Inside the room, Professor Dumbledore sat quietly in an armchair, hands loosely clasped, his half-moon spectacles catching the white morning light and veiling his expression behind shifting reflections.
"Black tea?"
The young man across from him—elegant in both dress and bearing—offered the question casually, though he did not wait for a reply. With a snap of his fingers, a tea set rose from a nearby shelf, moving of its own accord. In mid-air, the components assembled a perfect brew with precise timing. Two cups of steaming tea floated gently down in front of them.
Kai Adler took a sip and nodded with evident approval.
"British black tea really does have its charms."
Dumbledore tasted his and gave a quiet hum. "Would be even better with more sugar."
"Who puts sugar in black tea…" Kai muttered under his breath, almost scandalized.
The mood, on the surface, was cordial. But a tension hung beneath it, a heaviness clouding Dumbledore's aged eyes.
Noticing the old man's furrowed brow, Kai exhaled. "I only eliminated two human traffickers, Professor. Monsters wearing skin, nothing more. Aren't there worse things roaming freely?"
Dumbledore's lips pressed into a thin line. That casual tone—that dismissal—unnerved him far more than any overt cruelty would have.
He had indeed sensed Kai's magic the previous night and arrived swiftly enough to erase all traces before Muggle authorities or the Ministry's investigators could interfere. But even in that short time, the evidence had been stark. The residual pull of the Cruciatus Curse had been unmistakable. And worse—Avada Kedavra. The Killing Curse.
Only one of the traffickers had been struck by it, but that was already too many.
The old wizard steepled his fingers and fixed Kai with a searching gaze.
"Do you know what would have happened if I hadn't arrived before the Ministry? You'd be sitting in Azkaban right now. Do you understand that, Kai?"
Kai said nothing at first. He certainly did understand. Azkaban—the most infamous prison in Europe—was whispered about with dread even among hardened wizards. He had no intention of ever setting foot there.
But more than the threat, it was the action that surprised him. Dumbledore had intervened. Cleaned up after him. No lecture, no formal reprimand—just quiet resolution.
"…Thank you, Professor," Kai said at last, voice softening in genuine respect.
Dumbledore studied him with a conflicted heart. The boy's calm, dignified presence reminded him far too much of someone else—Gellert. Even in his most dangerous years, Gellert Grindelwald had possessed that same charisma, the same ease in wielding power.
And this boy—no, young man—had been raised by him. Shaped in his image.
It was no wonder, then, that Kai could be so unflinching. He had grown up among ruthlessness. That would not be undone in a year, or even ten. But unlike Gellert, there was still a softness in Kai—a hesitance when it mattered. And perhaps, if nurtured carefully, that difference might save him.
The old man sighed deeply. "You're not beyond saving," he murmured to himself.
Kai, unaware of the swirl of thought behind the professor's still expression, shifted slightly in his seat. He had other concerns.
"…If there's nothing else, Professor, I had planned to go out."
"Oh?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Where to?"
Kai folded his arms. "To Diagon Alley. Ollivander sold me a wand, but I think there's something wrong with it. I wanted to speak with him."
Dumbledore gave a small chuckle. "Ollivander's wands have rarely disappointed. May I see it?"
Kai handed over the wand without hesitation. Dumbledore turned it in his fingers with the air of a practiced scholar.
"White ash wood… fifteen inches… unicorn hair core." He waved it lightly, and a silvery-white glow shimmered at the tip. "Ah. A wand attuned to White Magic. Very good craftsmanship. I see no defects."
Kai frowned. "But when I use it, the magic feels off—sluggish. Even a simple Mending Charm takes twice the energy it should."
"Show me."
Kai took the wand back and cast Lumos. A flickering, jittery beam of light sputtered from the tip—harsh and unstable, like a dying filament.
"See?" he said, exasperated. "I could do better with my bare hands."
He raised his left hand and snapped his fingers. A steady orb of light emerged, but its edges were tinged with a shadowy mist. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed.
"…You're channeling your Obscurus, even in minor spells."
"Of course," Kai said without hesitation. "It's a part of me. The old man told me not to suppress it—said it'd even enhance Dark Magic."
Dumbledore murmured thoughtfully, "The wand resists you, not because it is flawed—but because it was never meant to channel that kind of magic."
Kai blinked. "Because of the unicorn hair?"
The older wizard nodded. "Unicorn hair cores are intrinsically opposed to Dark Magic. Your magic—tainted as it is by the Obscurus—is constantly in conflict with the wand's nature."
"But… if I separate my magic from the Obscurus…"
"You'd find the wand far more cooperative," Dumbledore agreed, "but such separation is not easy. Prolonged bonding with an Obscurus contaminates your core magic. Reversing that—"
Before he could finish, Kai's wand flared to life in his hand. A warm, steady light glowed from the tip—soft and clear.
Dumbledore paused, visibly astonished.
Magic was deeply tied to the caster's soul. Those steeped in darkness often found even Lumos unstable. But this young man had, in an instant, shed that corruption and produced a light no less pure than any White Wizard's.
"…Remarkable," Dumbledore breathed. "You truly do possess light within you."
Kai looked puzzled. "It's just concentration. Emotion management. Grindelwald used to lecture me on that."
The name stirred a strange look in Dumbledore's eyes—pain, perhaps, or regret.
But what lingered most was hope.
If Kai Adler, raised in shadow, could wield a wand of White Magic—even briefly—then his future was not written in stone.
What mattered now was guiding him to that light before the darkness swallowed him whole.
And perhaps… Hermione Granger might prove key to that.