GOD

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The funeral didn't change much; it only added to Regulus' tragic story, which drew more witches' tears and, consequently, more letters for Sirius.

Many witches and wizards wrote to express their condolences, hoping to comfort the grieving, solitary aristocrat.

After the funeral, Dumbledore returned to his office. Exhausted, he sank into his chair. The recent events had drained him, leaving him feeling unusually weary. He was, after all, a very old man.

Once again, Dumbledore glanced at the finger scratched by the mirror. It had since healed; not even a scar remained. A peculiar feeling stirred within him as he gazed at it in a trance—something unsettling that he couldn't quite identify.

Dumbledore pulled a small bag from his pocket, the one containing the mirror fragments. He emptied them onto the table and, with a wave of his wand, levitated the shards into the air, examining them closely.

Despite his years of experience, Dumbledore found nothing unusual about the fragments. His persistent curiosity led him to cast several detection spells, but even then, he uncovered nothing. The lack of answers made him uneasy.

He sensed something strange about the mirror fragments, yet he couldn't grasp the elusive thread of truth.

"Why would a lion cage itself and let a pack of hyenas dance around it?"

A strange voice suddenly echoed in Dumbledore's office.

Startled, Dumbledore hadn't noticed anyone entering.

Looking up, he saw a man with a leprous appearance and filthy clothes, seemingly out of place in this era—his attire resembled that of a 19th-century commoner. The man, who looked like a vagrant, sat across from Dumbledore, casually crossing his legs and eyeing him with a half-smile.

"Who might you be?" Dumbledore asked calmly, though his hand had already slipped toward his wand.

Dumbledore's subtle movement didn't fool the man.

"Oh no, Dumbledore, that's not a very friendly way to converse," the man said with a smile.

Then, with a snap of his fingers, Dumbledore's Elder Wand dissolved into foam and vanished.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly. He knew the power of his wand, yet he hadn't imagined that this man could make it disappear so effortlessly.

"Ah!" the man suddenly exclaimed.

"I see why you're wary of me—I rudely failed to introduce myself."

Rising from the chair, the man bowed theatrically as though performing in a play.

"Greetings, my name is Gaunter O'Dimm. I am a simple mirror merchant, and—on occasion—I trade in other things."

"Well, hello, Gaunter O'Dimm," Dumbledore responded cautiously, eyeing the stranger who had somehow invaded his office.

"But you may be disappointed, O'Dimm. I do not need mirrors," Dumbledore said.

"Of course, of course," Gaunter O'Dimm replied, spreading his hands.

"I wouldn't presume to sell mirrors to the greatest white wizard in this world. I imagine you're not particularly interested in them."

"Then," Dumbledore asked again, "what brings you here?"

"Of course! I do have some business to attend to!" Gaunter O'Dimmm declared, brushing off his dirty clothes with exaggerated care.

"I'm a businessman, after all, and I'm here to strike a deal with you!" he continued with a sly grin.

"For instance, I know that Voldemort has been quite the thorn in your side. I can help you deal with him—permanently. No more headaches, no more sleepless nights. You can focus on teaching and being the excellent headmaster you're meant to be!"

His words dripped with temptation as he tried to lure Dumbledore into a transaction.

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes again, sensing an otherworldly strangeness in the man before him, an old feeling he had once encountered. He could even feel that when Gaunter O'Dimmm claimed he could deal with Voldemort, it wasn't mere boasting—there was a chilling authenticity to his offer.

"Sir, are you a demon?" Dumbledore asked suddenly.

"Hey! That's incredibly rude!" Gaunter O'Dimmm exclaimed, jumping up from his chair in mock anger, clutching his chest as if wounded.

"That's slander! I'm just an honest businessman! I pay taxes on all my deals. Do you want to see my tax receipts?" he asked with a smirk.

"That won't be necessary," Dumbledore replied, expressionless.

"I don't need you to deal with Voldemort. I can handle him myself, so we don't need any agreements."

"Don't be so hasty to refuse!" Gaunter O'Dimmm protested dramatically, scratching his head as if deep in thought. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he snapped his fingers with a sharp click.

"Ah, I get it! My mistake! He's your enemy, after all—I shouldn't interfere too much. The thrill of battle is a knight's romance. I completely understand!" Gaunter O'Dimmm said, patting his chest in mock empathy.

"But—what if I offered something else? Ariana! I could help you bring her back! You must want that, don't you?" Gaunter O'Dimmm exclaimed excitedly.

Dumbledore's breath caught for a moment, but he quickly regained control.

"How do you know about Ariana?" Dumbledore asked, his voice low and measured.

"I know everything in this world," Gaunter O'Dimmm replied with a grin.

"I know all about you, your sister, student Tom Riddle, and your love, Gellert Grindelwald. I know it all!"

Dumbledore's grip tightened on the armrest of his chair, but with remarkable willpower, he managed to calm himself once more.

"You are really a demon, aren't you?" Dumbledore repeated his voice firm.

"I will not make any deals with you. Now, please leave my school," he said, enunciating each word with deliberate precision.

Though he had lost his wand, Dumbledore was far from defenseless. He still had the power to control all of Hogwarts if needed.

"Calling me a demon again? How rude!" Gaunter O'Dimmm frowned.

"Even a man with my patience can be angered by such insults!" he warned, his tone growing darker.