Birth of the New Humans

"If Muggles truly won that war, they would destroy all of us!"

An old wizard in one of the portraits shouted indignantly.

Ian Alvin merely shook his head faintly, his tone calm to the point of coldness.

"No, they would not destroy us. At least, not immediately."

His gaze was deep, as though it had crossed the years and seen a future yet to come.

"After Muggles won the war, they would not be satisfied with victory.

They would grow curious, jealous, and desirous—desirous of everything we possessed.

They would use science and reason to deconstruct magic, treating wizards as research subjects, as laboratory mice."

The portraits erupted in an uproar.

"They would dissect us, analyze the source of magic within our bodies, our neural structures, and the characteristics of our souls.

At first, they would only want to understand magic.

But once they understood it, they would try to replicate it.

I believe they would eventually succeed."

Ian's voice was low and firm. "They would find a way to let Muggles possess magic.

At that time, new wizards would be born from Muggle society.

I call them—a new magical race."

He paused for a moment, as though weighing every word.

"These 'New Humans' would combine science and magic to build an entirely new civilization.

Their thinking would be rigorous, their systems efficient. They would inherit the logic of technology and the creativity of magic.

As long as one percent of them awakened magical power, their numbers would still far exceed the combined total of all wizards.

That would be a new era—one belonging to them, not us."

Phineas Black abruptly rose to his feet, nearly lunging out of his frame.

"Absurd! Delusional! How could such a blasphemous fantasy against magic ever come true?"

"Calm down, Phineas."

Dumbledore set down his teacup. His tone was gentle, yet it could not conceal the faint shock buried beneath it.

He knew that this young man was not boasting. Every word Ian spoke seemed to have come from some distant future.

"You are merely imagining one possibility," Dumbledore said slowly. "The future has not yet been decided."

Ian smiled faintly. "Perhaps. But trends never lie.

The changing of civilizations has never stopped for faith."

Dumbledore watched him and asked in a deep voice, "Mr. Ian, you said this was one of the reasons you gave up on your ambitions. What, then, is the other half of the reason?"

Ian fell silent for a moment before answering softly, "Because of my parents."

The flames in the fireplace flickered faintly.

At that instant, the entire office fell silent. Even the portraits held their breath.

Ian's voice carried no fluctuations, yet it sounded more like some harsh confession.

"The one who killed them was not Voldemort, but this world."

Dumbledore's brow twitched slightly.

"Voldemort was merely the result, the embodiment of every mistake in wizarding society.

The arrogance of those pure-blood supremacists, the humiliation of Muggle-borns being oppressed, the divide between bloodlines, the decay of the old system...

All of these were the soil that bred Voldemort."

He raised his head, a trace of sorrow flashing through his eyes. "So my parents were not killed by one person. They were killed by the entire Wizarding World.

Back then, I wondered, if I truly could build a new civilization—

Was a race like this really worth saving?"

The room once again fell into a long silence.

Several portraits sighed softly. Headmistress Dewent said gently, "Child, your hatred runs too deep."

Ian did not answer. He merely watched the flames calmly.

Dumbledore finally spoke. "I understand your anger, and I regret what happened to your parents.

But do not deny the entire Wizarding World because of the sins of a few.

There are still many people striving to protect kindness and hope, just like your parents did."

Ian lifted his gaze, his eyes cold and clear. "The 'few' you speak of are precisely the rulers of this world.

They hold power, control resources, and decide laws and fates.

The kindness of the majority is worthless before them."

Those words made the air in the room grow even heavier.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, but in the end, he offered no further defense.

—Ian had not told them the whole truth.

He had indeed given up on the grand ambition of leading Wizarding Civilization, but not because of despair.

It was because he had already found another path.

He believed that with his talent and knowledge, he would eventually find a way to travel across dimensions.

Once he could move freely between different universes, he would no longer need the support of any nation or race.

That was his ultimate goal—

To set foot upon the sea of stars and become an existence that spanned countless worlds.

His legend would be sung across innumerable dimensions.

And the first step was to obtain the pinnacle of Alchemy—the Philosopher's Stone.

That was his true reason for returning to Hogwarts.

Dumbledore's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Then, Professor Ian, could you tell me—why do you wish to return to Hogwarts to teach?"

Ian smiled. "Because this place holds my most precious memories.

It taught me reason, and it also taught me dreams.

In a sense, it is my second home.

Of course, there is another small reason."

He pointed to the towering bookshelves behind him. "I have missed the books in the Restricted Section for a long time.

Unfortunately, whenever I tried to enter back then, you were always standing in the doorway."

Dumbledore froze for a moment, then laughed aloud.

That smile held a touch of helplessness, as well as a trace of relief.

The interview came to a peaceful end. Dumbledore asked a few more inconsequential questions before allowing him to leave.

Ian rose and gently closed the door. The moment the wooden door shut, firelight reflected in Dumbledore's eyes.

Phineas Black's voice rang out first. "What a terrifying fellow."

"Terrifying?" another portrait asked in confusion. "You mean his ambition?"

"No," Phineas snorted. "I mean that superficial 'giving up' of his.

Do you truly believe someone like him would stop there?

I think he has already found another way."

Dewent sighed. "Perhaps. But perhaps he is simply tired."

"Tired? Ha, if he were truly tired, he would not have returned to Hogwarts." Phineas sneered. "I would wager that he did not return to teach, but to continue his plans."

Dumbledore said nothing. He merely gazed quietly at the flames.

The firelight reflected in his ancient eyes, flickering with a faint, indistinct worry.