Through the Eyes of the "Wise"
Albus Dumbledore was not a man who was easily kept in the dark. Yet, for two weeks now, he had found himself at an impasse, unable to uncover a single meaningful detail about the school that had taken Miruna Potter. He had scoured every resource available to him—his extensive personal library, the vast Hogwarts archives, even reaching out to certain contacts in the Department of International Magical Cooperation—but to no avail. It was as if Crystalline Peak had been deliberately scrubbed from history, leaving only the faintest of traces.
This, of course, was unacceptable.
Dumbledore tapped his fingers against the aged wood of his desk, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the parchment before him. He had drafted letters to several of his most trusted followers—those who owed him favors, those whose loyalty had been cemented over decades of carefully cultivated relationships. If his allies in Britain could not find anything, then perhaps his international colleagues, the men and women of the International Confederation of Wizards, could offer more fruitful answers. Many among them still owed him for past interventions, for favors granted during times of great political strife. It was past time to collect those debts.
The first replies had been discouraging, filled with polite regrets and empty assurances that they would ‘look into it.’ But then, an envelope had arrived containing nothing more than a single newspaper clipping. It was from an Eastern European wizarding gazette, a small note on the bottom corner of the page about a supposedly ‘hidden’ school, one whose students were rarely seen and whose graduates were even rarer to encounter in the broader wizarding world.
Dumbledore crushed the brittle paper in his hand. It was not enough. It was insulting.
Had he truly lost his edge? For decades, he had navigated the intricacies of wizarding politics with precision, orchestrating events with a careful hand, ensuring that the world moved in the direction he deemed best. He had not always been gentle, nor had he always been fair, but he had always been effective. He had gambled before and won. He had wielded influence over the most powerful men and women in magical society, and he had shaped history itself.
Yet here he was, left chasing ghosts over a girl who should have been safely within his grasp.
His frustration mounted as he rifled through the other responses—hollow words, meaningless condolences. It was only after exhausting these avenues that he stumbled across a report buried amongst meaningless banter about something he had no care for. An interview with an American wizarding couple caught in a failed robbery attempt. When questioned about their children’s whereabouts, they had, in passing, mentioned that their eldest attended a ‘remote and specialized magical institution’—Crystalline Peak. That had been the sole thread in the tangled web of obscurity surrounding the school.
So it did exist. The question remained: why was it so well hidden?
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, staring at the flickering candlelight on his desk. His office was silent save for the faint rustling of parchment, the occasional hoot from Fawkes’ perch. It was a rare thing for Albus Dumbledore to feel powerless. He despised the sensation. And it wasn’t even the first time that the girl had brought this upon him.
Minerva McGonagall had cornered him after the Sorting Feast, her sharp eyes flashing with something between suspicion and concern.
“Where is Miruna Potter?” she had asked without preamble, arms folded across her chest as she stood in his office doorway. The Sorting Hat had barely been put away for another year, and already she was pressing him with uncomfortable questions.
Dumbledore set down his goblet of mead with a quiet sigh, steepling his fingers as he regarded her. “Ah, Minerva. I had wondered when you might ask.”
McGonagall’s frown deepened. “I didn’t see her among the first years, Albus. You told me she would be coming to Hogwarts.”
Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, feigning regret. “Yes, well, the Potters made a rather unexpected decision regarding young Miruna’s education. They have chosen to enroll her in a smaller institution, one that specializes in assisting children with... particular magical challenges.”
McGonagall’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Magical challenges?”
He exhaled softly, a measured, carefully constructed sigh. “You know as well as I do, Minerva, that Miruna’s magical abilities have always been—unpredictable. James and Lily felt that a more tailored environment would suit her needs best.”
McGonagall’s brow furrowed. “Hogwarts has never turned away a student due to magical instability. We could have provided support, accommodations—”
“Of course we could have,” Dumbledore interjected smoothly, his voice gentle, almost sorrowful. “But parents will worry, you see. They will always believe they know what is best for their children.” He leaned back slightly, allowing the flickering candlelight to soften his features. “In the end, Minerva, it is their choice. And we must respect it.”
McGonagall hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her stern features. “But—”
Dumbledore raised a hand, forestalling further argument. “I share your disappointment, my dear. I truly do. But let us not dwell on what we cannot change.” He offered her a small, tired smile. “Miruna is where her family believes she belongs. And Hogwarts will carry on, as it always has.”
For a long moment, McGonagall did not move. Then, slowly, reluctantly, she nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
Dumbledore inclined his head. “I usually am.”
McGonagall gave him a sharp look, but he could see that the fight had left her. With a sigh, she turned on her heel and strode toward the door. “I just hope they didn’t make a mistake,” she muttered before leaving.
Dumbledore’s smile did not waver until the door shut behind her. Only then did he allow his expression to harden.
He had won, as he always did.
But what use was winning an argument if he didn’t even know where the girl was?
The present loomed before him once more, the crumpled newspaper clipping still clenched in his fingers. No matter how well he played his games, no matter how carefully he laid his plans, Miruna had slipped through his grasp. But he was not a man who accepted defeat.
He would find out everything there was to know about Crystalline Peak. He would learn its secrets, chart its corridors, and expose its hidden truths. And when he did, Miruna Potter would have no choice but to return to the path he had designed for her.
Albus Dumbledore would see to it.