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"Self-reconciliation?"
Ian frowned.
"That is sothing he will have to tell you himself, should he ever choose to." Dumbledore's tone was low, carrying a weight of unspoken aning.
Alright, alright.
Riddles, is it?
Very well— let's all be riddlers, then!
There is no need for any rush, of course!
"Fine, I understand. Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore. If there's nothing else, I should return to prepare for tomorrow's lessons."
Ian knew perfectly well that Dumbledore had not summoned him to the office rely to offer praise for his conduct. The headmaster of Hogwarts was hardly one to waste ti on idle chatter.
Especially not when the Ministry had already taken an interest in investigating the death of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. After all, Penelope had subtly alluded to her own conversation with Dumbledore.
With Old Dumbles' sharp mind, he had probably already pieced together quite a few things.
Of course.
What confird this for Ian was that when he first entered the headmaster's office, he noticed a bookshelf that appeared to have been recently added, filled with ancient, well-worn tos that had little to do with traditional magical knowledge.
Titles such as 'Songs of the Soul' and 'The Legend of rlin: Between Life and Death' stood out among them.
"Good night, Headmaster Dumbledore."
Ian gently removed the reluctant Fawkes from his head and placed the phoenix back onto its gilded perch. He waved and made to dash out of the office.
"Mr. Prince!"
As expected.
Dumbledore couldn't let him go so easily.
"Huh?"
Ian turned back, feigning innocence.
"The Sword of Gryffindor."
Dumbledore's tone carried a note of resignation as he eyed the object Ian was cradling in his arms.
"Oh, right! I almost forgot. My apologies." Ian scratched his head, looking genuinely abashed as he walked over to the Sorting Hat, picked it up, and carefully slid the sword back inside.
"Slowly! Slowly! Ah! I've got it! I've got it! Not Slytherin, not Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor— I should've sorted you into the Dentors' lair!"
"It's murder! Dumbledore, look! He's stabbing with a sword!" The Sorting Hat shrieked dramatically as it accommodated the Sword of Gryffindor, sounding thoroughly put upon.
Just as Ian turned to leave again, Dumbledore hesitated for a mont before raising a hand to stop him.
"Mr. Prince, didn't you wish for compensation?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles as he unexpectedly revisited the topic that had seemingly been settled.
"At this point, I'd be satisfied if those pure-blood nobles just left alone. So of them might have ties to the school governors and could try to use their influence to have expelled on the spot."
Ian tested the waters with his question but Dumbledore slowly shook his head.
"That is not a concern. As long as I am headmaster of Hogwarts, the school governors cannot overrule my decisions. That was established long ago."
Dumbledore's tone was firm.
Then, he hesitated briefly before continuing, "This might not be the most conventional request, but I would like to ask if you would accompany on a journey tonight."
As he spoke, Dumbledore rose from his seat.
With an air of solemnity, he extended his hand toward Ian.
"Mr. Prince, after this journey, I promise you will no longer need to concern yourself with pressure from pure-blood families. You will receive the apology and compensation you seek."
"And you will be free to focus on your studies without further distractions."
It was a tempting offer.
Ian had little choice but to smile, albeit sowhat reluctantly, and step forward.
"It would be my honor."
Though his tone was tinged with hesitation, Ian still reached out and clasped Dumbledore's hand. In an instant, the world shifted. Ian felt as though he could hear the ticking of a clock, the rustling of parchnt being turned.
The scene around them changed.
Before long, a new landscape replaced the familiar setting of the Hogwarts headmaster's office. It was a valley, bathed in gentle sunlight and surrounded by lush greenery. A town lay nestled in the distance, one Ian recognized from his mories.
"What kind of magic is this? Apparition? No… This feels different from any I've experienced before!" Ian stared in wonder at the small town he had only seen before in fleeting visions.
"This is rely a mory."
Dumbledore gazed at the distant town, his expression unreadable, tinged with nostalgia and sothing deeper.
"A mory?"
Ian was astonished by the sheer vividness of the experience. The scent of the grass beneath his feet, the fluttering of butterflies in the air, the rustling of leaves in the breeze— it all felt too real to be an illusion.
"A rather intricate application of mory magic. I may have studied this field a little too thoroughly…" Dumbledore's tone grew sowhat wistful.
"This is Godric's Hollow." Ian suddenly spoke.
Dumbledore's previously dim expression brightened ever so slightly.
"Ian… May I call you that? Would you guide ?" The once-indomitable Dumbledore now seed hesitant, almost cautious.
Ian turned to the elderly wizard beside him, sensing sothing unfamiliar— uncertainty, vulnerability. Emotions that one would never associate with the legendary Albus Dumbledore were now laid bare before him.
For the first ti, Ian truly perceived the weight of Dumbledore's burdens.
"It would be my honor."
He gave the sa answer as before.
Ian had a rough idea of where this mory would lead, and he found himself curious— what kind of person had Ariana Dumbledore been in her brother's eyes?
Walking along the grassy path, Ian took the lead.
Dumbledore followed, as though needing soone to guide him back through the past. Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, dappling the ground in patches of golden light.
The old post office, the familiar pub, the quaint church with its pointed spire— all looked just as Ian rembered them. The only difference was the presence of more people, passersby moving about their day.
"Can this be eaten?"
Ian paused beside a street vendor selling what appeared to be hot pancakes, curiosity piqued. He reached out, only to find that while he could grasp the steaming food, he couldn't truly interact with it.
The pancake touched his lips, but he could neither taste nor swallow it.
"This is only a mory, Ian," Dumbledore observed as Ian continued attempting to snatch food from oblivious passersby, finally unable to hold back a remark.
Ian sighed, finally accepting the illusion for what it was.
Ian walked ahead, guiding Dumbledore through the town until they reached a house at the very edge— identical to the one in his mories, but devoid of any identifying marks.
"I t her here. She was the only one in the town, but at least the fruit was edible." Ian still found himself preoccupied with the pancakes from earlier.
However, Dumbledore had already bowed his head, his fra trembling.
"We've co this far."
Ian sensed an overwhelming sadness, pain, and a deep-seated need to retreat. He realized this mory might be from the day Ariana died.
"You don't have to force yourself."
In the end, Ian quelled his curiosity and quietly reassured him. After all, the headmaster might be seeking confirmation of sothing he already knew the answer to.
"I have long since recognized your uniqueness, Ian. This is not for ." Dumbledore inhaled deeply and lifted his head.
The reflection in his glasses revealed the house, but his eyes held no discernible color. "This may be the only lesson I can teach you."
As soon as he finished speaking, the hesitant headmaster seed unable to summon the courage to enter. Ian felt the world shift around them, and before he could process it, they were inside the house.
Three people were engaged in a fierce argunt. One of them, a boy with striking blue eyes and golden hair, exuded an air of rebellion. Ian had a strong feeling he knew exactly who he was.
Sure enough.
"That is Aurora's grandfather, Gellert Grindelwald. I suspect you've already looked up information about him." Dumbledore's gaze was laced with complexity.
The scene before them contained his younger self, his brother, his old friend… and his lost sister.
(To Be Continued…)
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