Hogwarts — The Fallout
The corridors of the castle buzzed with tension.
Whispers curled through stone hallways like smoke — "Death walks these halls" — no longer rumor, but fact. Students moved with wary respect. The duels had shifted everything. Rivalries softened, old prejudices faltered under the weight of harsh lessons.
Daniel's shadow lingered long after class ended.
The professors? Divided.
McGonagall respected results, but her eyes narrowed, uneasy with the ruthlessness. Flitwick admired discipline but worried about innocence lost. Snape… Snape was unreadable, locked in some private war behind dark eyes.
And Dumbledore? The old wizard watched it all with the careful, maddening patience of a chess master playing the endgame.
He found Daniel at the edge of the Black Lake that evening, the sky bruised with twilight, shadows bleeding into the water.
"You've reshaped them," Dumbledore said softly, voice like aged parchment. "Children molded into soldiers. It is… efficient. But at what cost?"
Daniel didn't turn, hands clasped behind his back, coat billowing faintly as the night grew colder.
"You negotiate with murderers, Albus," Daniel replied, tone smooth, sharp. "I prepare them to survive them. Spare me the sanctimonious regret."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but it wasn't kindness — it was calculation.
"You speak of survival, but you forget: power unchecked corrodes. They will learn to kill cleanly, yes… but will they remember why not to kill needlessly?"
Daniel finally turned, his presence eclipsing the fading light, a quiet storm coiled beneath his words.
"I do not teach them to kill for sport, Dumbledore. I teach them the weight of it. You… You send them unarmed into wolves' dens, whispering of hope while their blood spills. We are not the same."
The air between them cracked with unspoken history — regrets, failures, compromises both had bled for.
"And Neville Longbottom?" Dumbledore challenged softly. "Another child reforged in your fire?"
Daniel's lips curled — not amusement, something colder.
"A boy broken by cowardice, reborn through pain. His parents lie empty because your ministry dithers. He deserves more than sympathy, Albus. He deserves teeth."
Silence settled like ash.
Dumbledore relented, but not entirely — "He deserves choice, Daniel. Remember that."
With that, the old wizard faded into the twilight, his cloak whispering secrets to the wind.
Neville's Moment — The Gift Yet to Come
The corridors were nearly empty now, trunks rolled down stone steps, the chatter of students fading as summer break loomed. Yet, Neville Longbottom lingered, standing stiffly outside Daniel's office — uncertainty etched across his face, courage flickering beneath the nerves.
Daniel's voice called out before Neville could knock — calm, knowing.
"Come in, Longbottom. You hesitate like your father did… but you at least showed up."
Neville stepped inside, the room heavy with quiet power — relics from forgotten wars, shadows coiled in the corners, whispering in languages older than Hogwarts itself.
Daniel studied him, eyes cold, measuring — not belittling, sharpening.
"I owe you a gift," Daniel began, voice steady as carved stone. "Two gifts, in fact — one for your birthday, one for Christmas. Consider my timing… inconvenient."
Neville opened his mouth — confusion warring with respect — but Daniel cut him off with a faint, sharp smile.
"We'll correct that. After the holidays, you and I will visit St. Mungo's."
Neville's breath hitched, the weight of that name sinking deep — St. Mungo's, where his parents remained lost, shells of who they once were.
Daniel's gaze hardened, but not unkind.
"You deserve answers. More than pity. You deserve to stand over those who took everything from you — to understand the price they paid, and the price you will make others pay if they try again."
Neville's jaw clenched — pain tempered by a flicker of resolve.
"I'm… not ready," Neville admitted, but his eyes burned with the hint of defiance Daniel respected.
Daniel nodded, approving.
"No one ever is. But ready or not, Longbottom, the world won't wait for you. After the break — your answers, your true lessons… and your gifts. Both of them."
Neville straightened, fear still present, but overshadowed by something fiercer.
"Thank you, sir."
Daniel's expression barely shifted — just enough for a whisper of pride beneath the ice.
"Go home. Rest. When you return… the real work begins."