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The Sorting Hat's snores echoed softly through the dimly lit office.
On the walls, the portraits of forr headmasters, ever watchful in their eternal vigil, found themselves subtly ushered away by the previous Headmaster of Hogwarts, Armando Dippet.
Without saying a word, he guided them to explore other fras across the castle, ensuring that no lingering gaze would intrude upon the conversation at hand.
Even Phineas Nigellus Black, the most notoriously cantankerous of Hogwarts' headmasters, slipped away from his fra in an unusual display of discretion.
"Hmm?"
The astute Ravenclaw Prefect, Penelope Clearwater, remained oblivious to this quiet retreat, but she sensed an imperceptible shift in the atmosphere. Instinctively, her gaze flickered toward Fawkes, the phoenix who had escorted her to the Headmaster's office.
Perched elegantly upon his gilded stand, Fawkes was in the midst of going through his Buring Day and he was reaching it; crimson and gold feathers drifted gently to the floor. Though Penelope couldn't quite discern the reason, the sight of the magnificent bird remained utterly srizing.
"I only asked a simple question— who would have thought the news would spread so swiftly?" Penelope, ever inquisitive, had rely been acting on her keen sense of curiosity.
She certainly hadn't expected a ghost to carry her inquiry straight to the headmaster.
"Miss Clearwater, Hogwarts keeps no secrets forever." Dumbledore's voice carried a trace of mirth as he poured himself a cup of steaming honeyed black tea into an exquisite porcelain cup.
"Would you care for so?"
Penelope had long since abandoned any hope of coaxing Dumbledore into sharing the coveted sweets he kept in his office. But truthfully, with confusion swirling in her mind and unease pressing on her chest, she had little appetite for tea.
"No, thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore. I haven't broken any school rules, have I?"
Her foremost concern was whether she had overstepped so unspoken boundary. All she had done was inquire about a pair of seemingly non-existent twins— how could that warrant an audience with the headmaster himself?
Under ordinary circumstances, Dumbledore rarely sought private discussions with students unless there was a matter of significance at hand.
"Of course not."
Dumbledore took a asured sip of his tea. "But tell , Miss Clearwater, have you considered that there may be those who prefer their painful mories remain undisturbed?"
His voice was gentle, yet the weight of his words pressed upon the room.
"Because the two brothers I asked about had a younger sister who passed away?" Penelope furrowed her brow. "I searched through Hogwarts' student records from recent years, but I found no ntion of anyone nad Ariana. Nor did I hear anything from the professors about a pair of twins losing a younger sister."
"Indeed, the Weasley twins have a younger sister— but she is very much alive. Percy even showed a photograph of her."
The diligent prefect recounted her efforts thodically.
"When I found no trace of the person I sought in the recent records, I reasoned that she must have been from long ago. That's why I turned to the ghosts."
"Most were unhelpful, but so… so seed rather unwilling to discuss it at all."
Her words trailed into silence.
The quiet hum of the office was abruptly punctuated by an absence—
The Sonorus charm, woven so subtly into the room's wards, had been dispelled.
Penelope's sharp eyes caught sothing unusual.
Dumbledore's hand, steady as an unshakable pillar even in the gravest of crises, trembled as he lifted his teacup—
An impossible sight for a wizard of his power and poise.
"To… to… to…"
The final syllables caught in her throat as realization struck with the force of a Bludger.
Just a mont ago, Dumbledore had offered her a gentle reminder—
"Because that child never enrolled in Hogwarts, Miss Clearwater, so you certainly won't find her na." Dumbledore set his cup down with care and spoke, his voice composed as ever.
But behind the crescent-moon spectacles, his deep blue eyes— so often twinkling with knowing amusent— now trembled like the surface of a storm-tossed sea.
Unspoken emotions lay buried within those eyes.
Seeing this, Penelope's pupils shrank, and the faint flush of warmth in her cheeks drained away in an instant.
Her mind reeled.
The weight of her discovery pressed harder than the unease she had felt when stumbling upon the remnants of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's unfortunate tenure.
"I— I don't know anything! Headmaster!"
The ever-curious prefect, now gripped by a wave of panic, finally understood the gravity of her inquiry. She had unknowingly trespassed upon a subject that wizards only whispered about in hushed reverence.
Dumbledore had a twin?
This was no idle speculation— this was a truth she had never imagined.
Had she known that what Ian so casually referred to as "a little trouble" was tied to the Headmaster himself, she would have avoided the subject entirely—
In fact, she would have sat at the farthest end of the Great Hall from him during the Sorting Feast!
"This was all Ian's doing! He asked to look into it, right before school started— at the Sorting Ceremony dinner!"
Still overwheld, Penelope instinctively placed the bla on her well-aning but evidently mischievous junior.
Well.
Perhaps he is not so well-aning after all!
At that mont, Penelope felt as if she were seated upon a cursed broomstick spiraling out of control.
"I'm sorry, Headmaster Dumbledore…" She lowered her head, her voice quivering with remorse.
Across from her, the venerable Headmaster of Hogwarts rely smiled gently and shook his head.
"At first, I was indeed a little unsettled," he admitted. "But soon I realized that I should actually thank you."
Penelope blinked, confused. "Thank ?"
Dumbledore's gaze softened. "Miss Clearwater, you have brought closer to the truth of certain matters."
His words left her utterly baffled. She ran through the possibilities in her mind, grasping for a thread of understanding, but nothing quite fit.
"What…?" She couldn't help but ask.
Dumbledore's smile remained, kind but unreadable. "It has been a very long ti since I last spoke of Ariana. I would hate for this matter to interfere with the studies of other young witches and wizards."
The aning was clear.
Penelope understood perfectly.
"I swear— I won't speak a word of this to anyone. Not even Ian."
She nodded fervently.
"That's not necessary; I actually want to see the child's reaction," Dumbledore said with a smile, his emotions long since concealed.
"Alright, alright."
Penelope nodded again, secretly relieved, thinking she had survived this terrifying interrogation. However, in the next mont, her pupils reflected a shocking scene— the most powerful wizard of the 20th century, the nesis of the Dark Lord, the invincible Albus Dumbledore, drew forth the wand that had vanquished countless foes.
"As the headmaster of Hogwarts, I believe no one understands the nature of young wizards better than I do," Dumbledore spoke softly in the face of Penelope's fearful gaze.
"Miss Clearwater, would you mind if I personally taught you so content reserved for Sixth Year students and revealed a little-known feature of Hogwarts?"
It seed like a polite inquiry and Dumbledore's expression radiated warmth.
(End of this chapter)
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