Argus had his answer ready long before stepping into the Room of Requirement. Using the Time-Turner to rewind and rescue Harry wasn't out of the question. Dumbledore would come calling soon enough, and whatever price he offered wouldn't be stingy. The Black family's coffers were already drained dry—nothing left to wring out there. Why pass up a chance to curry favor so easily?
Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were linchpins in the Order of the Phoenix, and Grimmauld Place would soon serve as their headquarters. Backed by Sirius and Lupin, plus the goodwill of Professor McGonagall, Snape, and the Weasleys, Argus could deliver a nasty shock to Dumbledore if they ever clashed—especially when the Order got involved.
"Alright, Sirius, Professor Lupin," Argus said with a nod. "No need for ceremony. I'll do everything I can to bring Harry back. If that's all, I'll head to the headmaster's office now. Dumbledore's expecting me."
He flashed a polite smile and inclined his head before leaving. They hadn't gone far when Snape appeared, his dark eyes narrowing at the Room of Requirement's door. He knew exactly what had transpired.
"Those two seek you out?" Snape sneered.
Argus didn't bother denying it. "And you came to push me into saving Harry, didn't you?"
Snape's expression iced over, his bluff called. He said nothing more, just led Argus to the headmaster's office in stony silence before stalking off.
"Argus..." Dumbledore's voice carried a weary rasp, the weight of Harry's peril etched into every line of his face. The desk before him lay barren—no sweets in sight, his usual comfort abandoned.
Argus stood calm and steady, prompting a sigh from the old wizard. "Name your terms this time. If you can, show some mercy to a tired old man on his way out. The future's yours, not mine."
"Headmaster, you know risk and reward go hand in hand," Argus replied evenly, meeting the sharpening gaze. He smiled. "What I want is simple. Many elder acolytes long for their homeland. If they can return safely, I'll gladly lend my aid as their leader."
Even Dumbledore would struggle with that ask. Argus figured the acolytes' growth in Britain had hit a wall. Pure-blood families and Gringotts held deep roots here—uprooting them would take ages. Better to pivot elsewhere: reclaim the acolytes' true home.
Dumbledore's eyes bored into Argus's, searching. "Just safe passage?"
"Nothing more," Argus said lightly. "Though it'd help if the German and Austrian Ministries eased their crackdown on us. What do you say, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore pondered, then lifted his head, blue eyes piercing like blades. Before they could proceed, he spoke again. "One question first, Argus."
The faint prickling in Argus's mind made him shift—Legilimency probing. Occlumency snapped up instinctively, blocking the intrusion.
"Using Legilimency on a third-year isn't befitting a headmaster," Argus said coolly. "But I'll answer anyway. All I want is a better world for everyone."
Dumbledore's brow furrowed. No deception there; Argus spoke truth. That very sincerity gave him pause. The boy had conjured a full Patronus to shield younger students in crisis—his actions set him apart from Grindelwald or Voldemort. Yet the company he kept, shaped by his past, still raised flags.
"Headmaster!" Argus broke the silence. "Let me turn the question back. Or rather, pose one of my own."
"Go on."
"Have the acolytes ever harmed Britain's magical world?"
Dumbledore paused but stayed silent.
"Have they attacked other wizards without provocation?"
"Since arriving in England, have wizards' lives improved—or worsened?"
"You know the answers already."
Dumbledore reflected on the shifts since the acolytes' arrival. No overt threats; instead, they'd offered aid and eased burdens for everyday wizards. The few violent clashes? Retaliations against pure-blood aggressors. Even he couldn't fault that.
Yet something nagged at him, an undercurrent of unease. Weighing Harry's fate against the Ministries of Magic in Germany and Austria, he relented. "Very well. I agree."
"Bring Harry back if you can. But if danger looms, put yourself first."
From a drawer, he produced a vial of silvery tears and a vibrant red tail feather. "Fawkes's tears—heal wounds, lift curses. The feather summons him if you're stuck in the timeline. Use it to get home."
"The Time-Turner's limit is three days, so Harry's vanishing happened within that window."
"Understood." Argus pocketed the items and took a few steps toward the door, then halted. "One more thing, Headmaster."
"Yes?"
"If I get lost in time—if the worst happens—tell Aunt Vinda and my adoptive father... I'm sorry."
Dumbledore's mouth worked soundlessly, throat tightening. He'd never felt so parched, so unwilling to meet the boy's eyes.
Argus didn't wait for a reply. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he turned and left, leaving Dumbledore alone, staring at the empty doorway.
...
Argus slipped into the familiar first-floor bathroom. He drew the Time-Turner from around his neck, inhaled deeply, and twisted the hourglass to its fullest rewind. With a press, the world blurred into motion.
When it steadied, three days had unraveled. It was the day Harry had crossed paths with Snape—and Sirius Black.
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