"Professor McGonagall's sweet darling little gal pal… and you're not exactly young anymore…" Kasenhis muttered, only to suddenly remember the airborne Professor Pond from earlier. He quietly inched a bit farther away from Dumbledore without saying a word.
"I don't think that's necessary," Dumbledore sighed helplessly.
Kasenhis said nothing—just shook his head violently.
"Well then, since the Goblet of Fire is fixed, we should be heading back. And since next year's Triwizard Tournament has officially been confirmed to take place at Hogwarts, we'll be taking the Goblet with us," Dumbledore said, glancing at Kasenhis.
Kasenhis just sighed, then waved his hand and stored the Goblet away.
Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder, and the two vanished from the spot with a pop.
Back in the headmaster's office, Kasenhis casually plopped onto the sofa and grabbed a throw pillow to hold in front of himself.
"Just to avoid any misunderstanding, I think it's necessary for me to explain myself," Dumbledore said with a sigh.
"Go ahead and spout nonsense—doesn't mean I'll listen," Kasenhis nodded calmly.
"You're aware of my relationship with Gellert, yes?"
"Mmhmm."
"Well, let me put it this way: my relationship with Gellert happened to be with a man… but that had nothing to do with my personal orientation."
"Mhm mhm mhm, everything you say is right."
At this point, Dumbledore fully understood how Rostammer had felt.
Kasenhis, when serious, really was like the sun—bright, warm, pleasant to be around. But when he wasn't serious… he was the very embodiment of abstract nonsense. Pure torture.
"I don't think you actually understand," Dumbledore said, brows knotting together.
"Mhm mhm mhm, everything you say is right."
"Is that all you know how to say?"
"Mhm mhm mhm. I've still got homework to grade in my office. I'll head back first." Kasenhis said as he began preparing to Ender Teleport away.
"Wait."
"Hm?"
"Gellert told me… that when he was in Africa, he said a lot to you… One thing in particular—he asked you to pass it on to me."
Dumbledore suddenly dropped the line without any lead-up at all.
Kasenhis looked at him, a bit confused.
Usually, Dumbledore either launched straight into the main topic with zero preamble—or gave an absurdly long-winded build-up before getting to the point.
But this kind of clunky, abrupt shift in topic—Kasenhis had been at Hogwarts for nearly two and a half years, and this was a first.
It seemed even Dumbledore had finally lost his composure, just this once.
"What did he say to you?" Dumbledore asked, wearing an expression of calm.
"He told me about that fight many years ago—between you, him, and your brother—at the Dumbledore family home."
"So it really was that," Dumbledore murmured. "And what did he say?"
"He said… that the curse that caused the tragedy back then... it was cast by him."
Kasenhis paused after speaking, momentarily unsure whether he should stick around to comfort Dumbledore.
But he quickly dismissed the idea.
Dumbledore wasn't some emotionally fragile child. What he needed wasn't comfort. And besides, no matter how many lifetimes Kasenhis had lived, his actual age and experience—just twenty years—meant he couldn't possibly offer meaningful comfort to someone who'd lived over a century.
"I guess I should let you take some time to process, huh?"
Dumbledore gave a faint smile and nodded.
"See you then."
In the next moment, with a thunderous boom, Kasenhis vanished—off to his office to miserably start grading homework.
...
Meanwhile… at Durmstrang—
"Karkaroff, a letter came for you. Looks like it's from England… Also, even though your little plan didn't work out, I better get full compensation for emotional damages—not one Knut less!" Miss Rostammer slapped the envelope down on Karkaroff's desk.
"Got it. I'll write you a note—go see the vice headmaster for reimbursement." Karkaroff casually scribbled his signature on a blank reimbursement form. The rest of the slip? Completely empty.
Another classic entry in the Legendary Archives of Blank Receipts.
As Rostammer left, Karkaroff tore open the envelope. The moment he read the signature, his heart clenched.
!!?
Peter Pettigrew…
But hadn't he died?
Back when the Dark Lord fell, hadn't he been killed by Sirius Black?
Karkaroff swallowed hard, his eyes trembling as he scanned the letter.
Line by line, word by word, the message slowly pieced itself together in his mind:
Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban. Peter was now trapped at Hogwarts.
And he needed Karkaroff to find a way to rescue him—fast.
Karkaroff frowned and stared at the letter for a long time. As he finished reading it, he couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.
Peter Pettigrew hadn't included any threats in the letter.
He didn't say anything like, "If you don't come save me, I'll expose everything you did back then."
That, at least, gave Karkaroff some peace of mind. Though, honestly, even if Peter had made that threat, it wouldn't have been the end of the world. After all, who was he now? The esteemed Headmaster of Durmstrang Institute of Magic. And all that past dirty laundry? He'd already blamed it on the Imperius Curse long ago, as well as gave a lot of names.
Sure, his reputation wasn't exactly stellar these days, but overall, he still appeared squeaky clean on paper.
Just as he was about to casually summon a flame to burn the letter, he suddenly paused.
Neither he nor Peter Pettigrew were the kind of people who did favors out of kindness.
So for Peter to not threaten him at all, to directly and bluntly ask for a rescue...
Did that mean Peter was holding onto some piece of evidence he hadn't cleaned up? Or some detail Karkaroff himself had overlooked—something that made helping him mandatory?
And Peter seemed absolutely sure that Karkaroff would eventually remember exactly what that reason was…
But what the hell was that damned reason?!
Karkaroff, clearly rattled, crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it into the corner of the room.
But a moment later, he reached out and summoned it back into his hand.
This letter… couldn't be destroyed just yet!
There might be some detail he'd missed—some clue he hadn't picked up on.
As for the plan to rescue Peter Pettigrew...
Of course, it would proceed.
But not as a rescue.
It would be a silencing!
Peter Pettigrew could no longer be allowed to exist in this world. Whatever it was he knew—whatever evidence he might hold, even if Peter himself didn't fully understand it—none of it would matter…
As long as Peter was dead, everything would be just fine.
_________
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