That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting gold and violet light across the castle, Roy Valvas climbed the spiral staircase leading to the Headmaster's Office. The great stone gargoyle guarding the entrance had stepped aside the moment Roy approached — Dumbledore had clearly told it to expect him.
With a soft hum of gears, the staircase spiraled upward, and the door opened into a circular chamber that seemed to hum with quiet magic. Shelves overflowed with mysterious trinkets — whirring devices, silver instruments puffing out clouds of smoke, and tomes that seemed to whisper faintly to each other.
But what drew Roy's attention were the portraits.
The walls were covered with paintings of former Headmasters and Headmistresses, all half-dozing in their frames or chatting idly with one another. The room brightened the moment Roy stepped inside.
"Ah, a polite young man! A rarity these days," murmured a kindly witch in lavender robes.Roy smiled and bowed slightly. "Good evening, Professors. It's an honor to meet the former leaders of Hogwarts."
A few portraits nodded in approval, whispering to each other. One of them — a tall, narrow-faced wizard with dark hair and piercing eyes — straightened with interest.
"Well, well. A boy with manners and confidence," said Phineas Nigellus Black, his tone dry but curious. "Tell me, young man — are you another Gryffindor glory-chaser or one of those brooding Slytherin prodigies?"
Roy smirked faintly. "Neither, sir. I'm a Hufflepuff."
Phineas blinked, almost spilling his goblet of wine in disbelief. "A Hufflepuff? Merlin's beard. Haven't seen one that composed since Helga's age."
Roy's gaze shifted across the office — and then stopped.
Against the far wall, half-hidden beneath a heavy velvet cloth, stood a tall, elegant mirror framed with ornate runes. It emanated a faint hum of magic that prickled against his skin.
"That's the Mirror of Erised," Phineas said casually, catching Roy's glance. "It shows one's deepest desire — the heart's truest longing."
Roy tilted his head. "A mirror that reveals desire… sounds dangerous."
Phineas smiled faintly. "For most, yes. But everyone who's ever looked into it has been fascinated — trapped even. Would you like to see what your heart wants, young Valvas?"
Roy's expression didn't change. "No."
A murmur ran through the portraits.
"No?" repeated Phineas, raising an eyebrow.
Roy looked up at him calmly. "If I desire something, I'll earn it with my own hands. I don't need a mirror to remind me what I lack."
For a long moment, silence filled the room — the only sound the ticking of an ancient clock. Then the witch in the lavender robe chuckled softly."Well said, dear boy."
Phineas blinked, clearly thrown off. "You'd… refuse to look?"
Roy smiled faintly. "Did you become Headmaster by staring into mirrors, Mr. Black? Or did you work for it?"
Several portraits laughed outright, and one old wizard snorted, "He's got you there, Phineas!"
Phineas's face turned red as he sputtered, "I was one of the finest Heads this school ever had!"
"Oh, please," another portrait groaned. "You were loathed by your students!"
That set off a wave of chuckles. Before Phineas could retort, a portrait of a kindly, round-faced woman in Hufflepuff colors hopped from her frame and smacked him on the back of the head with a rolled-up parchment.
"Don't shout at the boy, Phineas. He's got more sense than you ever did."
Phineas glared, but before another word could be said—
A quiet chuckle filled the air.
"Now, now," came a familiar voice. "Let's not start another portrait war this early in the evening."
Professor Dumbledore stepped into view, robes of midnight blue glimmering faintly. He'd been invisible until now — watching silently, as he often did when he wished to see someone's heart unguarded.
Roy turned and bowed slightly. "Professor."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles. "I must say, Mr. Valvas, you handled Phineas rather gracefully. I was quite interested to see whether you'd peek beneath that cloth, but it seems you've already learned a lesson some adults never do."
Roy smiled faintly. "Curiosity's useful, sir — but temptation is another matter."
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Very wise words for one so young. Then again…" His gaze softened. "You are Darius Valvas's grandson. I should have expected as much."
Roy blinked in surprise. "You know my grandfather?"
"Indeed," Dumbledore said warmly. "We crossed paths during the war — and again later, when politics between the magical and non-magical worlds became… complicated. He's a man of formidable conviction."
Roy nodded. "He mentioned you once."
Dumbledore gestured to a pair of chairs by the fire. "Come, sit. I believe we share a fondness for conversation — and for extraordinary birds."
They sat. The fire crackled softly as Dumbledore poured tea.
"Articuno," Dumbledore said, eyes glinting. "A creature of ice and serenity. How did you come to meet such a legend, if I may ask?"
Roy hesitated for the briefest moment before replying smoothly, "I found her when I was hiking in the French Alps. She'd been abandoned — just a hatchling. I raised her myself."
Dumbledore smiled gently. "Ah. Then she's imprinted upon you — no wonder she's so loyal. It takes great patience to raise a creature of that magnitude. You must have a kind soul, Mr. Valvas."
Roy only smiled. "I just did what anyone would've done."
The two spoke at length — of phoenixes, of magical bonds, of the ancient laws of familiars. Dumbledore shared stories of Fawkes: how he'd been reborn many times, how his flames healed, and how loyalty between human and phoenix was rarer than prophecy itself.
Then the air shimmered — and Fawkes appeared in a burst of golden light, perching gracefully upon Dumbledore's chair. The phoenix turned his bright eyes toward Roy, then glided to his shoulder, nuzzling his cheek.
Roy chuckled softly and petted the bird's gleaming feathers. "You're warmer than I imagined," he said fondly.
Fawkes trilled, the sound melodious and ancient. To Dumbledore's astonishment, Roy responded — not in English, but in the language of phoenixes, a series of gentle tones and subtle hums.
Whatever Roy said made Fawkes laugh — a clear, crystalline song that echoed through the office.
Dumbledore blinked. "You… understand him?"
Roy nodded easily. "Since I was little, animals seem to understand me — and sometimes, I understand them back. It's… always been that way."
Dumbledore leaned back, truly impressed now. "A gift most rare, indeed. That you would make a phoenix laugh—well, I daresay you've done something no spell could compel."
Fawkes gave one final trill and said to Roy, "You may visit me anytime, friend. Bring the Ice One — I think I like her."
Roy smiled. "I'll hold you to that."
As Fawkes vanished in another shimmer of gold, Dumbledore watched the boy before him quietly. There was something more to Roy Valvas — not just intelligence, but the kind of poise and depth that came once in a generation.
He finally said, "Mr. Valvas… you are a most remarkable young man. Your grandfather was right — Hogwarts will remember your name."
Roy rose, bowing slightly. "Thank you, Professor. I'll do my best to live up to that."
And as he left the office, Dumbledore gazed into the fire, smiling faintly.
For the first time in years, he felt the winds of destiny stirring again.