shock. "Heavens, no! Just an invitation from one of your students. Surely the Headmaster can spare a moment to support a young entrepreneur?"
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Very well. I'll come."
Erwin dipped his head. "Until then, Professor. Farewell." He cast a sly glance at the bedroom door behind Dumbledore, smirk deepening, before slipping out.
The door creaked open moments later, revealing Snape.
"Severus," Dumbledore said, "can we dispatch that letter now?"
Snape's lip curled. "As I said, it'll reach Lucius by morning."
Dumbledore's brow furrowed. "Erwin's backed down."
"But the Weasleys still need toughening up, don't they?" Snape countered.
Dumbledore sighed, letting it drop. "Erwin's remarkable—sharp as a tack. As his godfather, Severus, you must steer him true."
Snape sneered. "True? And you define that, do you? Overestimating your wisdom again, Albus. Erwin's path suits him fine. If it's flawed, my wand will forge it straight. Thorns or no, I'll clear the way."
Dumbledore exhaled sharply, exasperated. Arguing with Snape was like shouting into the wind—pointless, endless.
"With him gone, relax," Dumbledore said wearily.
Snape fixed him with a cold stare. "Don't make me your foe, Albus. I may not match you, but I can wound deep. Touch Erwin's mind with Legilimency again, and you'll regret it."
He swept from the room without a backward glance.
Dumbledore sank into his chair, eyes distant, lost in thought.
A snicker echoed from the portrait behind him. "Botched it, didn't you, Dumbledore? I warned you—your sanctimony's your downfall. Probing a student's memories? Even you'd stoop that low?"
Only Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black could mock so brazenly.
Dumbledore's voice held a wry edge. "You've mucked things up too, Phineas. Haven't congratulated you yet—your family's still got allies in high places. The Blacks retain more influence than I imagined."
Phineas snorted. "The House of Black remains pure, even through the daughters who wed out. Our bloodlines endure."
Dumbledore laughed dryly. "Still deluding yourself? Pure-blood's a myth, peddled by the Sacred Twenty-Eight to cling to power."
Phineas fell quiet. The office lapsed into heavy silence.