HP: Pure-Blood Glory

In the headmaster's office, a collection of portraits of former headmasters all stared intently at the two men below. Now mere paintings, they could do little else but observe. Their grand ambitions had long since been eroded by the passage of time.

These days, their sole source of entertainment came from hearing bits of news shared by each new headmaster.

They didn't harbor any deeper motives; they simply sought to relieve their boredom.

Below them sat an elderly man with a long white beard and a younger man with sleek black hair, separated by the headmaster's desk.

Snape frowned deeply as he watched Dumbledore fiddling with a peculiar device.

But Dumbledore appeared utterly absorbed by the cube-shaped contraption in his hands, seemingly oblivious to Snape's expression.

"Ahem…"

Snape cleared his throat softly.

Dumbledore raised a hand… only to scratch the back of his head with a look of mild frustration, while his other hand continued to turn the cube over, examining it from every angle.

Snape's face darkened as he reached out and tapped his knuckles lightly on the desk.

"What exactly are you thinking?"

Snape said sharply, glaring at the absentminded Dumbledore.

Dumbledore blinked, then turned to face the increasingly irritated Snape. Smiling, he set the cube down on the desk.

"Not much. In the end, it's just a bit of childish mischief. Do you really take it so seriously? They're kids. Just make sure it doesn't get out of hand."

Dumbledore smiled as he addressed Snape.

Snape, however, showed no signs of relaxation. "They're just kids? And Gaunt counts as a kid, does he?"

He looked at Dumbledore with an increasingly skeptical expression and said seriously, "It seemed to me today that he saw right through my intentions. He cooperated with my actions perfectly from start to finish. Are you sure you didn't brief him in advance?"

"Even if he did, it's no big surprise," Dumbledore replied with a smile and a shake of his head. "Most others wouldn't have understood the dynamics at play here. That sort of thinking simply isn't within their grasp."

Snape almost rolled his eyes at Dumbledore. Just a few days ago, they'd been on the same page, approaching Luke Gaunt with cautious suspicion. Yet somehow, in the span of mere days, Dumbledore's attitude had taken a complete turn.

Could that boy really possess some kind of charm magic, capable of winning over both Minerva and Dumbledore?

And if so, why didn't it work on him? Did the boy not even deem him worth the effort?

A flurry of thoughts raced through Snape's mind, though he couldn't tell which, if any, were accurate—or if they were all wrong.

"Is there any Somnium Essence left?"

Dumbledore suddenly broke the silence with his question.

Snape snapped out of his reverie, meeting Dumbledore's aged yet gentle gaze, and nodded.

"I've been brewing it consistently, but you know as well as I do that its production can't be scaled up significantly," Snape said seriously. "And if you want me to develop a new, simplified formula, you'll need to tell me exactly what this stuff is used for."

"If it's just for aiding sleep and providing mental clarity afterward, it seems far too trivial."

"Ah, Severus, you still fail to understand what a blessing proper sleep is to an old man"

Dumbledore replied, his tone filled with sentiment.

Snape felt nothing but irritation at this familiar refrain. He'd been asking the same question for years, and Dumbledore's answer never wavered. No one could seriously believe this potion was only meant as a sleep aid.

He'd tried it himself and hadn't been able to discern any other effects.

This potion, however, was no ordinary brew. Its ingredients were extraordinarily rare and precious, and the final product exuded an undeniable sense of complexity. Coupled with the bizarre and intricate steps required for its preparation, it stood apart from any typical potion.

Each time Snape finished brewing a batch of Somnium Essence, he would have to drink a bottle himself to get a good night's sleep and recover his energy.

Yet outside of brewing this potion, he never felt such an intense drain on his mental energy.

This made Somnium Essence seem rather pointless.

Of course, even without much effort, Snape knew Dumbledore was fully aware of all of this. But no matter how many times Snape asked, Dumbledore refused to give him a straight answer, simply urging him to "figure it out himself."

Over the years, if Snape was being honest, he hadn't "figured" out anything.

Partly he felt it was his own inadequacy; the other half thought the old man was just being cryptic and unhelpful.

Since there was no clear answer to be had, Snape didn't press further. He quietly rose and left the office.

Despite enjoying a high level of trust from Dumbledore, Snape understood that, in truth, Dumbledore only ever truly trusted himself. To this day, Snape had no idea what went on in the headmaster's mind.

"A little punishment to serve as a warning will suffice"

Dumbledore muttered, once again picking up the cube-like device with a troubled expression.

Snape, irritated, had no intention of responding. He simply stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

The portraits of former headmasters all watched the man below. Some nodded in approval, while others remained silent, their expressions unreadable.

The world of magic had never been a fair one.

Whether it was lineage, talent, or some other trait, the scales were rarely balanced.

The man before them now possessed both unparalleled lineage and exceptional talent. His sole flaw—his temperament—was overshadowed by his other outstanding qualities.

He was older now, yes, but he had become all the more unfathomable.

And not just in terms of magical power—his thoughts and motivations were equally inscrutable.

A moment later, the door to the headmaster's office opened again.

In walked a boy with jet-black hair and striking green eyes. His expression calm, he met the scrutinizing gazes of the portraits, returning their appraisals one by one.

When his gaze fell upon the portrait of an elderly man with the same black hair and green eyes, he paused. Then, with absolute solemnity, he bowed.

The elderly man in the portrait stroked his beard with a look of smug satisfaction, grinning broadly.

The other headmasters, meanwhile, rolled their eyes. Of course, most of them were focused on the boy, their eyes gleaming with curiosity.

So this was the last remaining child of the Gaunt family. It was clear now that he was the one who had caused the strange disturbances in the castle a few days ago.

As they observed his reaction, the former headmaster from the Gaunt family sneered.

"Take a seat"

Dumbledore said to Luke, still staring helplessly at the puzzling cube in his hands.

Luke, hearing this, didn't hesitate. He sat down with a polite smile.

"You caused quite a stir today"

Dumbledore began, his tone serious.

"They were just playing around and dragged me into it"

Luke replied, feigning innocence.

It was true, technically speaking. While the other students' schemes had targeted him, how could the blame for the entire incident fall on his shoulders?

As long as no one figured out that he had subtly amplified Morton's anger, no one could accuse him of orchestrating the chaos.

Dumbledore gave Luke a long, penetrating look, as if he had uncovered a fragment of the boy's secret.

But Luke remained perfectly composed, his wide, innocent eyes staring back at Dumbledore without a hint of concern.

Dumbledore didn't need to use Legilimency to read the unspoken thoughts running through Luke's mind.

After a moment of silence, he simply shook his head. What else could he do?

The boy before him was only eleven years old. Granted, some people at that age could already be up to no good. Still, youth often earned forgiveness for missteps that might otherwise be judged more harshly.

"How's that potion working for you?"

Dumbledore asked.

Seeing that the headmaster wasn't pressing further on their earlier conversation, Luke relaxed significantly, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. Youth did afford some leniency, but elderly mischief-makers weren't far behind. If it ever came down to it, Luke mused, neither of them would have an easy time outmaneuvering the other.

"It works well. That's why I was hoping to get another one from you—just in case I end up feeling as foggy-headed as before"

"Don't you have the recipe? Couldn't you just ask someone to brew it for you?"

 umbledore asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

Luke froze for a moment, a flicker of realization crossing his mind, though he couldn't quite grasp its full significance. The pieces of the puzzle he had were still far too incomplete.

"Why would I have the recipe? And even if I did, can just anyone brew it?"

Luke said, his tone tinged with exasperation, as if Dumbledore was purposefully making things difficult.

Dumbledore studied the boy's genuinely perplexed expression before chuckling softly. "It seems you truly haven't received their inheritance."

Then, with a note of curiosity, he asked, "Have you received any inheritance other than Ravenclaw's?"

The question was unusually straightforward.

"No. My family does have tales about the Chamber of Secrets, but I also know there's likely nothing beneficial in going there now," Luke replied candidly.

From the family's secret records, Luke had learned the Chamber wasn't just a lair for a basilisk—it was said to house treasures meant for a worthy heir. The basilisk was a guardian, not the prize itself.

Yet neither the books nor the movies he knew mentioned anything about the treasures supposedly guarded by the creature. That meant one of two things: either Voldemort had already taken whatever was there, or someone else had acquired it even earlier.

As that thought crossed his mind, Luke gave Dumbledore a peculiar look.

Was the headmaster implying something today?

Noticing Luke's expression, Dumbledore chuckled softly. "I have no such intentions. I know where the Chamber is. Much like the Room of Requirement, it's not exactly an impenetrable secret."

However, Dumbledore left part of his thought unspoken: he didn't know the locations of the other two founders' inheritances.

"I wouldn't try to claim that legacy, even if I could. Nor do I need it"

Dumbledore added, his tone measured and sincere. At his advanced age, he harbored no obsessive desire for immortality. As such, he had no interest in coveting those inheritances.

Of course, Dumbledore knew few would believe such a statement. The allure of power and immortality was something most people couldn't easily comprehend letting go of.

Luke, however, nodded calmly and replied, "I understand. But I wasn't lying to you—I do have leads on the four founders' inheritances. That said, no matter what I know, they're not things I should be pursuing at this stage."

"If the foundation isn't solid and you start building a tower, it's bound to collapse, isn't it?"

Dumbledore paused for a moment, observing the calm demeanor of the boy in front of him. Then, he nodded. "You truly haven't disappointed me."

With that, he opened a drawer, rummaged through a pile of sweets, and retrieved a bottle of Somnium Essence. Handing it to Luke, he said, "If you need more, come to me. Or try figuring out the recipe yourself."

Luke took the potion without hesitation, then remarked, "I thought you'd just give me the recipe."

"If you can reverse-engineer the ingredients from the potion, then you can come back and ask me for the recipe"

Dumbledore replied, waving his hand dismissively, as if annoyed by the suggestion.

Their exchange was casual and relaxed, but the former headmasters in their portraits above were left staring at one another in shock. None of them could have imagined that Dumbledore, the revered headmaster, would act so informally with a first-year student, treating him more like an equal than a pupil.

"This potion restores mental energy, doesn't it? Professor, why would mental energy be depleted?"

Luke asked curiously, turning the bottle of Somnium Essence in his hand, its shimmering liquid catching the light.

Dumbledore's expression grew serious as he replied, "It's an issue with magic."

Those words sent Luke's thoughts racing. This time, he felt as if several scattered clues were beginning to connect in his mind.

"'True' magic?"

Luke ventured cautiously.

"Not quite…" Dumbledore considered saying more but ultimately held back. "It's still too far beyond your current understanding—even farther than the Founders' inheritances."

"But there is a connection. If you can, focus on training your mental strength. I don't know how you managed to deplete yours completely, but avoid letting it happen again. When it does, only a potion like this can help," he explained.

Luke nodded thoughtfully. Although Dumbledore had not shared every detail, his tone—so reminiscent of Rowena Ravenclaw's own cryptic nature—sparked further connections in Luke's mind.

Clearly, there was more to this than just encouraging him to build a solid foundation. But whatever the full truth was, it seemed Luke would have to uncover it himself.

"Understood. Thank you, Professor. I'll take it seriously"

Luke said as he stood and bowed respectfully. His expression was genuine.

Say what you will about Dumbledore—just the fact that he had chosen to reveal the importance of mental energy to Luke was already an invaluable gesture. Sharing too much beyond that would have felt like an overreach, even to Luke himself.

After all, most people who offered help did so expecting something in return.

Luke had no desire to owe anyone too much—it wouldn't bode well for his future.

Dumbledore merely waved his hand, signaling Luke was free to go.

Luke nodded and quietly left the office.

Above, the headmasters in the portraits exchanged odd glances but ultimately said nothing.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, stared at the strange cube-shaped device on his desk for a long while.

A bitter smile crossed his face before he carefully placed the object into a small box and locked it away.

On the other side of the door, Luke hadn't walked far when he spotted the Weasley twins giving him exaggerated winks and beckoning him over.

Curious, he followed them to an empty classroom. Once inside, Fred turned to him with an unusually serious expression.

"We saw Professor Quirrell leave the school through a secret passage"

Fred said seriously.

*****

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