The Boy Who Gambled

The headmaster’s office was eerily quiet, save for the occasional soft whirring of silver instruments and the low crackling of the fire in the hearth. Harry sat stiffly in one of the large, ornate chairs across from Dumbledore’s desk, his wand resting lightly in his hand. He felt the weight of the headmaster’s gaze on him, but he refused to look away, meeting Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes head-on.

“Mr. LeBeau,” Dumbledore began, his tone measured and calm. “I trust you understand the gravity of what transpired tonight.”

Harry gave a small nod. “Yes, sir. I do.”

The headmaster leaned forward slightly, his hands folded on the desk. “While your bravery in confronting the troll is commendable, it was reckless. You put yourself in great danger—danger that could have been avoided had you alerted a professor.”

“I didn’t have time,” Harry explained, his voice quiet but steady. “The troll was about to crush Tonks. I couldn’t just stand there and let it happen.”

Dumbledore regarded him for a long moment, his eyes searching Harry’s face for something. Then, with a soft sigh, he leaned back in his chair. “Your intentions were noble, as they often are. But I must impress upon you, Harry, that there are responsibilities that come with your unique abilities. We must be careful how we use them.”

Harry shifted slightly, uncomfortable under the weight of Dumbledore’s words. His fingers absently ran along the length of his wand, the smooth, dark wood of Blackthorn cool beneath his touch. “I understand,” he said softly.

Dumbledore’s eyes flickered briefly to the wand in Harry’s hand, curiosity sparking in them. “I see you carry a Blackthorn wand. A very powerful wood, but often drawn to those who lead tumultuous lives. May I ask what core resides within it?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “Veela hair, sir.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows raised slightly, the curiosity in his expression deepening. “A most unusual combination. Fitting, I should think, given your unique heritage.”

Harry blinked. “My heritage?”

Dumbledore smiled faintly, but didn’t elaborate. “We’ll speak of that another time. For now, you are free to go, but I ask that you exercise more caution in the future.”

Harry nodded, rising from the chair. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

As Harry made his way out of the office, his mind raced with thoughts of what Dumbledore had said. His unique heritage? He had always known there was something different about him, but the way Dumbledore spoke made it seem like there was more to it than just his upbringing with Remy.

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Later that evening, Harry found himself wandering the halls of Hogwarts. The night had grown quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of the day fading into the gentle stillness of the castle. He felt restless, like there was something unresolved after the confrontation with the troll. His steps eventually led him down toward the Hufflepuff common room, where he remembered Tonks saying she stayed.

To his surprise, Tonks was just leaving the common room, her bubblegum-pink hair standing out against the dimly lit corridor. She spotted Harry almost immediately and grinned, waving him over.

“Oi! Ace!” she called, walking over to him. “What brings you down here?”

Harry shrugged, feeling a bit sheepish. “Just needed some air. Thought I’d check in on you—make sure you were alright after what happened earlier.”

Tonks laughed, her eyes bright. “Me? I’m tougher than I look, don’t worry.” She paused for a moment, then added more seriously, “But thanks, though. You really saved my skin back there.”