The visual layout of the office was quite amusing. Sitting in the imposing, high-backed armchair traditionally occupied by the rulers of Hogwarts was Ariana, devouring slices of cake with such a frenzy that her cheeks remained puffed to the limit of her capacity to swallow. At the opposite ends of the desk, both Dumbledore and I had our respective plates, though interest in eating was near zero on our part. We confined ourselves to breaking down matters of gravity—at least by the old man's standards—while guarding the girl's lunch.
"Seriously? Is the sugar addiction a family trait?" I commented with a muffled complaint. I extended my arm, holding a clean cloth to remove the excess cream decorating Ariana's cheek; she merely smiled without interrupting the rhythm of her chewing.
"It is... I suppose..." Albus managed to articulate, without paying me much attention.
His mind was a long way from receiving my mockery; his pupils remained welded to the silhouette of the one he had to accept as his sister... or an exact reflection of her. He was battling a violent internal storm, caught between the biological instinct to accept her and the analytical need to understand why her behavior was so far removed from the shadow he remembered.
"It was not possible for me to prevent the gestation of the Obscurus," I replied, anticipating the question he had yet to formulate directly. "Did I manage to resolve it? Yes, it was a success. But the cost was leaving her with the mental age of a very small child. With the limited conditions I had at my disposal during that temporal incursion, I could do no more. And when I finally returned to the present, even though I already possessed the means to try and resolve it... I decided against it." I observed Ariana with a mixture of serenity and detachment. "She has already carried enough hardships. This induced infantilism... gives her a sort of happiness. I considered that granting her the benefit of enjoying the simplicity of the world for a time would not be such a tragic fate."
Dumbledore absorbed the technical breakdown in silence. A new sigh escaped his chest while the knots in his heart experienced a dual, contradictory force: loosening at the salvation of the girl and tightening under the weight of his own guilt.
"Perhaps... you are right in your approach..." he admitted, unable to deny the purity of the joy emanating from his sister. That vivacity was an abyss away from the final, agonizing expression with which he had seen her expire on the floor of the rectory.
"Of course I am. As I already told you, we can evaluate a treatment further down the line. I lived with her for a good number of years, so... let's say I consider her a little sister. Perhaps not with the same intensity I reserve for my sisters of this reality, but considering it was I who brought her here, I harbor no intentions of washing my hands of her or leaving her at the mercy of fate. I intend to take responsibility for her, even if you decide you prefer to keep your hands clean of this matter." I delivered the statement without imbuing it with the slightest nuance of coercion. It was a consummated fact on my agenda.
A brief silence took hold of the office, allowing each to concentrate on their individual dynamics. I showed no haste to force the conversation; I granted the old man the necessary margin to reorder his thoughts.
"Why do you take so much trouble?" he inquired suddenly, causing me to arch an eyebrow, but then he complemented his question: "Why, possessing such an absolute mastery over the fundamental laws of magic, do you choose to operate under this design? Is this a sort of hobby for you? Are you pursuing a specific goal?"
His tone did not correspond to that of a teacher questioning a second-year student, nor even to that of an equal measuring forces with a fellow general. His body language betrayed the certainty of parleying with an ancestral monster trapped in the shell of a second-year student.
"Your reading suffers from a severe error of perspective, Headmaster," I replied, bringing the spoon to my mouth to taste a portion of the cake; watching Ariana had worked up my appetite. "You assume that sitting in front of your desk is someone capable of breaking the barriers of the chronological flow at will. But the reality is much simpler: I was not born with this ability, nor have I possessed it for very long. This capacity I gained midway through my first year at Hogwarts. It is... technically recent... Well, at least if we discount all those decades I invested in each temporal incursion."
"How old are you, exactly?" the old man inquired. His voice did not reduce the latent tension, but there was a deep need to reorder the puzzle he had of me... thinking of my entire evolution from our first meeting until now.
"To be completely honest with you, Headmaster... I haven't the faintest idea. I lost count a long time ago," I replied, balancing the spoon with indolence. "Some of my adventures were not exactly orderly. Furthermore, the constant exercise of transitioning from childhood to physical maturity in the loops, only to then find myself forced to readjust my consciousness to the biology of a teen in this timeline... causes severe psychological disorientation. But believe me when I tell you that I have seen and lived enough. I have pursued studies at Hogwarts in at least four radically different eras. I have sat in classrooms with the parents, grandparents, children, and grandchildren of my peers... And who knows with how many more ancestors or descendants without noticing it. I have met multiple versions of you, Albus... I have even held conversations with the portrait you left hanging on this very wall after your passing."
I shared the detail with a flash of mitigated nostalgia. The mention of another time did not cause me vertigo; after all, I had already brought back with me too many objects, knowledge, and people from those eras to consider them distant. Furthermore, if I wished, I possessed the means to relive those adventures as many times as I wanted.
Dumbledore exhaled a dense sigh... Because at this stage, a sigh was his only resource against the collapse of his perceptions. A secret of such magnitude was being revealed to him that it would have bewildered the most naive and overwhelmed the most brilliant scholar. The Headmaster no longer knew under what category to evaluate me; his eyes remained fixed on the wood of the table, unable to hold my gaze. Any theoretical preconception he had formulated about my nature lacked validity. In reality, very few things retained their logical sense in this room.
"Then... returning to my initial inquiry..." he articulated, and in his tone vibrated a mixture of intrigue, curiosity, and caution. "What is the ultimate destination of your actions? What is it that you pursue?"
His attitude adopted the mystical, ultra-cautious reverence he would dispense to an individual of Nicolas Flamel's stature, or perhaps to a higher entity. He stood before a phenomenon that escaped his capacity for deduction, analysis, or control. And yet, contemplating the living silhouette of his younger sister within arm's reach, a part of his being refused to fight against the tide; he felt the temptation to capitulate and let himself be carried away by the current of my resources.
"Well... in the beginning, my motivations were simple," I admitted, leaning back against the high back of the chair and pinning my eyes on the ceiling beams with a relaxed smile. "I only sought to have fun, squeeze out the possibilities, materialize my goals, and satisfy my personal desires. But things change. I am no longer alone... What previously implied only thinking of myself had to transform to think of the well-being of those who now depend on me... Of them."
The Headmaster did not dare ask whom I referred to. His mind, sharp and efficient, spun its own deductions on the spot: evoking the revelations of Nymphadora Tonks, he already had an answer, and he assumed that if I had been capable of extracting Ariana from a castrated timeline, my previous adventures must not have concluded with a solitary return either.
I did not grant him the necessary margin to get lost in his own conjectures. With a sharp movement, I slid a glossy pamphlet across the table accompanied by a thick file filled with planning, directives, and logistical requirements designed specifically for him.
Dumbledore took the pamphlet and unfolded it with cautious fingers. The contrast was almost comical: behind stylized typography and an impeccable background design, the illustrations decorating the text were rough, childish, and crude sketches. Typical of a small girl. And indeed, they were; my own daughter had insisted on "helping Daddy" with the project's design. Despite the crudeness of the art, the core message was perfectly understandable.
A single quick read of the summary was enough to make the old man arch an eyebrow, plunged into stupefaction. He adjusted his glasses and proceeded to break down the rest of the sheets, analyzing the rigorous macroeconomic and social planning that structured the dossier. He looked up at me, his features dominated by genuine surprise; that was not the "grand evil plan of absolute domination" that his defensive mind had cataloged as tyranny some time ago. It was something ridiculously mundane on its surface, but of an exceptional and revolutionary magnitude in its execution. In that microsecond, Tonks's past statements took on a crisp meaning within his inner self. He understood the complete design and let out a final sigh as the last doubts dissolved into the logic of the file, sparing him the need to ask.
"I suppose you wonder why I do not execute this by my own means, considering my resources," I commented, deliberately adopting a lazy countenance while resting my chin in my hand. "The answer boils down to an elemental criterion of efficiency, Professor. If I intended to resolve every problem on my own, it would cost me a considerably stressful display of energy and time. With your active cooperation and your influence in institutions... well, I save myself the fatigue. It will prove to be a much smoother and peaceful process than if I am forced to conquer it through the use of coercive force or unorthodox methodologies that would alter the order of the community."
Dumbledore scrutinized me in silence for a few dense moments. In his gaze, two contradictory readings crossed: he contemplated the incomprehensible, timeless being who had just altered his perceptions of the universe and magic, and simultaneously saw the student attempting to delegate his school duties to save himself the administrative effort.
"So... what do you think, Headmaster?" I said, still reclined against the chair, smiling at him and looking at Ariana out of the corner of my eye. "Doesn't it seem like a bargain? You get back what you desire most in the whole world, you resolve your regrets... and the only thing you have to do is cooperate a little bit with my goals. Believe me, it will even be good for you in other aspects. I might even let you use the Dragons of Albion freely... After all, we will be partners..."
After looking at me for a few moments, finally, the Headmaster dropped his defenses with a final sigh of acceptance. He extended his hand toward the cutlery, took his silver spoon, and served himself a generous additional portion of the cream cake. He brought the first bite to his mouth, and with the Elder Wand resting harmlessly on the desk, he began to read with professional meticulousness the terms of the file that would define the new cooperation agreement between us.