Chapter Seventeen: A Meeting in the Tower
Elian didn't refuse. He followed Harry to a secluded alcove off the main corridor, the shadows deep and quiet.
Harry turned to face him, his expression intense. "Most people think I'm lying, or that Dumbledore's lost it. Why are you so sure? About… him?"
The question hung between them. Elian stayed silent for a long moment. He couldn't say I've read the books. He couldn't explain the foreknowledge that was both a burden and a guide.
"Ever since I can remember," Elian said finally, his voice quiet, "my instincts about things… about people… have been sharper than most. I can't explain it. I just… feel it's true."
It was a vague, unsatisfactory answer, and he saw the flicker of frustration in Harry's eyes. Harry had likely hoped for solidarity, for a shared piece of evidence, not something as nebulous as a feeling.
Suddenly, Harry's face contorted. A wave of agitation seemed to roll off him, dark and sudden. He clenched his fists, his scar standing out lividly against his forehead. Elian understood immediately. This wasn't just teenage angst. Harry wasn't learning Occlumency. The connection was wide open, and Voldemort's foul moods were bleeding through.
"If that's all…" Elian said, taking a step back. Now was not the time to get entangled in Harry's psychic link. The last thing he needed was the Dark Lord taking a personal interest in him through Harry's eyes. "I should go."
He didn't wait for a reply, turning and hurrying towards the disused classroom where Hermione would be waiting.
When he arrived, however, Hermione was pacing, her books forgotten on a desk. Her face was a mix of worry and urgency.
"Elian! There you are. Professor Dumbledore sent a message. He wants to see you in his office. The password is 'Sherbet Lemon.'"
Dumbledore? Elian's mind raced. Why now? If it was about his confrontation with Umbridge or his vocal support of Harry's story, why wait a week?
"Do you know why?" he asked.
Hermione shook her head, her bushy hair swaying. "No. But he asked for you specifically. You should go." Her expression softened with concern. "I'm going to check on Harry. He's been… off lately. More than usual."
Elian nodded, a twist of guilt in his gut for leaving Harry in that state. But Dumbledore took precedence. "Thanks, Hermione. I'll find you later."
The stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office slid aside at the password, revealing a spiraling staircase. Elian ascended, his heart beating a steady, anxious rhythm. He pushed open the gleaming oak door.
The office was a vast, circular room, buzzing with the gentle snores of former headmasters in their portraits and the soft whirring of strange silver instruments. Albus Dumbledore sat behind a large claw-footed desk, his half-moon spectacles glinting in the firelight.
"Ah, Mr. Throne," Dumbledore said, his voice warm. "I've been meaning to have a chat. I trust your detentions with Professor Umbridge have concluded?"
"Yes, sir. Tonight was the last."
"I thought as much. The timing seemed appropriate." Dumbledore waved his wand, and a glass of what looked like honeyed mead floated gently to hover before Elian. "Please, sit."
Elian took the offered seat but ignored the drink. "May I ask why you wanted to see me, Professor?"
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his bright blue eyes studying Elian over the top of them. "It requires a certain fortitude to speak of Tom Riddle's return in the current climate. More so to do it in Dolores Umbridge's classroom. While I admire the sentiment, I must caution you against provoking her unnecessarily. She wields significant influence."
He rose and walked to the window, looking out over the dark grounds. "You are cleverer than your years suggest, Elian. And more… opaque. Is there nothing you wish to tell me?"
The question was gentle, but the weight behind it was immense. Elian felt the pressure of that legendary perception. Dumbledore couldn't know his secrets, but he clearly sensed an anomaly. To say too much would paint a target on his back. To say nothing might arouse deeper suspicion.
He chose the middle path, the one he'd given Harry, but with more conviction. "I believe what you and Harry say," he stated, his voice firm. "I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned. It's the only thing that makes sense of… everything."
Dumbledore turned from the window, a slow smile touching his lips. It didn't quite reach his eyes, which remained deeply thoughtful. "I see. Well, in that case, I shall not keep you. Do not keep Miss Granger waiting too long. And remember my advice regarding Professor Umbridge. My hands are somewhat tied at present."
Elian stood, relieved the interview was over. He gave a short nod. "I understand, sir."
As he reached the door, Dumbledore's voice floated after him, soft as smoke, yet it stopped Elian cold.
"It has been a very long time," Dumbledore murmured, almost to himself, "since I have heard someone so young speak that name with such… casual defiance."
(End of Chapter)
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