Harry Potter's : Fantastic Beasts Guide

David lounged lazily in a soft chair in Dumbledore's office, yawning as he delivered his report.

"Professor, Hagrid told them about Nicolas Flamel," he said with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

Dumbledore stepped gracefully down the spiral staircase. His twinkling eyes betrayed a hint of mischief.

"Did he now?" the Headmaster mused. "Right on schedule, I'd say."

David's gaze sharpened. "I know about Flamel and the Sorcerer's Stone, too," he said pointedly.

Dumbledore, unfazed, waved his wand to summon a silver plate. On it appeared a dessert that looked suspiciously sweet.

"Syrup sponge cake pudding," Dumbledore announced with delight. "A delightful Muggle treat. Care to try some?"

David hesitated, then cut himself a small piece. The first bite was a mistake. His face twisted in exaggerated agony as the syrupy sweetness overwhelmed his taste buds. Pushing the plate away, he croaked, "It's… sweet. Too sweet."

Dumbledore chuckled, clearly amused. "Not to your taste? Curious. I thought you might enjoy it."

David rolled his eyes. "Professor, back to the matter at hand. What do you want me to do? Just keep shadowing Harry and pretending I don't know anything? I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it up without raising suspicion."

Dumbledore's playful demeanor faded slightly as he settled into the chair across from David. He tapped the armrest thoughtfully, the sound echoing softly in the quiet room. Finally, he asked, "What do you think of Harry?"

David tilted his head, considering. "He's a good kid. Brave, loyal, maybe a little reckless. He's a fine Gryffindor and a solid friend. But as the so-called savior? He's got a long way to go."

Dumbledore's smile returned. "And how do you compare to him?"

"In what way?" David asked, suddenly wary.

"In every way," Dumbledore replied, his gaze twinkling again.

"Oh, Harry's definitely better than me," David said hastily, his tone overly earnest.

"David," Dumbledore chided gently, "it's not polite to lie to an old man."

David shifted uncomfortably, his suspicion growing. "Why do you ask? You're not thinking of changing your plans, are you?"

"Sometimes," Dumbledore admitted, "I wonder if you might make a better candidate."

David's stomach churned. "Professor, there's a prophecy. It's Harry. It has to be Harry," he said firmly.

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to look through him, as though contemplating something far away. "Ah, yes. The prophecy," he murmured, almost to himself.

David frowned. "You're not giving up on Harry, are you?"

"Not at all," Dumbledore assured him, his playful tone returning. "Harry's performance hasn't struck out yet. Do you know what a strikeout is? It's a term from Muggle baseball. Fascinating sport. You should try it sometime."

David sighed in relief. "As long as you're sticking with him, I'll keep playing the observer. But acting like I don't know anything is getting tricky. Harry and the others are curious."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "You have my gratitude, David. Harry needs space to grow, and if you provide too much help, he won't develop the resilience he'll need."

David smirked. "Just don't pester my grandfather too much. He's enjoying his retirement."

Dumbledore's laugh echoed warmly. "I'm older than he is! You should worry about me."

David grinned. "Maybe you should retire, too. Professor McGonagall could take over, and we'll build you a nice little cottage next to ours."

"A tempting idea," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps someday."

Rising from his chair, David stretched. "I'd better get some sleep. Hermione's got us hunting for Nicolas Flamel tomorrow."

"Goodnight, David. And next time, I'll adjust the dessert," Dumbledore teased.

The following morning, David was jolted awake by Neville's frantic shaking.

"David, wake up!" Neville panted. "Hermione's waiting downstairs, and she's really mad!"

David groaned and sat up groggily—just in time to knock heads with Neville.

"Ow!" they both cried, clutching their foreheads.

"Neville, are you okay?" David asked after a moment.

"I'm fine," Neville replied weakly, wobbling toward his bed. "Maybe I'll just lie down for a bit."

David sighed, rubbing his own head. "Let's hope you still remember who I am after that..."