"Dangerous?" Dudley raised an eyebrow at the word, certain he hadn't misheard.
Compared to Basilisks, Horcruxes, or Voldemort's lingering soul, how could Sirius Black possibly be more dangerous?
It was clearly just an excuse from Dumbledore to keep him out of it.
"All I want is to deal with the problem at hand. Those Dementors are camped out around the castle, blanketing Hogwarts in gloom. It's endless rain and misery, making everything feel dead and dreary. It's impossible for me and my team to train properly," Dudley said.
"And I've had plenty of complaints from younger students. The Dementors are starting to show signs of attacking them."
After Dumbledore had banished the Dementors from the Great Hall at the start of term, they'd been somewhat subdued. But lately, they were acting up again.
These things were worse than dark creatures—vile, mindless spirits. Left unchecked, they were bound to cause trouble.
Expecting them to follow the Ministry's rules was like hoping Voldemort would suddenly turn into a saint.
"Dudley, just be patient. It's the Ministry's orders, after all," Dumbledore said, popping a cockroach into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully.
At the start of the year, plenty of students had sent letters home, hoping Fudge—known for caving under pressure—would pull the Dementors back. But this time, the usually spineless Minister was oddly stubborn, insisting the Dementors stay at Hogwarts.
Even with piles of complaint letters, he didn't budge.
Fudge was the Minister of Magic, theoretically the most powerful man in wizarding Britain. The parents had no real recourse.
His approval ratings were definitely taking a hit, though. Still, a dip in popularity was better than losing his job altogether.
Dudley sighed. "If they actually followed the Ministry's rules, didn't attack students, and didn't get in my way, I wouldn't care."
"Professor Dumbledore, I have a suggestion. I don't agree with you constantly giving in to the Ministry. You're the Headmaster of Hogwarts—your duty is to keep all students safe."
"And don't forget, you're also the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot."
The Wizengamot, older than the Ministry itself, was a mix of court and council, and its Chief Warlock held authority that rivaled the Ministry's.
But Dumbledore had all but stepped back from that role, delegating most of his power.
Whether as Hogwarts' Headmaster or the Wizengamot's Chief Warlock, Dumbledore's influence was on par with the Ministry's top brass—politically, he was Fudge's equal.
Dudley, knowing a bit about Dumbledore's past, understood why he avoided power struggles. The man was done with them.
But as the great philosopher Sirius once said, "As long as you're alive, you're in the game. Where there are people, there's a battlefield."
Dumbledore could try to step away from power, but as long as he was alive, he'd be dragged back into it—whether he liked it or not.
Others didn't see it that way.
Power blinds people, makes them lose themselves.
With that, Dudley left the Headmaster's office, tossing a bag of treats to Fawkes on his way out.
He understood Dumbledore's perspective but didn't agree with it.
After he left, the portraits of past headmasters stirred to life, each offering their opinions.
"Dumbledore, I think he's right," a calm female voice said, surprising the others.
She rarely spoke, usually content to listen.
But she commanded unanimous respect from the other portraits.
Her name was Phylida Spore, the oldest among the headmaster portraits and the first to have one.
"In my time, there was no Ministry of Magic—just the Wizards' Council," she said.
"The Council managed the wizarding world, and Hogwarts trained exceptional witches and wizards. The roles were clear, and no one interfered with the other."
"Hogwarts answered only to its Headmaster. Even the Council's leader had to step aside."
"There's nothing wrong with valuing power, Dumbledore. But we should face it head-on, not shy away from it."
"I understand, Phylida. I know," Dumbledore said softly, his voice trailing off. "Let me think on it."
---
Sirius Black's break-in at Gryffindor Tower caused quite a stir.
During their free time, students couldn't stop talking about it, and the rumors grew wilder by the day.
Some said Sirius could transform into a flowering bush to evade the Dementors and sneak into Hogwarts.
Others claimed he passed through walls like a ghost, invisible to the Dementors.
The most ridiculous story was that Sirius had turned himself into dried potion ingredients and was hiding in Snape's storeroom.
That one was told with such conviction, they'd even made up a spell for it.
Dudley scoffed at the idea. If Sirius was hiding in Snape's storeroom, Snape would've sliced him up, ground him into paste, and boiled him into a potion by now.
But rumors were just that—rumors. The truth was probably far less exciting.
What if… Sirius had just used one of Hogwarts' secret passages to get in?
No way, the students said. That was too boring, too ordinary, too unmagical.
So the most likely explanation had no traction among them.
Days passed, and Sirius remained elusive, like he'd vanished after his brief appearance.
Meanwhile, Defense Against the Dark Arts went from the least popular class to the most beloved.
Professor Lupin's lessons were genuinely engaging—almost entirely practical, never repetitive, and focused on facing different dark creatures.
Like Red Caps, bloodthirsty, vicious little monsters rated XXXX. In the wild, they'd appear at the scent of blood, ambushing travelers until they were dead.
Or Kappas, water-dwelling creatures that dragged lost people underwater to drown and feed on their blood. Also XXXX, they looked like monkeys and were nicknamed "water monkeys."
Lupin tirelessly taught the students clever tricks for dealing with these creatures, and everyone learned a ton.
Even Dudley praised Lupin's teaching style.
A lot of what he taught couldn't be found in any textbook.