"Cockroach Clusters."
Shawn appeared on the Seventh Floor, spoke the password, and rode the spiral staircase up to the Headmaster's Office.
Shawn stopped, his expression growing a little more solemn. This meeting might determine how many things unfolded from here.
He had made preparations beforehand, rehearsing plenty of things to say. If things went badly, he was even prepared to distract Dumbledore by revealing that Voldemort was living on the back of Quirrell's head.
"Child, don't just stand there. Come in."
The door opened on its own, and Dumbledore's kindly voice drifted out.
Shawn composed himself, brushed nonexistent dust from his shoulders, and calmly stepped inside.
"Oh, praise Merlin! The finest, finest, finest descendant of the Black family..."
Dumbledore sat serenely in his office chair. With a casual wave, he silenced Phineas in the portrait on the wall, then gestured toward a seat.
"Shawn, please sit."
Shawn glanced up at the portrait. The man who appeared to be his great-grandfather had a gaunt, sharp-featured face. His eyes blazed with fury, and his little mustache quivered.
Shawn resisted the urge to laugh, but the sight also helped him relax. He bowed slightly and greeted Dumbledore politely.
"Hello, Headmaster."
Dumbledore cheerfully beckoned again.
"Don't just stand there. Sit down and try the sweets I just bought. Sherbet Lemon-there are sweets and a drink. Try them both."
Without waiting for Shawn to agree, Dumbledore had an empty glass and a plate of sweets hop onto the table in front of him.
Shawn had barely sat down when he watched the empty glass slowly fill with an orange drink. His teeth ached just looking at it.
"Just half a glass for now, Headmaster."
Shawn hurriedly used his own Levitation Charm to stop the floating pitcher pouring the drink.
A sharp glint flashed through Dumbledore's kindly eyes. He did not contest Shawn's control of the pitcher, merely saying regretfully,
"Sweets always bring people happiness. Anyone who enjoys sweets can't be a bad person."
Shawn was thoroughly fed up.
From the moment he entered, Dumbledore had been putting him in his place.
First, while Shawn was still outside, he had asserted who was host and who was guest. Then he had silenced Shawn's great-grandfather to show that old ties would earn him no favors. Forcing sweets on him had been another display of authority, and that last remark carried a veiled warning.
That damned Old Beekeeper. I'll write to Grindelwald later and curse him out to let off steam.
Shawn lifted the glass and took a tiny sip. It was sickeningly sweet. He set it down, ready to counterattack.
After all the toxic inspirational drivel he had endured on the internet in his previous life, Shawn feared no one when it came to verbal sparring.
"Headmaster, this is far too sweet. Perhaps only someone with a truly bitter heart could enjoy it."
Dumbledore's aged hand paused.
Before he could speak, Shawn began taking things out of his ring: a tea set, a tin of bitter tea, and a small red-clay stove.
"Why don't I treat you to some tea, Headmaster? I learned this tea ceremony from a friend from the East. It taught me a great many lessons about life."
Dumbledore's interest was piqued. He suspended his probing of Shawn's character and watched the performance with keen curiosity.
A person's hobbies could reveal their character, too.
On the sumptuous long table, steam curled from the little pot on the red stove.
Shawn's movements were fluid as he elegantly warmed several teacups.
Then he took a pinch of tea leaves from the small tin and placed them in a strainer resting on a little plate.
He picked up the small pot and tipped it, pouring. As the boiling water met the leaves, the fragrance of tea rose into the air.
"Before people can find happiness, they must endure trials as scalding as boiling water."
As he rinsed the tea leaves, Shawn calmly shared his reflections with Dumbledore.
Once the leaves were rinsed, he placed some of the slightly softened leaves into each of two white-jade teacups.
He picked up the little pot again and slowly poured water down the sides of the cups.
"Gurgle, gurgle."
The tea leaves tumbled up and down in the cups, slowly unfurling as they rose and sank.
"And before people reach their greatest success, they must experience even more ups and downs."
The tea gradually turned amber, and an even richer fragrance instantly spread through the air.
Dumbledore's crooked nose twitched as he sniffed deeply. He almost couldn't help swallowing.
"Only through these trials can a person develop depth, like this cup of tea. Take a sip, and whether you succeed no longer matters."
With a soft chuckle, Shawn finished pouring the tea. He set down the little pot, then flicked a finger against one of the white-jade cups.
Trailing mist, the cup slid swiftly to a stop before Dumbledore, precisely where it needed to be, without the slightest ripple in the tea.
At that moment, Shawn looked impossibly cool.
Dumbledore truly did not underestimate Shawn now. That tea ceremony alone revealed a great deal.
Elegant, composed, eloquent, and very calculating.
He lifted the white-jade cup, studied the clear golden-orange tea within, and took a small sip. His brows involuntarily furrowed.
Shawn spoke at just the right moment.
"Tea tastes bitter at first, but its sweet aftertaste is endless. You should take your time savoring it, Headmaster."
As long as a relationship had not developed into an outright confrontation, Dumbledore was willing to take good advice.
He took another sip, then closed his eyes to savor it.
After a long while, he opened his eyes. His mouth was filled with a lingering sweetness, nothing like the cloying sensation of simply eating sugar.
Dumbledore's brow relaxed. He smacked his lips and said,
"A fine tea ceremony, and fine bitter tea, too. It leaves a more lasting impression than British black tea."
Shawn was also sipping his tea. After a small mouthful, he set down his cup.
"Headmaster, surely you didn't summon me just to recommend sweets?"
Embarrassment flickered across Dumbledore's aged face. After all, the boy had demolished his theory about sweets.
He did wonder how Shawn understood principles that even adults might not grasp, despite being so young.
Though he could see no signs of Shawn turning toward darkness for now, it seemed he would have to look more closely into the boy's years in the Muggle World.
Or was Gellert right? Had I grown so old that even a first-year student's insight surpassed mine?
Still, age had its advantages. For one thing, his skin was thick enough. He said with a cheerful smile,
"I hear from both Heads of House that you've done well. But there's something I wonder about. Slytherin values elegance and propriety, yet you demand the same of Gryffindor. Might that rob them of the qualities they ought to have?"
Shawn smiled and refilled Dumbledore's cup, then spoke fluently with a faintly teasing tone.
"Headmaster, when the Founders established Hogwarts, they certainly didn't know Gryffindor would become a gathering place for reckless brutes, or that Slytherin would produce nothing but selfish people."
"I'm merely restoring the school to what it ought to be: a place that teaches knowledge and builds character."
"Gryffindors can be brave, but they mustn't be impulsive. They need to learn restraint, and learning a few more rules certainly won't hurt. Oh, come to think of it, that ought to be your responsibility, Headmaster."
Dumbledore looked surprised, though not because Shawn had accused him of neglecting his duties as headmaster.
His blue eyes kept studying Shawn as a host of comparisons flashed through his mind.
Was he like Voldemort?
No. Voldemort was too dark-minded and rigid, and nowhere near as eloquent as Shawn. He only ever used the same approach, over and over.
Like Gellert?
No, not him either. Gellert wasn't as "frank" as Shawn. Gellert preferred a more direct approach.
Apart from his dislike of sweets, Shawn actually seemed a little like my younger self.
Always using lofty words and actions to conceal certain hidden aims.