HRHL# Chapter 45: HeadMaster Phineas

Harry sat in the chair across from the desk, looking a bit uneasy.

Dumbledore smiled kindly at Harry, assuming his nervousness stemmed from it being his first one-on-one meeting with the Headmaster.

“Oh, Harry, relax,” Dumbledore said warmly. “You know, I was once a Gryffindor student too. In fact, you could call me your senior.”

Harry glanced up at Dumbledore, then quickly lowered his gaze again.

He didn’t argue. He wasn’t sure what the consequences of doing so might be.

The only things he knew about the Headmaster were snippets from Hagrid’s tales, but having never interacted with Dumbledore before, Harry couldn’t gauge the man’s attitude toward him.

“Lemonade?” Dumbledore offered.

“Yes, please. With ice,” Harry replied politely, showing no hesitation.

Before long, a glass of chilled lemonade appeared before him.

Harry picked it up and took a sip—

“Ew!” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Why is it so sweet…?”

He strongly suspected that sugar was free at Hogwarts, judging by how liberally it had been dumped into the drink.

Was this even lemonade, or just lemon-flavored syrup?

“Seems you’re not a fan. What a shame,” Dumbledore said, spreading his hands. He then reached into a jar on the desk, plucked out a cockroach, and popped it into his mouth.

If Harry hadn’t known it was a magical candy, he might have vomited on the spot.

“Some of us are trying to sleep, you know!” a familiar voice called out from the wall. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Albus! Even during my time as Headmaster, I never summoned students for a meeting this late! Any student!”

It was Phineas Nigellus Black. Harry could recognize that voice anywhere, no matter how much time had passed.

Don’t look at me, don’t look at me, Harry chanted silently, doing his best to avoid drawing Black’s attention.

But Murphy’s Law had other plans.

After berating Dumbledore, Phineas turned his attention to Harry, who was seated across from the desk.

“And you are…?” Black narrowed his eyes, sensing a vague familiarity. After a moment’s pause, realization dawned.

“Aha! I knew it! Let me think—Gryffindor’s—”

Anticipating Black’s usual tirade about house superiority and bloodlines, Dumbledore interjected swiftly. “Dilys, would you mind lending me a hand?”

“With pleasure, Albus.”

Dilys Derwent curtsied elegantly, her eyes glinting with mischief. She rallied a group of former Headmasters from their portraits and led them into Phineas’ frame.

“What… what are you doing?” Phineas asked, his voice tinged with alarm.

The Headmasters didn’t reply. They simply approached, knocked him to the ground, and securely tied him to a chair, even gagging him for good measure.

After struggling for a moment, Phineas abruptly relaxed, ceasing his resistance.

So, the Gryffindor boy hadn’t perished alongside Ragnok, but had instead appeared a century later...

And his age—had it even reversed somehow during time travel?

Hmph. So what?

Even if he were reduced to ashes, I’d recognize him!

But!

Phineas glared venomously at Dumbledore from within the frame. So what if I’ve figured it out? You tied me up! Even if you beg, I won’t tell you the truth! Never!

“Phineas is always like this,” Dumbledore explained to Harry with a smile. “He’s actually a good… uh…”

“A good Headmaster?” Harry offered, attempting to finish the sentence. But as the words left his mouth, a shiver ran down his spine.

A good Headmaster?

Phineas Nigellus Black?

By Merlin’s longest bunny ears…

Dumbledore’s expression turned complicated, and he opened his mouth but said nothing.

He’d suffered seven years under Phineas’ strict and arbitrary rules while at Hogwarts himself.

The other portraits fell into an awkward silence before one of them broke it, triggering an eruption of uncontrollable laughter.

“Oh, child,” Dilys wiped away tears of mirth. “If you’d been a student during Phineas’ tenure as Headmaster, you’d understand just how hilarious that statement is…”

Harry shrugged. He’d been to the Headmaster’s office before, though it was under the guise of Polyjuice Potion, impersonating Phineas.

Besides, the other Headmasters had no direct interaction with him, so it made sense they didn’t recognize him.

“But to give credit where it’s due,” Eupraxia Mole added, “Phineas’ efforts to unite the houses are unmatched by any Headmaster before or since. Even if the Founders themselves were resurrected, they couldn’t do better.”

Phineas thrashed violently, causing his chair to creak noisily.

“Portraits truly are fascinating, aren’t they?” Dumbledore raised his lemonade in a toast to the Headmasters in their frames.

Harry decided it was time to get to the point. He was young and needed his sleep, after all.

“Well then, Headmaster,” Harry began. “I think we need to discuss what happened on the Quidditch pitch today.”

“Go ahead.” Dumbledore casually dropped another cockroach into his glass, letting it bob in the liquid.

Its antennae jutted out, twitching and swaying eerily like a living creature.

“I believe someone cursed my broomstick,” Harry said firmly. “It suddenly went out of control, and a classmate of mine warned me it might have been a jinx.”

“It must’ve been Hermione,” Dumbledore chuckled. “At her age, few witches can match her brilliance—”

“So my question is,” Harry interrupted, “why would someone dare to curse my broomstick right in front of you? Or, more importantly, why did you do nothing about it?”

“Someone was already doing their best to save you, weren’t they?” Dumbledore said, stroking his beard and plucking out a stray cockroach candy stuck in it.

As he finally managed to extract the candy, he glanced up to find Harry still nervously staring into his glass.

“Are you… afraid of me?” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem particularly surprised.

It wasn’t unusual for students to feel intimidated when summoned to the Headmaster’s office.

“No, sir,” Harry replied. “I was just thinking about a spell I read in a book.”

“A spell?”

“Yes. It’s said that by gazing into someone’s eyes, you can read their thoughts.”