For a while, neither of them spoke.
The Black Lake stretched out before them like polished obsidian, disturbed only occasionally by the slow ripple of water or the distant shadow of the giant squid gliding beneath the surface. Leaves rustled overhead, the breeze carrying the scent of summer grass and old stone.
Petunia sat with her legs neatly folded on the rug, her posture relaxed, almost languid. One hand held her glass of orange juice, the other idly turning a strawberry between her fingers.
Beside her, Albus Dumbledore watched the lake as well, his expression calm, his beard shifting gently in the wind.
Several seconds of peaceful silence passed.
Then—
"So, little princess," Dumbledore said softly.
Petunia's eyes flickered briefly in his direction.
"What do you think of the magical world outside your realm?"
He turned his head slightly toward her.
"I would very much like to hear your honest opinion."
For a fraction of a second, the sunlight caught his glasses just right.
And his eyes flashed.
Sharp.
Observant.
Calculating.
To any passerby, the question would have sounded harmless—an old professor idly asking a curious child what she thought of the wizarding world.
But Dumbledore knew better.
Petunia Targaryen was not an ordinary girl.
Yesterday's duel had been a test of power.
Of capability.
Of control.
Today was something else entirely.
A test of thought.
A test of perspective.
Because whether the wizarding world wished it or not, Petunia was the heir to a powerful parallel realm—one with dragons, ancient bloodlines, and political structures far older than the British Ministry.
If she believed in domination…
If she believed in conquest…
If she believed that the magical world here was weak…
Then that would change everything.
Petunia glanced at him briefly.
Her gaze was calm.
Too calm.
She could practically see the questions moving behind his eyes.
Ah.
So this was what he wanted.
Not a student's opinion.
A ruler's philosophy.
Petunia considered it for a moment.
Then decided—
This would be fun.
She leaned back slightly and returned her gaze to the lake.
"From observing the magical world for the past year," she began calmly, "I have come to understand several structural characteristics of its political system."
Dumbledore's eyebrow lifted slightly.
Petunia continued as if delivering a lecture.
"The Ministry of Magic functions as the central governing authority. However, unlike most Muggle governments—which separate power into legislative, executive, and judicial branches—the Ministry frequently blurs these distinctions."
She raised a finger slightly.
"The Minister for Magic is effectively the supreme executive authority. Technically they are 'elected,' but in practice the process appears closer to elite selection rather than popular representation among the magical population."
Dumbledore blinked once.
Petunia continued.
"Beneath the Minister, power is divided among various Departments. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement appears to hold the greatest practical authority, followed by bodies such as the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
She took a sip of juice.
Then added casually—
"There is also no clear constitutional framework. Laws may be issued or altered through Ministry decree or Wizengamot rulings, which introduces considerable vulnerability to political corruption."
Dumbledore turned toward her fully now.
Petunia's tone remained calm.
"The Wizengamot itself functions as both judiciary and legislature. Approximately fifty members, identifiable by plum-colored robes. Their responsibilities include high-profile trials and policy decisions."
She paused slightly.
"The system therefore lacks strong checks and balances."
Petunia lifted her hand and began counting softly on her fingers.
"Press freedom is limited. The Ministry frequently uses The press as a propaganda instrument."
"Due process is inconsistent. Prisoners were reportedly sent to Azkaban without trial."
"Accountability is minimal. Ministers are not removed through fixed election cycles."
She lowered her hand.
"The entire system relies heavily on the personal integrity of whoever happens to hold power at the time."
Silence settled over the lakeside.
Dumbledore stared at her.
For a moment, he looked genuinely stunned.
Not by criticism—that he expected.
But by the precision.
The analysis.
The calm detachment with which a twelve-year-old girl had just dissected the entire wizarding political structure.
Finally, he spoke.
"You speak as though democracy holds little merit, little Petunia," he said thoughtfully.
He leaned back slightly in the grass.
"After all, it is certainly preferable to concentrating power within a single family."
His eyes twinkled.
"Wouldn't you agree? For example… the Targaryens."
It was bait.
Carefully placed.
He wanted a reaction.
Petunia knew it.
She smirked faintly.
"Well," she said mildly.
"That is subjective."
Inside, however—
She was having the time of her life.
Inventing history.
Constructing political philosophies.
Watching one of the greatest wizards alive treat it all as real.
It was intoxicating.
She continued smoothly.
"Society requires a wise and righteous leader."
She shrugged slightly.
"Yes, such systems can fail if the wrong ruler takes power. But in the case of the Targaryens, that risk is mitigated."
She tapped her temple.
"From birth, heirs are placed under rigorous training and education. Philosophy, governance, warfare, diplomacy."
Her eyes flickered briefly toward him.
"As you have seen from my grandmother, Cersei."
Dumbledore said nothing.
Petunia continued.
"Our species also enjoys extended lifespans similar to wizards. Time allows wisdom to accumulate."
"And we are rarely alone."
She gestured lightly.
"Kings are surrounded by advisors, scholars, generals."
Then she tilted her head slightly.
"As for 'democracy'…"
She made small quotation marks in the air with her fingers.
"Democracy does not select the best leader."
Her voice remained soft.
"It selects the best liar."
Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly.
"And that," Petunia said calmly, "is why every democracy eventually fails."
She leaned forward slightly now, elbows resting on her knees.
"Democracy does not reward wisdom."
"It rewards persuasion."
"The man who understands reality loses to the man who manipulates perception."
"The honest loses to the charming."
"The disciplined loses to the theatrical."
Dumbledore listened quietly.
Because the frightening part was—
He had thought these things before.
Long ago.
But hearing them spoken so clearly—
So bluntly—
By a twelve-year-old child…
It forced him to reconsider them in ways he had long avoided.
Petunia continued.
"There was once a philosopher in my realm," she said thoughtfully.
"Plato."
The name meant nothing in this world.
But she spoke it with quiet authority.
"As my royal tutor often reminds us—"
Her voice lowered slightly.
"The heaviest penalty for declining rule… is to be ruled by someone inferior."
She looked back at the lake.
"That is not moral advice."
"It is a law of power."
"When competence withdraws, manipulation advances."
"When truth becomes costly, lies become efficient."
"And when popularity determines authority…"
She glanced toward Dumbledore again.
"Deception becomes strategy."
The wind stirred gently across the water.
"Democracy does not collapse from the outside," she finished softly.
"It hollows itself out from within."
"And when the lies finally shake the system apart…"
She paused.
"The outcome is predictable."
Then Petunia turned fully toward him.
Her gaze sharpened.
Predatory.
Ancient in a way no twelve-year-old's eyes should ever look.
"The people," she said quietly,
"do not resist tyranny."
"They beg for it."
Silence swallowed the lakeside.
For a brief moment after Petunia's last words, the lakeside felt colder.
The breeze still moved across the water.
Leaves still rustled above them.
But something had shifted between them.
Albus Dumbledore watched the girl beside him, and in her calm posture, in the steady confidence behind her gaze, a shadow from his past stirred.
A memory.
Another brilliant young mind.
Another voice that once spoke with conviction about the flaws of the world.
Another friend who had believed the world could be remade.
'For the greater good.'
Dumbledore's fingers tightened slightly around the grass.
He could almost see him again—standing tall, eyes burning with vision and ambition.
The man who had once been his closest ally.
The man he had later been forced to oppose.
Petunia's words had carried that same certainty.
That same quiet belief that systems could be dissected and replaced.
The difference was that this girl—
This royal heir—
Spoke with the authority of someone who might actually possess the power to attempt it.
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened.
And when he spoke again, the warmth in his voice had changed.
The playful softness vanished.
"Miss Targaryen," he said calmly.
"We made an agreement with Lady Cersei."
His tone was measured now. Direct.
"That you would study here at Hogwarts with the purpose of mastering your magic."
Petunia did not interrupt.
"You are currently residing in a world that you do not innately belong to," he continued. "A world which is not yours to rule."
His gaze remained steady.
"You possess a realm of your own."
"And that responsibility awaits you."
The lake rippled quietly behind them.
"Once your years at Hogwarts are complete," Dumbledore finished, "we expect you to return to your realm, as agreed."
The words settled heavily in the air.
Petunia watched him with mild curiosity.
Dumbledore continued, his voice firm now.
"Petunia of House Targaryen."
"You must promise me that during your time in this world, you will not interfere beyond what is expected of a student."
"You will not attempt to gain political influence within the British magical world."
"And you will not involve yourself in its governance."
This was necessary.
Because if Petunia truly wished to reshape this world—
He suspected she could.
Her mind alone was dangerous.
Combined with the power she carried…
The magical world could be overturned before anyone even realized it was happening.
Dumbledore had seen the Celestial Kingdom with his own eyes.
A realm where magic and technology coexisted seamlessly.
Cities gleaming with enchanted architecture.
Transportation systems powered by arcane engines.
And dragons…
Dragons that wandered the streets like well-fed cats lounging in sunlight.
It had been… unsettling.
A civilization centuries ahead of anything the wizarding world had achieved.
If Petunia grew attached to this world…
If she decided the magical community here was inefficient, backward, corrupt—
She might very well try to fix it.
Or worse.
Annex it.
So yes.
Perhaps it was cruel to remind her she did not belong here.
But the magical world needed to grow by its own efforts.
Not be reshaped by an outsider princess.
Dumbledore finished quietly.
"In exchange, I will assist you in controlling your powers and provide guidance whenever needed."
Petunia stared at him for a few seconds.
Then—
She smiled.
Not warmly.
But with clear amusement.
"I see," she said.
"So you mean… I mind my own business."
Their eyes met.
And Dumbledore could not help but notice the glint there.
It reminded him uncomfortably of Cersei's gaze.
That same sharp intelligence wrapped in effortless confidence.
Petunia shrugged lightly.
"I can do that."
She leaned back slightly against the tree.
"This 'magical' world of yours doesn't interest me much, Albus Dumbledore."
The way she said his full name carried no disrespect.
But no intimidation either.
Then her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Although," she added calmly, "saying I don't belong here is quite false."
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"And you know that."
Dumbledore said nothing.
"I'm not a naive child," Petunia continued. "I already know my ancestors originated from this world."
Her fingers tapped lightly against her glass.
"In fact, the very defect you worry about in my body exists precisely because of that connection."
Her gaze sharpened.
"One of your wizards mingled with my bloodline long ago."
Dumbledore's brows knit slightly.
Petunia continued casually.
"What I can promise you is simple."
"I will not interfere with the political affairs of this world."
She waved her hand dismissively.
"I genuinely don't care enough to bother."
of course, that was a lie .but that part of her plans can wait until albus was seven feet under .
Dumbledore listened carefully.
"What I cannot promise," she continued, "is returning immediately after graduation."
She smiled faintly.
"My father is still young."
Dumbledore blinked.
"By our standards, anyway. He's only a hundred."
Petunia sighed dramatically.
"So I may have to wait for him to grow bored of ruling."
She wrinkled her nose slightly.
"And frankly, court etiquette is exhausting."
"I'd like to enjoy my youth."
The wind stirred her hair slightly.
"But I won't participate in anything major."
Dumbledore watched her closely.
Not once had she looked uncertain.
Not once had she flinched beneath the weight of his authority.
This girl spoke to him as an equal negotiating terms.
Then Petunia tilted her head slightly.
"Though, Professor…"
Her eyes gleamed with quiet mischief.
"Are you certain you won't regret this decision?"
Before Dumbledore could respond—
Footsteps approached rapidly across the grass.
"Albus."
Both of them turned.
Professor McGonagall was striding toward them, her robes moving briskly in the wind. Her expression was serious.
She held a letter in one hand.
"Albus, a message for you."
She stopped beside them.
"It's important."
Dumbledore stood slowly.
Something in Minerva's voice told him this was not a routine matter.
As he accepted the letter, the peaceful lakeside atmosphere seemed to tighten with unseen tension.
And Petunia, watching quietly from her rug, wondered what new complication the day had decided to deliver.
----------
For several minutes after Professor McGonagall handed him the letter, Albus Dumbledore did not speak.
The parchment trembled slightly between his fingers.
Petunia watched quietly from her rug, her sharp eyes noting the subtle changes in the old wizard's posture. His shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. The usual twinkle behind his glasses dimmed.
Once.
Then again.
He read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
Slowly, carefully, as if hoping the words might rearrange themselves into something less grave.
They did not.
Dumbledore lowered the parchment to his lap, his gaze lingering on it as though he could still hear the voice of the sender echoing through the ink.
For the first time since she had met him, Petunia saw something crack beneath his composed exterior.
Not fear.
Something heavier.
Recognition.
Understanding.
Then, without a word, Dumbledore stood abruptly.
The sudden movement broke the calm atmosphere of the lakeside like a stone thrown into still water.
Petunia's eyes followed him as he turned away.
McGonagall was already rising as well, concern etched clearly across her face.
"Albus?" she asked.
But Dumbledore was already walking toward the castle.
Fast.
Petunia watched their retreating figures with quiet interest.
Something serious had just happened.
---
The corridors of Hogwarts echoed with hurried footsteps.
"Albus!" McGonagall called after him, struggling slightly to keep up with his unusually brisk pace. "What has happened that warrants such urgency?"
Dumbledore did not slow down.
"There was an attack," he said quietly.
McGonagall's eyes widened.
"On Grindelwald's prison."
She stopped walking for half a step.
Then hurried forward again.
"The prison castle?" she asked sharply.
"Yes."
Dumbledore's voice had lost its warmth entirely.
"All guards have been killed."
McGonagall inhaled sharply.
"And Grindelwald…"
There was a pause.
"His body was found in his cell."
McGonagall stared at him in disbelief.
"Was it dark wizards?" she asked, though the question was almost reflexive.
"Yes."
They reached the main entrance hall.
Dumbledore turned to her briefly.
"I will leave immediately."
His expression had become something cold and distant.
"I may not be present for the first few days of the school year."
McGonagall nodded slowly, still trying to process the implications.
But as she studied his face more closely—
She saw it.
Behind the calm.
Behind the control.
A quiet grief.
Because for all of Gellert Grindelwald's crimes—
For all the destruction he had caused—
There had once been a time when he and Albus Dumbledore had stood side by side.
Two brilliant young men.
Dreaming of changing the world.
Grindelwald had embraced that vision completely.
Even its darkest consequences.
Dumbledore had not.
And yet—
Even after defeating him.
Even after imprisoning him.
There had always remained something complicated between them.
Understanding.
Memory.
A shadow of friendship that refused to vanish.
That was the hypocrisy of the man many called the greatest white wizard of the age.
He could condemn Grindelwald's ideology.
But he could never completely hate the one person who had once understood him so perfectly.
Before McGonagall could say anything further—
Dumbledore raised his wand.
With a swift, silent motion—
He vanished.
Apparition cracked through the air.
Leaving Minerva McGonagall standing alone in the entrance hall.
"…Wait—what?"
She blinked once.
Then sighed deeply.
"Wonderful," she muttered.
"A murdered dark wizard and an absent headmaster."
She rubbed her temples.
"And I'm left with the paperwork."
---
The prison castle rose like a black scar against the grey horizon.
Ancient.
Cold.
Its jagged towers clawed toward the sky, surrounded by jagged cliffs and dark forests that seemed permanently shrouded in mist.
Aurors swarmed the grounds like ants around a broken hive.
Defensive wards flickered faintly across the air.
At the front gate, two Aurors stood guard, wands drawn.
They noticed the approaching figure almost immediately.
"Stop there!" one shouted.
Both men raised their wands into combat position as the cloaked figure stepped through the mist.
For a moment, neither of them lowered their guard.
Even when the moonlight revealed the familiar long beard and half-moon glasses.
Polyjuice Potion.
Illusions.
There were too many ways to impersonate a wizard.
Then Dumbledore reached calmly into his robes.
He removed a small metal badge.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it toward them.
The Auror caught it.
Both men leaned closer to inspect it.
The Order of Merlin emblem gleamed under the torchlight.
Authentic.
No illusion charm.
No magical tampering.
The two Aurors immediately straightened and saluted.
"Professor Dumbledore, sir."
They returned the badge respectfully.
Dumbledore slipped it back into his robes without a word.
"Report," he said simply.
One of the Aurors nodded.
"We believe there were three attackers."
He gestured toward the fortress.
"Two engaged the guards. The third entered the central tower."
Dumbledore's eyes hardened slightly.
"The leader," the Auror continued.
"The others handled the perimeter. Every guard was killed quickly."
Professional.
Efficient.
Then the Auror added quietly—
"The leader went straight for Grindelwald."
Dumbledore said nothing.
He simply walked past them toward the entrance.
---
The interior of the prison castle was dim and silent.
Broken stone littered the floors.
Dark scorch marks stained the walls.
The deeper Dumbledore went, the clearer the battle's intensity became.
This had not been a quiet assassination.
It had been a fight.
A brutal one.
Eventually he reached the highest chamber.
Grindelwald's cell.
Or rather—
His prison suite.
Because even imprisoned, Grindelwald had never been treated like an ordinary criminal.
The room resembled a noble's chamber more than a cell.
Large windows.
Stone pillars.
Furniture crafted decades ago.
But now—
The room was in ruins.
Stone walls had been cracked by powerful magic.
Furniture lay shattered.
Charred marks covered the floor like scars from explosive spells.
Dumbledore stepped slowly into the wreckage.
Even without a wand…
Gellert Grindelwald had never been harmless.
He had been one of the most dangerous wizards in history.
Stripped of his wand, yes.
But still capable of magic few Aurors could match.
In truth—
If Grindelwald had truly wanted to escape this prison…
He probably could have.
But he never did.
Perhaps it had been a gesture toward Dumbledore.
A quiet acknowledgement of defeat.
Or perhaps—
He had simply accepted that his era had ended.
Dumbledore's gaze drifted across the destroyed chamber.
And toward the place where Grindelwald's body had been found.
The battle had clearly been fierce.
Which meant the attacker had not come merely to kill.
They had come prepared to face Gellert Grindelwald.
And win.
Dumbledore's expression darkened slightly.
Because very few people in the world could do that.
Dumbledore stood silently in the ruined chamber.
The cold wind from the shattered window drifted through the room, stirring the broken parchment scattered across the floor. Somewhere far below, Aurors moved through the corridors, their muffled voices echoing faintly through the ancient stone.
But in this room—
There was only silence.
And memory.
As Dumbledore stared at the destruction around him, another voice rose in his mind.
Soft.
Slow.
Whispering like something ancient crawling across the inside of his skull.
Cersei's voice.
Not spoken aloud, but remembered with eerie clarity.
The words she had spoken weeks ago .
A gift, she said.
Or perhaps a warning.
Her voice slithered through his thoughts again.
Beware, my boy…
For the hollowed skull shall rise in the sky, and death will walk clothed in false life.
Dumbledore's fingers tightened slightly around his wand.
The boy with your eyes, but not your name…
Shall carry a wand soaked in guilt.
His breath slowed.
He shall raise his hand against what you once held closer than your own heart…
And in doing so… bring about your ruin.
Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly.
Losing Grindelwald—
He had always believed he was prepared for that moment.
Grindelwald had lived decades as a prisoner.
A relic of a war long past.
Yet somehow…
This felt wrong.
Too sudden.
Too abrupt.
Perhaps he had always assumed there would be time.
One final conversation.
One quiet afternoon.
A cup of tea shared between two old men who had once dreamed of ruling the world together.
A chance to finally settle old grievances.
To speak honestly once more.
But that moment was gone now.
Stolen.
And the loss struck him harder than he expected.
Dumbledore opened his eyes again and gazed slowly across the shattered chamber.
If Cersei's prophecy was true…
Then Grindelwald's death might not simply be an assassination.
It might be a beginning.
A new Dark Lord rising.
And perhaps—
One even worse than the last.
Dumbledore exhaled quietly.
Without looking away from the ruined room, he spoke to the Auror standing behind him.
"Leave me for a moment."
The Auror hesitated.
But the authority in Dumbledore's voice left little room for argument.
"Yes, sir."
The man stepped out of the chamber and quietly closed the door.
Dumbledore stood alone with the ghosts of the past.
---
Far away.
Inside the quiet dormitory tower of Hogwarts.
Petunia Targaryen lay comfortably across her bed.
Her legs were crossed lazily in the air as she munched on a bowl of popcorn provided earlier by particularly devoted house-elves.
Before her floated a translucent System Channel panel.
The magical surveillance feed shimmered like a living mirror.
It displayed the prison castle chamber perfectly.
Dumbledore.
The destroyed room.
The quiet tension.
Petunia tossed another piece of popcorn into her mouth.
"Hmm," she murmured thoughtfully.
"This channel feature really is convenient."
Watching world events unfold from the comfort of her bed was surprisingly enjoyable.
Even more entertaining were the Constellation notifications flooding the side of her screen.
They had clearly become invested in the drama.
[
The tragedy… the betrayal… the lingering affection…
10/10 emotional performance. ]
Petunia rolled her eyes.
Another notification popped up.
[
Ugh. Old men brooding. Not pretty at all. ]
Another appeared almost instantly.
[
Only through losing those we cherish can one truly grow stronger. ]
A pause.
Then—
[
Shut it, peasant loser. ]
Petunia stared at the chat panel blankly.
"…God."
She sighed.
"These people are worse than comment sections."
The constant notifications popping up across the screen were starting to irritate her.
It reminded her uncomfortably of those ridiculous ads that appeared whenever she watched movies on illegal websites back in her previous life.
Stephanie is 2 km away from you.
Click here to meet hot singles in your area.
Petunia grimaced.
"Disgusting."
With an annoyed flick of her finger, she swiped the notifications panel to the left, silencing the constellation chatter.
Peace returned to the screen.
She leaned forward slightly, focusing again on the live feed from the prison castle.
But then—
Something changed.
Petunia's brows slowly lifted.
"…Oh?"