Alan bid farewell to Professor McGonagall and ascended the main tower, eventually reaching a stone gargoyle on the eighth floor.
After he recited the password he had been given, the gargoyle hopped aside. The stone wall behind it split in two, revealing a spiral staircase that ascended slowly. When Alan stepped into the office, Dumbledore was standing behind the door, teasing a magnificent, fiery-red bird perched on a branch. It looked remarkably like the phoenixes Alan had seen in magical catalogs.
Dumbledore turned around, offering a warm smile. "Forgive me, Alan. Fawkes has been feeling quite lonely lately. I don't spend nearly enough time in the office, so I've been busy keeping him company and didn't notice your arrival."
"I only just walked in, Professor. Is Fawkes a phoenix? He looks just like the illustrations I've seen," Alan said, his curiosity piqued.
"He is indeed. And as a phoenix, he is emotionally sensitive, which often troubles an old man like me." Dumbledore playfully nudged the bird, but Fawkes coldly turned his head away, seemingly unimpressed by the Headmaster's jest. Dumbledore shrugged to ease the awkwardness.
Alan found it fascinating to see a magical creature express such complex emotions and couldn't help but steal a few more glances at the bird.
"Come and sit down," Dumbledore said, noticing that Fawkes wasn't in the mood for guests. "He's a bit shy; staring will only make him self-conscious."
*He's quite the prima donna,* Alan thought privately as he followed Dumbledore to the desk and took a seat.
It was the first time Alan had been able to truly examine the Headmaster's office. It was a spacious, circular room, the walls behind the desk lined with portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses. The painted figures were in various states: some were deep in thought, some were napping, and others had abandoned their frames entirely. One of them, noticing Alan's gaze, glared back at him.
"Would you like a sweet?" Dumbledore asked, opening a cabinet to retrieve a jar. "I've developed quite an addiction to Sherbet Lemons lately. That sharp, sweet flavor always reminds me of my youth."
"Thank you, Professor, but I prefer chocolate," Alan replied politely. "And in the Muggle world, we have a saying: 'The more one reminisces, the more one realizes they are old.' You still seem quite energetic; perhaps you should focus more on the future."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That is a truly wise sentiment. It's clear you have a mind of your own, so I won't press the candy on you." He tucked the jar away, though not before popping a few into his own mouth.
*The man really does have a sweet tooth,* Alan mused. *Sweets in the room, sweets as a password...*
"Let us move to business," Dumbledore said, his tone shifting. "You likely know why I sent for you. The commendation from the Ministry has arrived, and I wanted you to review it." He handed over a piece of parchment embossed with the official Ministry of Magic seal.
Alan scanned the document. It was filled with formal language thanking him for his "brave assistance in the apprehension of dangerous Death Eaters" over the Christmas holidays. He skipped the fluff and went straight to the reward details.
*Awarded to Mr. Alan Wilson: One British Ministry of Magic Silver Medal for Bravery and 500 Galleons.*
"That's generous," Alan murmured. He felt a sudden surge of goodwill toward the Ministry and the efficiency of Millicent Bagnold. *As expected, she really is a capable Minister.*
Dumbledore watched Alan's expression with amusement. After a moment, he reached into a drawer and produced a delicate, velvet-wrapped box and a heavy leather bag. "Here you are, our young hero. Your rewards from the Ministry."
Alan took them both. The weight of the Galleons provided an immediate sense of financial security, though he didn't open the bag to count them. Instead, he set the gold aside and opened the velvet box. Inside lay a circular silver medal attached to a dark ribbon, etched with an intricate 'M' for the Ministry.
"The Minister was prepared to present this to you in person," Dumbledore noted. "She believes young role models are vital in these times. However, at my suggestion, she agreed to your request for privacy. It won't be publicized for now, though she may wish to disclose it in the future."
"Thank you, Professor. Please pass my gratitude to the Minister. I'm very happy with how things were handled," Alan said, still turning the medal over in his fingers.
"There is one more thing," Dumbledore said, pulling a crystal vial from his desk. "This is a gift from a friend who wishes to remain anonymous."
Alan took the vial. It was far more exquisite than the standard glass bottles he used for his own brewing. He looked at Dumbledore, puzzled.
"This is Baruffio's Brain Elixir," Dumbledore explained. "It is an exceptionally difficult potion to produce. I have tested it myself; the quality is superb. it significantly enhances cognitive function, but it is potent. Half an ounce diluted in water daily is all you should take. Overdosing leads to severe headaches, nausea, or even total unconsciousness."
Alan was stunned. Baruffio's Brain Elixir was legendary, worth hundreds of Galleons on the open market—if one could even find it. Because of the complexity and the rarity of the ingredients, a single mistake in the brewing process could turn the elixir into a toxin that caused permanent brain damage.
"This is too valuable," Alan said, staring at the crystal vial. "Can you really not tell me who sent it?"