Headmaster Dumbledore

Silas plunged from the clamor of Piccadilly Circus into a dim alley, his heart still pounding. Agitation from the crowd and several cries of alarm drifted in from outside; clearly, his "stunning entrance" had drawn attention. He pressed his back against the cold brick wall and gulped down breaths, trying to calm his chaotic thoughts.

"I'm screwed, I'm screwed... This is going to be a huge mess." He clutched his forehead as a headache came on. Not only had his Auror cousin caught him red-handed, but he had also put on a massive magic show in central London—possibly a paranormal incident in the eyes of Muggles. This was far worse than simply flying while underage.

He was considering what to do next—whether to keep fleeing through random portals or just find a phone booth and call home to turn himself in, though it would probably be taken as a prank—when footsteps and voices sounded from the mouth of the alley.

A few fashionably dressed young people, apparently drawn by the commotion, peeked curiously into the alley. When they spotted the child in the corner wearing a strange dark-blue robe and a dark-red cloak, their faces filled with surprise and curiosity.

Silas's heart tightened. In his panic, an absurd idea surfaced. He took a deep breath and tried to assume the calm, steady posture of a superhero making an entrance in a movie—despite his height and age being wildly unsuitable. Addressing the young people in as serious a tone as possible, he said:

"Hey! Guys! Ever read Marvel comics? I'm Doctor Strange, trust me. That was just... a little spatial teleportation trick."

He had expected shock, admiration, or at least confusion. Reality, however, was cruel.

The young people froze for a moment, then exchanged glances and burst out laughing. One of them, a guy with green-dyed hair, pointed at Silas and laughed so hard he doubled over. "Hahahaha! Doctor Strange? Kid, have you gone too deep into cosplay? Did you buy that cloak at a Halloween shop? The props look pretty realistic, though!"

Another girl held back her laughter and said, "Go home, little guy. Your mum must be worried. Doctor Strange wouldn't get lost in an alley like ours."

Their gazes were full of good-natured teasing—perhaps with a hint of looking at an idiot—and not the slightest trace of belief.

Silas's face instantly turned crimson, so embarrassed his toes could have dug out a three-bedroom apartment. Only then did he realize how cringeworthy and implausible his story sounded to ordinary people. Rather than believe a child was a superhero, they would sooner believe it was a prank or a child's fantasy.

"Uh..." Every explanation lodged in his throat, leaving only utter mortification. "Goodbye!"

He could no longer spare a thought for anything else. Turning around, he wildly traced circles through the air, desperate to leave this socially catastrophic scene as quickly as possible. Sparks flared again, and an even more unstable portal rapidly opened. Without even looking, he dove straight through it.

After a dizzying sensation of weightlessness and warped colors, he crashed heavily onto a patch of damp grass. Cold air, carrying the scent of green grass and earth, rushed over him.

Grimacing, he climbed to his feet and looked around. Beneath the moonlight lay rolling green hills, with sparse woods and low stone walls visible in the distance. Wind howled in his ears, and there was not a single city light in sight.

"Where am I this time?" Silas stared blankly. He had meant to open a portal home. "Some wilderness in Wales? Or the Scottish Highlands? Wasn't I trying to go home...?"

His knowledge of Britain's geography extended only to its major cities, and this remote wilderness lay wholly beyond his understanding. The cold night wind swept past, making him shiver. The Levitating Cloak seemed to sense his cold and tightened around him, bringing a faint warmth, but it still could not dispel his anxiety at being lost.

"No, I have to try again. This time, I need to focus on what home looks like!" He encouraged himself and raised both hands again, trying hard to recall every detail of his bedroom: the Lego on the windowsill, the bedside lamp, the pattern on the carpet...

He concentrated fully, guiding the energy with his fingertips as he carefully traced a circle. This time, the ring of sparks was far more stable, and the image inside gradually came into focus—it was his familiar bedroom! The warm light, the messy desk, even the teddy bear he often held on his bed!

"Success!" Joy surged through Silas as he lifted his foot to step inside.

However, just as he was about to enter the portal, the scene within rippled. A tall figure stepped out of it, coming to stand directly before Silas and blocking his path.

The newcomer wore a long purple wizard's robe embroidered with stars and moons. His beard and hair were entirely white, and he wore half-moon glasses. Behind the lenses, his blue eyes gleamed with sharp curiosity as he looked at Silas with a smiling expression.

Silas froze in place as if he had been hit by a Petrification Charm, his mouth slightly open and his eyes round as saucers.

Uh-oh... Those were the only words left in his head. I'm done for. I've really been caught this time—and by the ultimate boss... No, by Albus Dumbledore himself, Headmaster of Hogwarts, in the middle of nowhere!

Instinctively, he shrank back like a startled quail and stammered softly, "H-hello, sir."

Dumbledore's gaze swept over Silas's mage robe and Levitating Cloak. Extreme surprise flashed through his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a gentle smile. His voice was calm and carried a reassuring strength. "There is no need to be so restrained, child. In fact, I am very interested in the spell you just used, one entirely separate from our traditional magical system."

Silas's heart skipped a beat. Separate from the traditional system? He had noticed? At that moment, Silas keenly sensed an indescribable feeling, as though something were gently probing the surface of his mind. Legilimency!

A powerful wave of revulsion and displeasure instantly rose within him. Silas, fused with the soul of a modern person, valued privacy immensely and especially despised this kind of unauthorized mental intrusion. His mind immediately began flooding with frantic, illogical thoughts, trying to interfere with the other man:

[Old Bee, get out of my head! Don't use Legilimency on me!]

[Get out, get out!]

[Don't look!]

[Keep looking and I'll curse you out!]

[Get out, get out, get out!]

His logic was simple and brutal: if Dumbledore was not probing him, then Dumbledore would not know Silas was insulting him in his head, so there was nothing to lose. If he really was probing him, then Dumbledore was in the wrong, and Silas had every right to curse him out without the slightest psychological burden.

The smile on Dumbledore's face paused slightly. A flash of understanding—and perhaps a touch of apology—passed through those deep blue eyes. He gently shook his head, his voice still mild. "It is all right, child. I assure you, I will not pry into anyone's memories. That is extremely impolite behavior. There is no need to try to interfere with me in this manner."

Silas inwardly ranted, But aren't you still sensing my surface thoughts?! What kind of excuse is 'I'm only looking at the doorway, not going inside'? Who are you trying to fool? You old fox!

Outwardly, however, he still tried to maintain an obedient—perhaps more accurately, frightened-stiff—appearance and did not dare say what was on his mind.

Dumbledore seemed not to notice the storm raging within him. He looked around at the desolate surroundings. The November wind had already reddened the tip of Silas's nose from the cold. The Headmaster suggested with a smile, "I think we should find somewhere to have a proper conversation. This is not a suitable place for one, do you agree? Perhaps we could go somewhere more comfortable than the British outdoors in November, such as... my office?"

He extended the hand without a ring, his manner friendly, though his gaze carried an unmistakable sense that refusal was not an option.

Silas looked at Dumbledore, then at the pitch-black Welsh wilderness behind him, and knew he had no choice at all. He swallowed and nodded nervously. The Levitating Cloak seemed to sense the old man's strength as well. It obediently settled against Silas's back and stopped making any more little movements.