Dumbledore?
Gerald nodded without betraying anything, but his mind was already racing.
Dumbledore would not invite a first-year to the Headmaster's Office for tea without a reason.
Had I drawn too much attention after all?
He had certainly done quite a lot over the past two months. Taken individually, none of those things would have attracted much notice, but strung together...
Heaven knows, I really just wanted to improve!
Gerald followed Professor McGonagall to the gargoyle on the Seventh Floor.
"Sherbet Lemon."
Professor McGonagall spoke the words to the gargoyle, which immediately sprang aside, revealing a spiral stone staircase behind it.
When the door opened, a faint aroma of tea greeted them.
"Headmaster, I've brought you Gerard Green."
Gerald looked up and surveyed the Headmaster's Office.
The Headmaster's Office was a large, circular room, its walls covered with portraits of former headmasters and distinguished professors. Some were dozing, while others studied their visitor with appraising eyes.
A large, fiery-red bird stood on a perch in the corner, leisurely preening his tail feathers with his beak.
That must be Fawkes. It would be great if I could make him my pet.
As that thought crossed his mind, a message suddenly appeared on the panel.
[Phoenix Divine Beast detected (unawakened).]
Huh?
"Ah, Mr. Green. Please, sit down. Would you care for some black tea?" Dumbledore's voice interrupted Gerald's thoughts.
He looked up at the white-haired, white-bearded old man seated behind the enormous claw-footed desk and broke into a smile.
"Thank you, Headmaster, but I don't like tea."
"Minerva, could you step outside for a moment? There are a few things I'd like to discuss privately with Mr. Green."
Professor McGonagall glanced at Gerald, then turned and left the office.
"You seem quite interested in Fawkes." Dumbledore followed Gerald's gaze toward the phoenix on his perch. "Oh, Fawkes is his name. He's been with me for many years, longer than most of the old fellows in those portraits."
"I've read about phoenixes. Their tears can heal wounds, and their song gives courage to the pure of heart." Gerald looked away and sat in the chair opposite Dumbledore.
The cushion was very soft, but he sat only on its front half, keeping his back straight.
"It seems the rumors are true. You really have read a great many books."
Dumbledore paused, then continued.
"Minerva has mentioned you to me more than once. She says your proficiency in Transfiguration far surpasses that of your peers. There happens to be a quill here, Mr. Green. Would you mind giving me a demonstration?"
Gerald's brow furrowed slightly.
Just because of that?
Students who excelled at Transfiguration were not numerous, but they were hardly unheard of.
As the greatest master of Transfiguration of the century, Dumbledore would hardly have sent McGonagall away to speak privately with him over something so trivial.
Still, there was nothing unreasonable about the request itself, and he had no reason to refuse.
He drew his wand and glanced down at the dark-red quill on the desk.
The key to Transfiguration lay in clarity of intent. He needed to construct every detail of the target precisely in his mind.
"Vertus."
The quill bounced on the desktop. Its dark-red feather became deep-green skin, its shaft split into four legs, and its tip shrank into a pair of bulging eyes.
A few seconds later, a lively frog crouched amid Dumbledore's piles of documents, its cheeks swelling and shrinking as it croaked.
"Splendid!"
Dumbledore clapped softly twice, then pointed his wand at the desk, turning the frog back into a quill.
"Your grasp of Transfiguration is already on par with that of a third-year student or above. Minerva's lavish praise is well deserved. However-"
He shifted the subject, his tone remaining gentle.
"Mr. Green, the truth is that you caught my attention quite some time ago. Much earlier than you might imagine."
"???"
A book as thick and heavy as a brick appeared in Dumbledore's hand.
"This is the Book of Admittance. Every Hogwarts student is recorded here from birth. Whether pure-blood, half-blood, or Muggle-born, their name appears the moment they are born. You alone were somewhat different."
"Headmaster, I'm not quite sure what you mean."
"Your name only suddenly appeared in the Book of Admittance when you were eight. And it wasn't until you arrived at Hogwarts that your magical abilities gradually began to show themselves."
Dumbledore spoke softly, but every word was like a pebble dropped into the still waters of Gerald's heart.
"I even made a special trip to the Nameless Town where you lived." Dumbledore lifted his teacup and took a sip. When he set it down, that same unfathomable smile still lingered at the corners of his mouth. "You were in Henry Hall's yard at the time, holding a horse stance in front of that old oak tree."
Gerald said nothing, but inwardly, his thoughts were churning.
He had considered many possible reasons why Dumbledore might have noticed him, but he had never imagined that the old man had personally traveled to the Nameless Town in Essex County when he was eight, hidden somewhere out of sight, and watched his entire day from beginning to end.
"Your magic was already quite stable then. There were no signs of it ever slipping out of control. No teacups mysteriously disappearing, no clothes bursting into flames on their own."
Dumbledore paused, tapping his fingers lightly against the desktop.
"That is quite rare in a child who has never received any magical education. For most untrained young witches and wizards, magic is like a whirlwind hidden inside their bodies, always trying to escape. But not yours. Your magic seemed restrained by something, perfectly quiet."
Dumbledore's words gave Gerald a few new suspicions.
Could it be because I practiced the Divine Firmament Five-Elements Heavenly Thunder Art? Did it suppress my magic?
"I witnessed your kindness and gratitude," Dumbledore continued. "Mr. Hall was getting on in years, and his health wasn't very good. Every morning, you made his breakfast before going out to tend the sheep."
"Headmaster, that's not a very good habit you have."
Dumbledore looked taken aback, then gave a soft chuckle.
"I knew someone who, at your
age, also possessed extraordinary abilities. He was even cleverer than you, even more gifted, more dazzling than any peer you have ever known. But he took the wrong path, because no one told him in time where the boundaries of power lay."
He sat down again and rested his clasped hands on the desk, an indescribable emotion entering his eyes.
"Mr. Green, I have lived a very long time and made more mistakes than you could imagine. When I was young, I believed power was everything, that if I became strong enough, I could change the world. But great power often leads people astray, cutting both themselves and others."
At that, Dumbledore fell silent for a moment.
Gerald could tell that Dumbledore was feeling melancholy. It seemed the old man truly remained haunted by his sister's death.
"I saw in you a shadow of him in his youth, and of myself as well. That is why I wanted to tell you that power itself is not frightening, and you need not be wary of me. But I hope you will always remember what you are doing today, and what sort of person you want to become in the future."
Hearing this, Gerald felt something stir within him.
He's talking about Gellert Grindelwald? Interesting.
As for the rest of Dumbledore's words, Gerald did not quite dare believe them.
Sounds nice, but if I really spent every day studying dark magic, you'd scatter my ashes.
Before you continue