The silence that followed their exit from the Great Hall was as dense as the waters of the Black Lake itself. The group of professors moved through the corridors, each lost in their own storm of thoughts.
Severus Snape walked with his usual indifference, his face a mask of annoyance, as if the world owed him its most precious ingredients and had instead delivered this tedious interruption.
Pomona Sprout followed with her calm smile, but her eyes, usually full of the tranquility of her plants, held a hint of concern over the Headmaster's sudden summons and Minerva's strange situation. Mentally, to calm herself, she reviewed the list of new students in her house and pondered what welcome gift she could give them; she was heavily leaning towards flower seedlings this semester.
Filius Flitwick, for his part, almost trotted to keep pace, completely absorbed in the book. A part of him was worried, undoubtedly, but another couldn't help but be amused by the reactions of the muggle Vernon Dursley to the small incursions of the magical world into his life full of "normality" and "drills."
Minerva McGonagall was a whirlwind of contained anxiety. Her rational mind, the one that valued order and secrecy, clashed against the impossible evidence she held in her hands. Who else knew? How many more secrets were about to be revealed?
Albus Dumbledore walked at the front, his outward serenity in stark contrast to the whirlwind of strategies and contingencies unfolding in his mind. The Dursleys' address was now public. A move, a couple of new protective enchantments, and an announcement in his capacity as Chief Warlock to deter wizards from acting could be a short-term solution... if that was all the book contained. A deep foreboding told him it was not.
They reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance. "Lemon Drop," declared Dumbledore. The statue moved, revealing the spiral staircase.
"I hope he chokes on one,"Snape muttered disdainfully, causing Pomona to let out a nervous giggle.
Upon entering the circular office, Fawkes's song greeted them, a melody that normally soothed any agitation but today seemed lost in the gravity of the moment. The portraits of past headmasters looked on curiously, whispering amongst themselves. Dumbledore, with a gesture, summoned a house-elf to bring tea and sandwiches, an attempt at normality that felt almost surreal.
However, before the tea had even been served, Flitwick's sharp voice cut through the air.
"Albus,what this book narrates... it happened on November 1st, 1981, correct? Tell me, is it you, Minerva, and Hagrid with the young Mr. Potter?"
Everyone turned. Flitwick held the book open to a page that showed, beneath the text, a moving illustration of heartbreaking accuracy: there were Albus Dumbledore in a purple cloak, Minerva McGonagall in her green one, and in the center, the half-giant Hagrid, carrying a sleeping baby with infinite care. Harry Potter. The image captured every detail: the lightning-bolt scar on the child's forehead, the way Minerva wiped a furtive tear with one hand while the other was raised to stroke the baby's cheek, the look of profound sadness and responsibility in Albus's eyes as he observed the scar. In the background, a dark muggle street and a lit-up motorcycle completed the scene.
The silence in the office became absolute. Minerva paled, recognizing in that image a pain she thought buried. Albus was the first to recover, reaching a hand towards the book Minerva held in her arms, which she seemed to be clutching so tightly her fingers were white.
"May I,Minerva?"
She, still in a state of shock, handed him the book. Dumbledore turned the pages of the first chapter with studied calm. His eyes, however, missed no detail: the flashes in the sky over Muggle London, the wizards celebrating in the streets as if the Statute had fallen, Vernon and Petunia Dursley in their nest of forced normality, the baby Dudley throwing a tantrum, Hagrid flying on his motorbike, himself using the Deluminator... he even recognized Dedalus Diggle, in his best purple suit and hat, greeting a bewildered Vernon in the street with overflowing joy.
Finally, he closed the book with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years of secrets.
"It appears,"he said, his voice serene but with a hint of disbelief, "that this book not only narrates real events, but does so with a... supernatural accuracy. Every detail, from the expression on Minerva's face to the specific model of the flying motorbike... is correct."
Severus Snape, who had remained in a corner with his arms crossed, observing the image in Filius's hands with an unreadable gaze, spoke for the first time, his voice a thread of cold dryness.
"Are you suggesting,Headmaster, that there exists an eyewitness with a perfect memory and an inclination to publish secrets in the form of a children's novel? Or that someone has found a way to extract memories directly from our minds and imprint them on paper without anyone, especially you, being aware?"
"The implications, Severus, are as alarming as those you suggest," Dumbledore replied, looking over his spectacles. "This goes beyond a simple leak. It is a complete reconstruction. Whoever 'V.K.' is, they not only had access to classified information, but were an invisible spectator in intimate and crucial moments."
Professor Sprout, her usually cheerful face now pale from the implications, stepped closer.
"But Albus,what does this mean? If this is only the first chapter and it already reveals the boy's location... what else might the book contain?"
"That, Pomona, is the question that troubles me most," Dumbledore confessed. "If the author knows that day in such detail, it is logical to fear they also know other secrets. Secrets that could be... far more dangerous if known by someone with sufficient malice."
Filius Flitwick, who had been examining his own copy with a mixture of horror and academic fascination, let out a choked cry.
"Albus!The next chapter! It speaks of 1991, of an 11-year-old Mr. Potter! This book not only mentions the past, but apparently also narrates events that have not yet happened! It is a written prophecy!"
The room sank into an even heavier silence. Fawkes's song seemed to have died away, the portraits previously whispering gossip had also fallen silent, expectant of the situation unfolding before them. The revelation that the book contained the future was, if possible, more terrifying than that of the past.
"It seems," Dumbledore declared, regaining his authority with visible effort, "that some things must change. Minerva, I need you to locate Arabella Figg immediately. We must ensure her well-being and see if she has noticed anything unusual; we must take advantage of today being Saturday to act as soon as possible. Pomona, please, discreetly, find out how the students who received the book are reacting. Do not alarm them, just observe."
"And me, Albus?" asked Flitwick with determination. "Shall I investigate the magic behind this book? The binding, the illustrations... there must be a magical signature, a trail we can follow to the author."
"Do so, Filius. Any clue is vital. And Severus..." Dumbledore turned to the Potions Master. "Your... contacts... in the outside world. Listen. If this book has been distributed as widely as I fear, certain individuals of a dark persuasion will already be reading it. We need to know what they know."
Snape nodded once, brusquely, his dark gaze already calculating the risks.
"And the boy, Albus?" asked Minerva, her voice barely a whisper. "Harry?"
Dumbledore looked out the window, towards the castle grounds bathed in the morning sun.
"For now,he is protected by his mother's magic in that place. Moving him now, without a plan and in panic, could be more dangerous. But this changes everything. Our anonymous author has not only revealed the past but has lit a fuse whose end we cannot see. We will meet this afternoon to examine the book's content in more detail. Meanwhile, I will go to Flourish and Blotts to observe and... acquire more copies."
As the professors filed out of the office, each with a new and overwhelming mission, Dumbledore was left alone. He held the blue book, running a finger over the golden letters on the spine. He opened it again to the first page, to those initials that had shocked him. "V.K.". A mystery within another. For the first time in a very, very long time, Albus Dumbledore felt completely in the dark. The game had begun, and someone had rewritten the rules without telling him.