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Heavy is the Crown ( Harry Potter) Chapter 60: Still Punished
🕑 Added 2025-06-20 15:01:07 +0000 UTC[Third Person's PoV]
Dumbledore sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he considered their words. He exchanged a look with McGonagall, who gave him a look of exasperation.
“I see,” Dumbledore said after a pause. “While I appreciate your honesty and your intentions, and while I will acknowledge the admirable nature of your respect for the sword… I must still remind you that unsanctioned dueling—especially with real weapons—is strictly prohibited at Hogwarts.”
“Yes, sir. We Understand,” Arthur said with a small bow of his head.
“Of course Headmaster,” Lance agreed solemnly.
Dumbledore looked at both of them a moment longer before his expression softened. “Very well. I trust this will not happen again?”
Arthur and Lance turned to glance at each other, sharing a subtle smile of mutual understanding before quickly looking away. Their eyes then flickered toward Dumbledore, only to divert once more, as if trying to remain composed under his intense gaze. Neither boy said a word, their silence speaking volumes.
“I take it your silence means you have no intention of stopping after just one duel,” Dumbledore said, his voice calm but filled with incredulity as he studied the two boys closely.
“You two can’t be serious!” Professor McGonagall interjected sharply, her tone tinged with disapproval and concern. Her arms were crossed tightly, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Meanwhile, Professor Snape looked as though he was counting the seconds until the conversation was over. His expression was one of disdain and exhaustion, as if he found the entire ordeal beneath him. In stark contrast, Professor Flitwick chuckled quietly to himself, a growing smile curling across his lips. Despite the circumstances, he seemed to find the boys’ spirited love for dueling oddly charming.
“Headmaster, if I may…” Arthur said at last, rising from his seat with a dignified air. He stepped forward and, with deliberate care, reached to his side and unsheathed his sword. With a gentle motion, he placed it flat on Dumbledore’s desk.
“If you examine the blade closely, you’ll see it’s extremely dull,” Arthur explained, his tone calm and respectful. “Lance and I weren’t truly in danger during our exchange. We took precautions.”
Curious, Dumbledore reached out and picked up the weapon. Having personally seen the legendary Sword of Gryffindor on more than one occasion, he knew the look and feel of a truly sharp blade. As he turned the sword over in his hands, inspecting it with a discerning eye, it became clear—Arthur was telling the truth. The edges were blunt and worn; even if the two boys had tried to harm one another, the blade would have done little more than bruise.
“Still, Arthur,” Dumbledore said, setting the sword down with a soft clink, “this is a very dangerous sport you’re practicing. Even a dull blade in the wrong hands can do serious harm. I cannot, in good conscience, allow this behavior to continue without consequences. If either of you is caught engaging in such activities again—regardless of intent—not even I will be lenient.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow slightly, then leaned forward. “Even if the swords are wooden?”
“Pardon?” Dumbledore asked, raising an eyebrow in turn.
“The main reason we used steel swords,” Arthur began to clarify, “was because it was our first real duel. We wanted it to be… official, in a sense. But under normal circumstances, I prefer to train with a wooden blade. It's safer and more practical for sparring. So, I was wondering—would using wooden swords also be prohibited?”
To emphasize his point, Arthur pulled out his wand and pointed it toward the sword still lying on the desk. With a soft incantation, the steel shimmered and transformed into wood, its texture now rough and sanded, the color a rich mahogany brown.
Dumbledore regarded Arthur for a long moment, then let out a quiet laugh, clearly amused. “You truly are passionate about this, aren’t you?”
Arthur gave a sheepish smile, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he reached down and gently stroked Fawkes, who had perched on his shoulder during the conversation. “Perhaps,” he admitted, “but is that such a terrible thing? I believe having a passion for something you love is one of life’s greatest blessings.”
The room fell into a thoughtful silence. Then Dumbledore chuckled again, stroking his beard thoughtfully. The discussion continued, with the Headmaster and Arthur engaging in a calm but spirited debate over the matter of wooden swords and supervised training. Their exchange stretched on for nearly five full minutes, during which McGonagall sighed, Snape rolled his eyes, and Flitwick looked thoroughly entertained.
At last, Dumbledore sighed, raising a hand to signal his decision. “Very well. So long as both of you understand the need to be cautious and respectful of one another. That means no excessive force, no reckless challenges, and absolutely no attempts to impress others at the expense of your safety. If either of you crosses that line, the consequences will be swift and severe. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir!” Arthur and Lance said in unison, sitting up straighter as if responding to a military commander.
“Now,” Dumbledore continued with a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “let us move on to your punishment.”
“Wha— We’re still being punished?” Lance exclaimed, a mixture of confusion and protest in his voice. “But we explained everything!”
“And indeed you did,” Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “I understand the enthusiasm of youth. I, too, was once young—believe it or not. I remember the thrill of a duel, the excitement of pushing your limits. But you still broke a rule—an important one. You engaged in an unsanctioned duel using weapons, however dulled they may be. I cannot simply turn a blind eye to that.”
Arthur and Lance both winced slightly, clearly hoping their honesty would have spared them the lecture and consequences.
“As your punishment,” Dumbledore declared, “you are to assist your respective Heads of House for the remainder of the weekend. You will follow their instructions without complaint, and you will not be dismissed until they are satisfied with your performance and your attitude. Do I make myself understood?”
“Yes, sir,” both boys muttered, their voices low as they sank slightly in their seats, sulking like chastised puppies.
Dumbledore nodded with a warm smile. “Then you best be on your way.”
Arthur and Lance both stood up and offered the headmaster a respectful bow. “Thank you, Headmaster,” Arthur said politely, and Lance echoed with a simple, “Have a good day, sir.” Together, they turned to leave, their footsteps quiet against the stone floor as they followed the teachers toward the exit.
As they reached the door and began descending the stairs, Dumbledore turned his gaze toward the perch where his loyal phoenix, Fawkes, usually resided. Noticing the peculiar absence, his eyes twinkled with mischief. He called out to Arthur in a playful tone, “Mr. King, leaving with your hands full, are we?”
Arthur flinched, clutching Fawkes—who was currently resting peacefully in his arms—a little tighter. “Darn it,” he mumbled under his breath. “I was hoping he wouldn’t notice…”
Lance turned to stare at him in disbelief, nearly tripping on the step. “Wait—did you seriously just try to steal the Headmaster’s phoenix?”
Arthur glanced sideways, avoiding Lance’s judgmental eyes.
“...No…” he muttered unconvincingly.
Unfortunately for Arthur—and much to his visible dismay—Fawkes gave a cheeky chirp of farewell and, with a soft whoosh of flames, vanished from Arthur’s arms in a swirl of gold and red fire, leaving behind nothing but faint embers and a smoldering pout on Arthur’s face.
Lance burst into laughter as they continued down the stairs. Arthur trudged beside him, sulking.
Once they reached the bottom of the spiral staircase, Arthur turned to Professor McGonagall, standing a little straighter as he asked, “Professor, may I be allowed to return to my dormitory to change first?”
Snape, who had been walking just behind them, narrowed his eyes and interjected coldly, “So you can attempt to skip out on your punishment, I presume? I think not—”
But he suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his voice catching in his throat.
It wasn’t just him. Professor McGonagall’s breath hitched slightly, and even Flitwick, usually calm and cheerful, furrowed his brows with unease. The air had shifted. All of them seemed to feel it at once.
Arthur was no longer pouting. His expression had gone completely blank—emotionless. And though none of them could be sure whether it was a trick of the light or something more, they could have sworn Arthur’s eyes had begun to glow faintly, a subtle but eerie radiance pulsing within them.
Without realizing it, all three professors took a step back. Their posture instinctively changed—shoulders low, eyes diverted, as if reacting to something ancient and intimidating.
Arthur’s voice was cold and controlled as he turned his gaze directly toward Snape.
“Are you, by chance, the teacher of my house?” he asked, his tone like a blade. “Or were you the one assigned to oversee my punishment?”
Snape opened his mouth but didn’t speak. He couldn’t.
Arthur didn’t wait for a response. “I’ll answer for you: you were not. So my earlier question was not directed to you. Know your place.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the torches lining the walls seemed to flicker lower.
Arthur then turned back to McGonagall and addressed her with respectful calm. “May I, Professor?”
McGonagall was clearly shaken, but she gathered herself quickly. “Y-You may,” she said, her voice slightly unsteady before regaining its firmness. “But you are to report directly to the Transfiguration classroom afterward. No detours. Understood?”
“Certainly. Much appreciated,” Arthur replied with a slight bow. His eyes dimmed back to normal, and the atmosphere lightened almost immediately, like a shadow being lifted from the room.
As Arthur turned to leave, he suddenly paused mid-step and looked over his shoulder. “Lance… what are you doing?”
Lance was kneeling on one knee, head lowered, one fist resting against the floor like a knight paying homage to a king. His body was tense, but he blinked rapidly and shook his head as if snapping out of a trance.
“Huh?” he muttered, startled. “Oh—I was just… tying my laces.”
He fumbled awkwardly at the “bunny ears” on his shoes, clearly embarrassed.
Arthur raised an eyebrow but said nothing, only nodding slowly before continuing down the hallway toward his dorm, grumbling under his breath about losing control of his emotions.
Comments
Green223
It’s not stealing it’s Birdnapping
