The Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, usually a sanctuary of wisdom and calm, felt more like a glass cell that morning. The air was heavy with the scent of ozone and stagnant magic. The silence was almost absolute, broken only by the erratic ticking of the silver instruments that crowded the shelves; devices that, after months of a sepulchral inactivity that had driven Albus mad, were now beginning to emit small flashes of light and spasmodic twirls. However, they did not bring the answers the old man sought.
Albus Dumbledore sat behind his oak desk, his face buried in his hands, allowing his long silvery beard to spill over the parchments. In front of him, a mountain of correspondence bearing the official seals of Gringotts and the Ministry of Magic seemed to mock his supposed omniscience. For decades, Albus had prided himself on being three steps ahead of everyone, but today, he felt as if he were walking blind through a labyrinth he himself had helped build.
The door swung wide open, hitting the stone wall with a dull echo. Minerva McGonagall entered with a step so light she almost seemed to float across the worn rugs. In contrast to the worry that had marked her face during the last few weeks of fruitless searching, her eyes now radiated a joy Albus did not remember seeing in years.
"Albus! You must read this immediately," Minerva exclaimed, placing a high-quality vellum parchment on the desk, right on top of the failed search reports. "Gringotts has just sent me the official documents for the new Lily Evans Scholarship. It is an absolute marvel! It is destined to fully fund the studies of talented Muggle-borns who lack financial resources. It is the purest and most beautiful tribute anyone could have made to Lily's memory."
Dumbledore slowly looked up. His eyes, which used to twinkle with a playful spark, were dull, surrounded by deep dark circles. His expression was somber, almost funereal.
"Minerva, that scholarship has been established and funded directly from the main Potter vaults," Albus said in a voice that sounded like gravel scraping metal. "Don't you realize what this means? Harry has taken absolute control of his inheritance. He has entered the vaults that I myself blocked for his protection."
Minerva let out a soft laugh, deliberately ignoring the Headmaster's warning tone. She approached Fawkes's perch, stroking the golden feathers of the phoenix, who let out a trill of approval.
"And thank Merlin he did!" Minerva replied, turning back to him with a renewed firmness. "The boy is showing a maturity, a vision, and a heart that fill me with a pride I cannot describe. If he has had the initiative to use his fortune to honor his mother and lend a hand to those who suffer what she suffered, it means he is well, Albus. It means that, despite everything, he has become the man James and Lily dreamed he would be. Isn't that what we wanted?"
"It's not that simple, Minerva," Dumbledore grunted, pointing a long, gnarled finger at the other letters piling up to his left. "Harry isn't just performing acts of charity to clean up his image. He has revoked my regency through an ancient blood rite. He has claimed his titles as Lord Potter and Lord Peverell in his own right, bypassing all the protocols I had established for his safety. And what's more... he has appointed his official regents for the Wizengamot: Amelia Bones and Andromeda Tonks."
Minerva paused for a moment, processing the news. For an instant, silence returned to the office, while the portraits of former Headmasters on the walls stopped pretending to sleep to listen intently. Far from being scandalized or showing fear, a smile of deep satisfaction spread across the lips of the Transfiguration professor.
"Amelia and Andromeda!" Minerva repeated, nodding with an approval that made Albus tense up. "Honestly, Albus, the boy could not have chosen better. Amelia is the most just and objective woman I know in the entire Ministry, someone who does not let herself be intimidated by factions. And Andromeda... well, she was always one of my brightest and bravest students. She was willing to lose her name and her status for love. If Harry has sought refuge and counsel under her wing, then we can finally sleep peacefully. He is in the hands of upright people who will protect him for who he is, not for what he represents."
"He should be under my guidance!" Dumbledore exploded, standing up abruptly. His lavender robes billowed with a gust of involuntary magic that made the paintings vibrate. "I am his designated guardian! Amelia and Andromeda do not understand the fragility of the current peace or what the Wizarding Britain is facing. They only see politics, laws, and procedures; I see the whole picture, the board where every piece must be in its place to survive what is coming."
Minerva stared at him, and for a second, the warmth in her gaze vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp steel.
"Perhaps that is the problem, Albus," she said in a calm voice but charged with an implicit warning. "Perhaps the 'whole picture' made you forget that Harry is a human being of flesh and blood, not a chess piece you can keep in a box until you decide to move it. If the boy has sought out Amelia and Andromeda, it is because they offer him something he feels he lacks: respect and transparency. You shouldn't be angry because you lost control of his votes in the Wizengamot; you should be relieved because the Boy finally has a family that backs him and loves him for himself."
Dumbledore did not respond. His gaze was lost in the silver instruments that, despite working again, no longer gave him the answers his soul craved. He felt that the silk thread with which he managed Harry's destiny had been cut, and he did not know where the boy was or what he thought of him.
Minerva, seeing that the discussion was over, turned to leave, clutching the scholarship parchment to her chest as if it were a treasure.
"I'll see you at the opening feast, Albus," she said from the doorway. "And for everyone's sake, I hope you have a sincere smile for Harry when he walks through those doors. He deserves it after all the silence you condemned him to."
When the door closed, Albus Dumbledore fell heavily into his chair. The chaos in his office was a pale reflection of the disorder in his mind. The Peverell and Potter seats were now in the hands of two of the most difficult women to manipulate in all of Britain. The game had changed drastically, and for the first time in decades, the Headmaster of Hogwarts had not the slightest idea what his opponent's next move would be... or if that opponent was the very boy he once called grandson.