Chapter 41: The Tea Suddenly Lost Its Sweetness

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A spell that halts incantations?

The elderly man walking slowly along the cobbled street hadn't spoken a single incantation.

Ian couldn't be certain, but he could feel it—an invisible force had stopped the magic from spiraling out of control.

The moment the searing flames vanished, it was as if the world had dimmed. The air still carried the faint, lingering scent of smoke, the only evidence that a fire had once raged here.

The moonlight broke through the clouds.

Under the night sky, everything appeared as if nothing had ever happened.

Even the fence, which had collapsed in the fire, had somehow been restored.

"Headmaster Dumbledore…"

Recognizing the approaching figure, Ian felt a flicker of embarrassment and lowered his head.

Alongside his unease and apprehension, a question arose—why was Dumbledore in Hogsmeade at this hour?

"I prefer that you young wizards call me 'Professor.' It makes me feel a little less… ancient."

Dumbledore had already reached Ian's doorstep, and instead of reprimanding him for his reckless actions, he made a lighthearted remark about himself.

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore."

Ian immediately corrected himself.

"Would you not invite me inside?"

Dumbledore's gaze flickered toward the wooden cottage's door.

"Oh! My apologies—I must have been too stunned to think straight."

Ian hastily pushed the door open, gesturing for the headmaster to enter.

His nerves remained on edge.

He had no idea why Dumbledore was here. His ability to sense emotions had worked on Snape, yet before the headmaster of Hogwarts, it seemed useless.

"I must admit, I hadn't expected to come across a young wizard bold enough to experiment with creating a new spell right outside his own home."

Dumbledore mused as he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the tidy living space. He briefly glanced toward Ian's bedroom before choosing to sit by the desk near the window.

"That was hardly 'creating' anything," Ian replied quickly, moving to the tea table and pouring a cup of tea. "It was more of a disaster in the making."

"At the very least, you've set foot on the path. That is no small feat."

From seemingly nowhere, Dumbledore produced a pouch of sugar and began pouring an alarming amount into his tea.

He offered Ian a rare and direct compliment.

Yet, Ian couldn't bring himself to feel pleased.

"Had you not intervened, Professor, I might have caused a catastrophe," he admitted before Dumbledore could even begin to lecture him. "I should never have attempted something so reckless—I nearly set the entire village ablaze. What an utter fool I was!"

Thinking back, he truly felt the weight of his actions.

His sincere self-reproach made Dumbledore pause for a brief moment before he let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

"For a young wizard such as yourself, we must not be too harsh," Dumbledore said, his focus seemingly fixed on stirring his tea rather than looking at Ian.

"I only hope that this experience impresses upon you a vital lesson—on the path of magical discovery, caution is far more important than any other trait."

In the stillness of the wooden cottage, his words carried a quiet but undeniable weight.

"I will remember, Professor."

Ian nodded earnestly.

"Now, you might want to… put some clothes on."

Dumbledore suddenly smiled.

Ian blinked—then, to his horror, realized he was standing in nothing but his undergarments.

"…It's fine. Just consider it a bit of fresh air."

His face flushed slightly, but he maintained a facade of nonchalance.

"…"

Dumbledore's expression flickered briefly into confusion.

Quickly seizing the opportunity, Ian shifted the conversation.

"Professor, did you come here specifically to find me?"

He doubted Dumbledore normally resided in Hogsmeade.

"No."

As expected.

Dumbledore shook his head, taking a sip of what had to be a dangerously sugary tea.

"I was simply delivering a letter, and on my way back to the castle, I noticed the firelight from your experiment."

He paused, his gaze flickering with something unreadable.

"I had been observing you for quite some time, actually. And I must say…"

A note of genuine astonishment crept into his voice.

"Your approach to magic differs from most wizards."

He was undoubtedly referring to Ian's study of magical circuits—an area many wizards never explored in depth.

"Ah?"

Ian feigned ignorance, even adding a hint of nervousness.

"There's no need to worry. It isn't a bad thing," Dumbledore reassured him. "Rather, it's a rare talent—one only a select few possess."

He adjusted his glasses slightly.

"I've heard you've learned Snape's Sectumsempra?"

He asked the question casually, yet there was an undeniable sharpness behind it.

"Ah?"

Ian stiffened, then nodded.

Snape had warned him not to tell anyone, but since Dumbledore was already aware, attempting to hide it would only insult a master of Legilimency.

That was a gamble Ian was not willing to take.

"It wasn't my idea—Professor Snape all but forced me," he added quickly, playing the role of an unwilling student. "He said if I didn't master it, he'd lock me in some dreadful, sinister place."

He kept to his principle—always tell the truth, but never tell the whole truth.

Dumbledore, however, showed no interest in his embellished tale.

"How long did it take you to learn?"

The old wizard stirred his tea absentmindedly.

"…An hour?"

Ian lied.

He had no choice.

If he admitted he had learned a highly advanced spell almost instantly, who knew what kind of unnecessary attention it might attract?

"Of course, it was only possible because Professor Snape is such an excellent teacher!"

He even made sure to throw in a compliment.

"…"

Dumbledore said nothing.

He simply continued stirring his tea, never taking another sip.

"…I see."

His gaze drifted toward the starry night outside the window.

"You are destined for greatness, child. Do not squander your extraordinary—"

Before he could finish, the air around them rippled with a strange, subtle energy.

A brilliant red light suddenly flared.

From within, a phoenix emerged, its magnificent feathers illuminating the dimly lit room with an ethereal glow.

It was breathtaking.

"Well then, Mr. Prince, it seems tonight's tea party must come to an end."

Dumbledore set down his cup, standing up as he adjusted his slightly wrinkled white robes.

Then, as if recalling something, he turned back to Ian.

"A word of advice—magical circuits do not directly give birth to magic. If you wish to advance further, perhaps it is time to shift your focus."

His words were succinct, yet meaningful.

"A different focus…?"

Ian murmured, deep in thought.

Dumbledore raised his arm, waiting for the phoenix to land.

But neither he nor Ian had expected what happened next.

The phoenix, after circling the room a few times, suddenly dove downward—

And landed directly on Ian's head.