The chill left behind by the vanishing Boggart had not yet faded from Alan's wizard robes when he found himself standing before the carved oak door of the Headmaster's Office.
It was not the kind of cold that came from temperature, but something deeper,
a lingering ember of awareness that remains after one has stared into the heart of their own fear.
He knocked once, then pushed the door open.
Inside, the office was warm and bright, alive with the flickering light of enchanted flames.
Silver instruments ticked and hummed on polished shelves; the scent of parchment, lemon drops, and old books filled the air.
Within the fire of the great hearth, a face twisted and shimmered in the flames, aged, stern, and unmistakably impatient.
Helmut Volk.
"Dumbledore!" the old German wizard's voice thundered from within the emerald fire, heavy with a rough accent and crackling with irritation. "You said that boy would come. Where is he?!"
The roar of his words sent ripples of heat across the room. The brass orrery in the corner gave a startled clink, and even the portraits seemed to pause in mid-whisper.
"My time," Volk spat, "is worth more than a thousand Galleons!"
"He's here, Helmut,"
came Dumbledore's calm reply, smooth and measured, the kind of tone that could quiet a storm.
"Do have a little patience."
Those wise blue eyes turned toward the doorway just as Alan stepped inside.
Volk's sharp, hawk-like gaze immediately found him through the dancing flames, cold, dissecting, merciless.
It was the kind of stare that sought to peel away flesh and look directly into the soul beneath.
The German curse master wasted no time on courtesy.
"Boy," he growled, his voice echoing like thunder through the office, "I'll give you one last chance. One thousand Galleons, return my key! That's my final offer!"
Every syllable was spat through clenched teeth, dripping with arrogance and threat.
A thousand Galleons, a fortune to any underage wizard.
But Alan merely smiled, that polite, distant smile that gave nothing away.
He didn't answer.
He only shook his head.
A small, deliberate motion, yet more provocative than any insult.
Volk's breathing grew harsher; the fire flared violently, sparks jumping onto the hearthstone.
Alan ignored him completely.
From his satchel, he withdrew two documents, his movements deliberate and precise, as though performing a ritual.
He stepped forward, circled Dumbledore's desk, and placed both documents neatly before the Headmaster.
"Headmaster."
His voice was calm, steady, carrying perfectly over the crackling fire and the tension-charged silence.
"Before we discuss the question of ownership regarding the key, I believe we should first establish some facts."
Dumbledore's brows rose with mild curiosity as he accepted the parchments. His long fingers brushed one of the seals,
the unmistakable crimson wax of the German Ministry of Magic.
A formal international warning letter.
Alan's finger tapped the other parchment lightly, his own report, written overnight, dense with notes and formulas.
"An Analytical Report on the Limitations of Cross-National Magical Tracking Techniques."
The title was clinical, academic,
yet it gleamed like a blade aimed straight at the heart of the matter.
"The fact is," Alan said, turning now from Dumbledore to the furious wizard in the fire. His gaze was unflinching,
his tone as precise as a theorem.
"Because of one of your spells, Mr. Volk, an unauthorized, and I must add, poorly concealed one, "
The words unauthorized and poorly concealed hit like twin curses.
Volk's image flickered violently, the flames roaring higher.
", I, an innocent and law-abiding British underage wizard, became the target of an unfounded accusation issued by another country's Ministry of Magic, resulting in both personal and reputational damage."
Alan paused just long enough for each word to hang in the air, resonating against the ticking silver instruments.
"Legally speaking," he continued, voice cutting through the silence like a blade,
"I am, in fact, the victim."
The statement fell into place like the final stone in a flawless logical construct.
Volk froze.
The scathing words he had prepared, the accusations of theft, the condescending lectures about youthful arrogance, the threats of wizarding authority, all withered in his throat.
Under the clear light of Alan's reasoning, they seemed almost childish.
Even Dumbledore's mouth twitched faintly, perhaps the ghost of a smile. His blue eyes gleamed with something close to admiration.
And then, under the gaze of two of the most powerful wizards of their age,
Alan calmly presented his proposal, the only solution he had ever intended.
"Mr. Volk," he said evenly,
"allow me to restate my position."
"I am not attempting to seize what is yours, "
~~----------------------
Patreon Advance Chapters:
[email protected] / Dreamer20