Got Hisoka template in Harry Potter World - Chapter 15

Chapter 15: The Headmaster’s Dilemma

The moment the oak door clicked shut behind Jack Fletcher, Albus Dumbledore’s shoulders slumped in a rare show of exhaustion. The usual twinkle in his blue eyes dimmed as he stared at his hands—hands that had once dueled Grindelwald, that had offered lemon drops to doomed children, that now trembled slightly against the polished wood of his desk.

The portraits lining the circular office held their breath. Even the ever-snoring Armando Dippet sat upright in his frame, suddenly alert.

“Well?” Dumbledore asked the empty air, his voice hoarse.

The silence stretched, broken only by the frantic ticking of the Gravitas Temporis—a delicate silver device that measured the weight of moments. Its needle had swung firmly into the crimson zone marked ‘Consequence.’

—

Phineas Nigellus Black was the first to break the silence, his oil-painted sneer deepening. “Oh, don’t give us that martyred look, Albus. We all saw it. The boy’s a walking violation of the Decree for Reasonable Restraint of Underage Sorcery.”

Dilys Derwent, ever the mediwitch, fanned herself with a painted hand. “Did you see his knuckles? Those aren’t dueling scars—those are brawler’s marks.”

Everard, the most tactical of the former headmasters, leaned forward in his frame. “The question isn’t what he is. The question is how far he’ll go.”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers. “You’re comparing him to—”

“To Riddle?” Phineas interrupted with a bark of laughter. “Oh, don’t flatter the boy. Tom at least had the decency to hide his monstrosity behind prefect badges and awards.”

A chill ran through the room.

—

Dumbledore rose and moved to the Pensieve, swirling its silvery contents with a slow twist of his wand. A memory rose to the surface—Jack’s golden aura flaring like a second sunrise as Fluffy’s massive form left the ground.

The portraits recoiled as one.

Fortinbras, the oldest and usually silent, spoke for the first time in decades. “I saw this once before. 1792. A Durmstrang boy who could bend iron bars with his bare hands. They found him six months later in the Forbidden Forest… feeding on a centaur.”

Dippet’s painted face paled. “You don’t think—”

“No,” Dumbledore said firmly. “Jack shows no signs of dark magic. Only… enthusiasm.”

Phineas snorted. “What did the Muggles call it? ‘Bloodlust’?”

—

Everard’s eyes narrowed. “You’re thinking of Severus.”

Dumbledore didn’t deny it. He withdrew another memory—this one of a sallow-faced boy with greasy hair, brewing Amortentia at fourteen.

“Severus had this same… intensity,” Dumbledore murmured. “But his brilliance was tempered by remorse. By love.”

Dilys scoffed. “And what tempers Jack Fletcher? From what I saw, the boy grins when he should be terrified.”

The Gravitas Temporis let out a shrill alarm. Dumbledore silenced it with a wave.

—

Phineas leaned forward, his painted eyes gleaming. “Let’s not dance around it, Albus. You’re asking if he’s another Tom Riddle.”

The name hung in the air like a curse.

Dumbledore exhaled. “Tom sought power out of fear. Out of hatred for his own humanity. Jack…”

“Jack enjoys it,” Everard finished grimly. “That’s worse.”

A murmur ran through the portraits.

Fortinbras shook his head. “Riddle collected followers like chess pieces. This boy? He doesn’t want followers. He wants opponents.”

Dippet shuddered. “Like Herpo the Foul.”

The temperature in the room dropped.

—

Dumbledore sank into his chair, the weight of centuries pressing down on him. “What would you have me do? Expel him for being too gifted? Lock him in the Room of Requirement?”

Phineas smirked. “Assign him a minder. Stick Snape to him like a bloody limpet.”

Everard shook his head. “And when that backfires? When the potions master’s bitterness meets that boy’s hunger?”

Silence fell.

Dilys spoke softly: “You’re afraid he’ll become another Grindelwald.”

Dumbledore’s hand froze halfway to a lemon drop. “No. Grindelwald chose his path with clear eyes. Jack…” He stared at the memory still swirling in the Pensieve—the golden aura, the flying dog, the smile. “Jack doesn’t yet realize he’s on one.”