Severus Snape, his sharp tongue and unlikable demeanor aside—was proving to be far more generous than Ian could have ever anticipated. For instance, the bag of Galleons he had left Ian was anything but ordinary.
Despite the considerable expenses incurred in acquiring his school supplies, the bag seemed untouched, clearly enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm. Inside, Ian found a staggering 150 Galleons.
To any wizard or witch, this was a fortune.
To put things into perspective, an ordinary Ministry of Magic employee would have to toil for two full months—living frugally—to amass such wealth. In contrast, Ron Weasley's family couldn't even scrape together seven Galleons for a new wand.
Ian stared at the shimmering coins, his thoughts running wild.
"Even if I am some sort of orphaned prodigy, this is excessive. What's next? Is my mother secretly Lily Potter's clone?"
He shuddered at the absurd notion.
"No way. Not in the 1990s. Neither the Muggle world nor the magical one has cloning technology… right?"
With a sigh, Ian shook off the uneasy thoughts. There were more pressing matters.
After unloading his belongings into the snug wooden cabin Snape had secured for him in Hogsmeade, Ian wasted no time diving into his studies. His excitement was palpable as he pulled out his wand and the quintessential Hogwarts textbook, The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.
As twilight descended and the last golden rays vanished, Ian's surroundings were bathed in the serene embrace of night. Eager to begin, he chose the simplest and most iconic spell.
"Lumos!"
He whispered the incantation, his focus entirely on his wand and the flow of magic within him. A faint glow flickered at the tip of the wand before sputtering out.
Despite the failure, Ian's emerald-green eyes sparkled with determination.
Progress was progress.
On the edge of his vision, a faint notification shimmered:
[Illumination Charm (Level 0): 3/50]
Ian couldn't suppress a grin. The "progress bar" was something he had seen before and now fully embraced. For every failed attempt, his familiarity with the spell increased.
"Looks like I've got some magical talent after all," he murmured, encouraged.
Each successful cast or close attempt nudged the bar forward. In no more than twenty tries, he would grasp the spell's fundamentals.
And so, the room flickered with bursts of light as Ian practiced relentlessly, his passion driving him to perfect his mastery.
***
Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts, in the heart of the castle, Albus Dumbledore sat quietly in his office. Despite the late hour, the headmaster showed no signs of fatigue. Clad in a vibrant, patchwork dressing gown, he was hunched over a desk laden with parchment and books.
The soft glow of an enchanted desk lamp illuminated his silver beard as his sharp blue eyes scanned the pages of a book titled The Admission Ledger. Among the names inscribed within, one stood out:
Aurora Grindelwald.
Dumbledore's fingers tapped rhythmically on the desk. The faint creak of the revolving staircase reached his ears as the door to his office swung open.
"You never told me he was a natural Legilimens!" Severus Snape stormed into the room, his robes billowing with every step. His usually pale complexion was flushed with irritation.
Dumbledore didn't look up. "Some things are better discovered firsthand, my dear Severus. Much like how I haven't told Ian about your… unique connection."
Snape's dark eyes narrowed. "This isn't a game, Albus. The boy's abilities are unnatural. Occlumency has no effect on him. I've tested it, repeatedly."
Finally looking up, Dumbledore closed the book with a soft thud. "A rare gift indeed," he said, his voice calm. "You've seen talented students before, Severus. Why does this one trouble you so?"
"Because his talent is dangerous!" Snape snapped. "This isn't mere skill; it's an invasion of privacy, an innate violation of boundaries."
Dumbledore's expression softened. "Gifts, even extraordinary ones, are not inherently good or evil. It is how we guide and shape their use that matters."
"We agreed," Snape countered, his voice low and tense, "that he would live an ordinary life. That he would graduate without fanfare. And now you're bringing him into the school next year. This isn't the time for more prodigies, Albus!"
"Severus," Dumbledore interjected gently, "we have no right to dictate the life he leads. Not I, not you, not even his parents, were they here."
Snape's lips thinned into a harsh line. "He will hate you for this."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore replied, "but better hatred than regret."
For a moment, the two men stared at each other. Finally, Snape let out a sharp breath, his shoulders sagging slightly.
"Very well. But mark my words…" He turned on his heel, his black robes sweeping behind him as he exited the office.
From the surrounding portraits, the murmurs of past headmasters filled the room.
"A natural Legilimens? Quite the prodigy!"
"Hogwarts has seen its fair share of brilliance. What's one more?"
Dumbledore, ignoring the chatter, reopened the ledger. His fingers traced the name Aurora Grindelwald once more. The surname was unmistakable.
In the quiet, his thoughts drifted to another name. Another time.
Gellert Grindelwald.
***
After Snape's departure, the portraits of past headmasters burst into chatter, their voices filling the office with lively debate. Yet none of the noise reached Dumbledore's mind. His thoughts were far away.
With a gentle wave of his hand, the tome on his desk flipped open again, its pages revealing a single, haunting name:
Aurora Grindelwald.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen this name in the Admission Ledger. On the day it appeared, Dumbledore had made the journey to Nurmengard to speak with its most infamous resident—Gellert Grindelwald.
Aurora wasn't a direct descendant of the Dark Wizard but bore the unmistakable mark of his rare talent. How this legacy persisted remained a mystery, one that troubled Dumbledore deeply.
He recalled Grindelwald's words during their meeting:
"Albus, you and I failed because we sought to change too much, to control too many. We forgot we were merely men… powerful, but fallible. Wizards can shape fate, but they should never attempt to dictate it."
There had been something almost pleading in Grindelwald's tone that day, a genuine desire to see Aurora follow her own path—untainted by manipulation, even his own.
"This child," he had said, "must carry the weight of my reflection, not my mistakes."
Yet Dumbledore couldn't shake the feeling that Grindelwald's sincerity might conceal deeper motives. No one wielded words as masterfully as his old friend and adversary.
For all his regrets, Dumbledore knew better than to trust blindly.
What truly unsettled him, however, was the transformation he'd witnessed in Grindelwald back in 1979. For decades, the man had languished in Nurmengard, a shadow of his former self. Then, seemingly overnight, he had regained his vigor—his mind sharp, his demeanor confident.
"Albus," Grindelwald had said during that fateful meeting, "the world is changing. We can no longer halt its march, but we can bear witness to its legends."
He had spoken of "legends" with a conviction that unnerved Dumbledore, hinting at a resurgence of power beyond their understanding. Now, as Dumbledore traced Aurora's name on the page, he couldn't help but wonder:
"Is this the what you foresaw, Gellert? Your legacy?"
The thought lingered, heavy and unanswered, as the office fell into an uneasy silence.
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(A/N: I've launched a Patreon page where you can get access to 20+ chapters ahead—come check it out! on my patre0n.c0m/HP_PS)