Chapter 16: Hogwarts Never Lacks Talented Students!

It had to be said—despite Professor Snape's venomous tongue, his unpleasant demeanor, and his less-than-charming appearance, he did possess quite a few admirable qualities.

For instance, the amount of Galleons he had left for Ian was more than generous.

Even after purchasing all his necessary supplies, Ian found that his money pouch—enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm—still contained a staggering one hundred and fifty Galleons!

One hundred and fifty Galleons—this was no small sum.

To put it into perspective, an average Ministry of Magic employee would need nearly two months of full-time work to earn that much—and that was assuming they saved every Knut without spending a single Sickle.

Consider this: The Weasleys struggled to afford even a seven-Galleon wand for Ron.

The idea that Ian, a mere first-year student, was carrying around such an amount was enough to make many adult wizards envious.

"Damn… Even if I were some tragic orphan with dead parents, there's no way Snape should be feeling this guilty, right?"

The thought unsettled Ian.

Could it be that his mother was actually a clone of Lily Potter?

No way. That was absurd.

This was the 1990s—neither the Muggle world nor the wizarding world had that kind of technology… right?

"The more I think about it, the creepier it gets."

Shaking off his unease, Ian turned his attention to the thing that mattered most—learning magic.

After moving all his belongings into the cozy wooden cottage Snape had provided, he wasted no time.

He eagerly pulled out his new wand, grabbed his Hogwarts-required textbook, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1, and got to work.

---

The last traces of sunset had vanished beyond the horizon.

Darkness descended.

Ian chose to start with something simple—one of the most frequently used spells in existence.

"Lumos!"

Following the textbook's instructions, Ian focused his intent, synchronizing his mind with his wand.

He took a deep breath and softly spoke the incantation.

A faint glow shimmered at the tip of his wand—

—only to flicker out almost instantly.

A failed attempt.

But Ian was not discouraged.

If anything, his eyes gleamed with excitement.

For most people, learning was frustrating.

The inability to track their improvement made progress feel slow—often causing them to lose motivation.

But for Ian, this was not a problem at all.

Because as soon as he had attempted the spell—

A notification appeared before his mind's eye.

[Lumos (Level 0)] – 3/50

Ian's excitement skyrocketed.

"My magic talent doesn't seem bad at all!"

One failed attempt had already granted him three points of proficiency.

At this rate, less than twenty tries would be enough to fully master the spell at its basic level.

And when learning a skill could be measured numerically, it was as if a god had shown him their HP bar—a clear and tangible goal.

"Lumos!"

"Lumos!"

"Lumos!"

Inside the quiet wooden cabin, the pale glow of his wand tip flashed on and off in rapid succession.

Each failed attempt brought him closer to success.

To Ian, this wasn't just practice—it was an experiment.

Because he knew that mastery wasn't the only thing awaiting him.

There was also the unknown possibility of extraordinary traits…

Hogwarts – The Headmaster's Office

In the heart of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of the age, sat behind an antique wooden desk.

Despite his legendary status, he looked like nothing more than a harmless old man—dressed in colorfully mismatched pajamas, his half-moon spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose.

The lamp on his desk, though unconnected to any wires, glowed steadily, casting a warm, oil-lamp-like radiance.

At the center of the desk, an open book lay before him.

Its title was inscribed in elegant, archaic script:

"Aurora Grindelwald"

Dumbledore's blue eyes—filled with both wisdom and weariness—were fixed on one particular name in the long list inside the book.

His fingertips tapped lightly against the wood.

A soft, rhythmic knocking.

A sign that his mind was deep in thought.

Until—

"Click… clack… clunk…"

A hidden mechanism triggered.

The massive wooden doors of his office swung open.

But Dumbledore did not look up.

A figure strode in hastily.

A tall, dark-robed man with greasy black hair and a stormy expression.

"Albus!" Snape's voice thundered.

"Why did you never tell me that Ian is a natural-born Legilimens?!"

His anger was palpable—his black eyes burning with accusation.

Several portraits hanging on the walls grimaced at the noise, some covering their ears—though a few leaned forward, eager to watch the drama unfold.

Dumbledore, at last, lifted his head.

Calmly.

"Some things," he said, his tone smooth and unhurried, "are best discovered on one's own. It makes for a far greater surprise that way."

A gentle flick of his fingers—

And the book on his desk snapped shut.

The title on the cover read:

The Book of Admittance

Every witch and wizard accepted into Hogwarts had their name inscribed within—written by the Quill of Acceptance.

The original book remained locked away in a tower no student had ever entered, but the copy before Dumbledore was linked to it.

Snape, however, wasn't interested in magical documents.

His hands curled into fists.

"Something is wrong with that boy!"

His voice lowered, but the intensity remained.

"Occlumency is completely ineffective against him. I've tested it—repeatedly—and he slips through my defenses like they aren't even there!"

"He claims he can only sense emotions, but I know he can do more than that, Albus. I have never encountered a form of Legilimency this intrusive."

Snape's gaze burned into Dumbledore's.

For a brief moment, even the venerable headmaster seemed… uneasy.

Then, with a quiet sigh, Dumbledore simply said—

"Some people are simply born with gifts beyond our understanding, Severus."

"Surely… you of all people should understand that."

"We had an agreement! He was supposed to have a normal school life, graduate, and then live an ordinary life! Damn it, and now, next year, you're bringing that person into the school?!"

"The last thing he needs right now is some extraordinary talent! What he needs is to be like all those mediocre students—leading an unremarkable, uneventful life!"

There was always a sharp, almost venomous undertone in Severus Snape's voice when he spoke like this.

Across from him, Albus Dumbledore remained composed, his expression unreadable. He could understand Snape's reaction—it was almost as if the man was having an episode of post-traumatic stress.

But…

That did not mean he agreed with him.

"I do not believe it is up to us—or anyone, for that matter—to decide the course of Mr. Prince's life," Dumbledore said, his tone gentle but firm.

He let his piercing blue eyes settle on Snape.

"Not even a parent has that right. I know what you're thinking, Severus. And I strongly advise you to abandon such ideas."

Snape remained silent.

For a long moment.

Then—

"He will hate you for this."

Dumbledore exhaled softly. "Do you think that matters to me?"

Snape scoffed. "Albus, if my years have taught me anything, it is that people who think themselves absolutely right are often the most foolish."

Dumbledore's silver-rimmed glasses caught the glow of candlelight, reflecting both the room and the man before him.

"Even the most powerful magic cannot undo the consequences of forcing our will upon others."

Snape's expression twisted—like a mask shifting from one persona to another.

"Don't be ridiculous. You're not a failure. You're Albus Dumbledore—the most powerful wizard of our time, the headmaster of Hogwarts. Even now, people in the wizarding world fear your strength."

His words were blunt, almost accusatory.

Dumbledore merely shook his head, unconcerned.

"And yet, despite my supposed wisdom, I find myself telling you this not because I wish to change the boy's fate—but because I hope, in witnessing his path, you might change your own."

He paused.

"Severus… it is you who needs him. Not the other way around."

Snape's entire body stiffened at that.

Then, anger.

"What utter nonsense!"

His voice rose several decibels.

Dumbledore only smiled.

"And I do not need you meddling in my life, either!" Snape's eyes burned with an intensity that could have melted stone. "No matter what twisted plan you're scheming, I want you to swear to me—swear on an Unbreakable Vow—that he is not merely another pawn in your grand designs!"

The distrust was evident.

Dumbledore sighed, seemingly resigned.

"Firstly, many people—including yourself—seem to vastly overestimate my intelligence. Secondly… if this is what will bring you peace of mind, then of course."

He withdrew his wand and set it on the desk.

The Unbreakable Vow was no trivial matter. It bound two individuals through an oath, with magic itself ensuring that the one making the vow could never betray it without suffering fatal consequences.

Snape's tense expression loosened—only slightly.

Dumbledore tucked his wand away.

"Satisfied?"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "I still don't know what you're planning, bringing that person into Hogwarts… but whatever your intentions, I hope you remember what your real duty as Headmaster is."

His voice dropped.

"To protect every student in this school."

Dumbledore met his gaze with unwavering calm. "That has always been my responsibility."

Snape studied him for another long moment before turning on his heel. "When that person arrives… I will be watching."

With a dramatic swirl of his cloak, he was gone.

As the heavy oak door shut behind him, the silence of the office lasted for only a moment.

Then—

"Dumbledore! That man has really changed!"

"Hesitating like this? What a disgrace to Slytherin! He should have been a Hufflepuff!"

"I, for one, am intrigued. A child who can unnerve Severus Snape with mere natural talent? Now, that is something I'd like to see."

"Talent means nothing. Hogwarts has always been home to prodigies!"

The portraits of former headmasters erupted into noisy chatter, their voices overlapping in an animated debate.

But Dumbledore was lost in thought.

He lifted a hand and casually flicked his fingers.

A book on the desk flipped open—The Book of Admittance.

His gaze fell upon the name that had unsettled him since it first appeared.

Aurora Grindelwald.

It was an unusual name.

And an even more troubling surname.

It was not the name of Gellert Grindelwald's direct descendant. But there was no doubt—whoever this child was, they had inherited the rare and formidable talent of the first Dark Lord.

Dumbledore had not simply ignored this revelation.

Shortly after seeing the name, he had visited an old friend in Nurmengard.

The surname was unmistakable.

It belonged to Gellert Grindelwald himself.

Dumbledore closed his eyes for a brief moment.

He had spoken to Gellert in person. And it was from that conversation that he had drawn the very lesson he had just preached to Snape.

"Albus, our greatest failures come from trying to change too much, too many people, without realizing that we are merely wizards."

"We can nudge fate, but we should never presume to control it… I only ask that this child be given the chance to walk her own path, one free from our mistakes."

There had been something in Gellert's voice then.

Something Dumbledore had never expected to hear from the man.

A plea.

A request not born from strategy or manipulation—but from the weight of regret.

And yet…

Even now, Dumbledore hesitated.

Because he could never be certain whether Gellert's words had been sincere… or a carefully woven deception.

It wasn't that he distrusted him for no reason.

It was because—

That was Gellert Grindelwald.

A man whose mastery of words could shape the course of history itself.

A man who had spent decades behind bars, yet in 1979, had suddenly changed.

That year—

That very year, something had rekindled Gellert's old fire.

For decades, Dumbledore had watched him wither away in his self-imposed exile. And then, one day, the former Dark Lord had smiled again.

He had looked young again.

"Albus, I hope that when the world changes, you will stand beside me to witness it, not hinder it."

"You may stop me. You may stop that foolish boy, Tom. But, Albus… neither you nor I can stop a legend from rising."

And now—

The children of 1979 were ready to enter Hogwarts.

Dumbledore ran a hand over Aurora Grindelwald's name.

His voice was little more than a whisper.

"Is this the legend you spoke of, Gellert?"