Qin Yu had no idea how Dumbledore's words had materialized before his eyes—he could only guess it was some advanced messaging spell far beyond ordinary magic.
But since the old headmaster had summoned him at this hour, it was surely for something important.
So, Qin Yu called for an owl and sent Hermione a quick note: he had urgent business tonight, their surveillance plan was off, and Harry and the others would have to fend for themselves.
Following Dumbledore's instructions, he made his way to the headmaster's office on the eighth floor.
"Apologies, Qin. I didn't realize how late it had gotten. By the time I tried to send you another message, you'd already left your dormitory," Dumbledore greeted him with a gentle, apologetic smile.
From that, Qin Yu gleaned two things: first, this wasn't an emergency, but Dumbledore clearly considered it important. Second, the messaging spell probably required knowing the recipient's exact location in advance—otherwise, Qin Yu would have received a "go to bed" message en route and wouldn't have needed to come here at all.
These thoughts flickered through his mind as he shrugged. "No worries, Professor Dumbledore. I was having trouble sleeping anyway."
He certainly wasn't about to admit he'd been waiting to sneak out with Hermione and spy on Harry's midnight mischief.
"Well then, let's get down to business…" Dumbledore gestured for him to take a seat.
As soon as Qin Yu sat down, an exquisite white porcelain teapot, rimmed with gold, floated gracefully to his side. It tipped itself with perfect poise, pouring a stream of amber tea into a matching cup on the table.
"You don't care for milk or sugar in your tea, if I recall correctly?" Dumbledore asked with a knowing smile.
"That's right, Professor. I prefer my black tea as it is," Qin Yu nodded.
His last visit to the headmaster's office—when Lucius Malfoy had come—had left him with a clear preference: no extra frills in his tea.
"Before we get to the troublesome matters, let me give you a gift. This arrived today, and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to hand it over." Dumbledore picked up a slender wooden box from his desk and passed it across.
The moment Qin Yu took the box, his eyebrows shot up. He recognized the mark of Ollivanders—and the legendary slogan: "Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C."
"This is…" Qin Yu looked at Dumbledore, a hint of excitement in his voice.
"Yes, a new wand," Dumbledore replied, not bothering with suspense. "I commissioned Mr. Ollivander to craft it specially for you. The core is phoenix tail feather."
Instinctively, Qin Yu glanced at Fawkes, the phoenix, who was perched midair, dozing. As if sensing his gaze, Fawkes cracked open an eyelid to give him a lazy, imperious look—then promptly went back to sleep.
So aloof—worthy of a phoenix indeed!
I love how you look at me with such cold indifference, Qin Yu thought with a silent grin.
He opened the box to reveal a wand of pale gray-white wood.
"Give it a try—see how it feels," Dumbledore suggested.
"Alright."
The wand was heavier and a bit longer than his old one, but as he gave it a tentative wave, it felt perfectly balanced in his grip. Clearly, Mr. Ollivander had accounted for his growth over the past year.
He closed his eyes, letting himself attune to the wand. It felt as if it became an extension of his arm, and the phoenix feather at its core seemed to sing—a thrill of magic pulsing through him.
Unbeknownst to Qin Yu, Fawkes was watching him again, this time with a glint of curiosity and solemnity in those golden eyes.
As the "song" of the phoenix feather echoed in his mind, Qin Yu felt a surge of joy and excitement. He opened his eyes, raised the wand, and drew a powerful arc through the air as he intoned:
Incendio!
A jet of fire burst forth—whoosh!—filling the room with sudden heat and blazing light, the flames hungrily licking toward Dumbledore's desk.
But with a casual flick of his own wand, Dumbledore snuffed out the fire as if it had never existed.
"Sorry, Professor. I didn't quite control the strength," Qin Yu apologized quickly.
With his old wand, that spell would never have produced such a powerful blaze. Clearly, this new phoenix-feather wand amplified his magic considerably.
"No need to apologize. That's exactly why I wanted you to have this wand," Dumbledore replied with a warm smile.
His words gave Qin Yu pause.
Sure enough, Dumbledore continued, "You're still young, and I'd planned to wait a few more years before involving you in these matters. But events are moving faster than I expected…"
There was a heaviness in Dumbledore's eyes now—a shadow of worry that made the world's greatest wizard seem, for a moment, simply an old man with too many burdens.
It was easy to forget that Dumbledore had lived for over a century. Qin Yu realized he'd always seen the headmaster's strength, but rarely his age.
"Is this about what I discovered last Christmas?" Qin Yu asked, testing the waters.
During the Christmas holidays, Qin Yu had stumbled upon a clandestine exchange between two suspicious wizards in Diagon Alley—one a Death Eater, the other a G.A. member. (See Chapter 53.)
Most importantly, he'd confiscated a vial of black liquid capable of turning rats into "zombies." Professor Swenton's research had revealed it as a product of North American shamanic dark alchemy, capable of much more than just making undead rats. The sample had been too small to fully investigate. (See Chapter 56.)
That meeting between Death Eater and G.A. member had been a troubling omen, and Qin Yu hadn't forgotten it.
"Mm, it's related. Those people who started out in South America have now moved into North America, and their growth has far exceeded my expectations…"
As he spoke, Dumbledore conjured a shimmering globe—an ethereal map of the world—before them.
"This was their first known area of activity… then here… and now, their movements are frequent all over North America. The attitude of the Magical Congress is worryingly ambiguous. It seems a significant number of their members sympathize with these radicals."
With a wave, Dumbledore spun the globe, blue flames flickering to life—first clustered in Brazil, then spreading like wildfire across North America.
The sense of looming crisis was palpable.
They're growing faster than the Death Eaters ever did, Qin Yu thought, unsettled.
"I know this might put a lot of pressure on you," Dumbledore said gently, sensing his unease.
You know and you're still telling me? Are you trying to hand me the weight of the world? I'm only in my second year—can't I just have a couple of peaceful years at school? Qin Yu grumbled inwardly.
But Dumbledore pressed on, "You're different from the other children. You have a maturity beyond your years—especially the way you handled Lucius's provocations. Your… composure, let's say, surprised and pleased me."
You mean my acting skills, right? Qin Yu thought, smirking to himself.
"In any case, I wanted you to know what's ahead. There will be many challenges, and you should be prepared. The future belongs to your generation." Dumbledore smiled, the weight lifting from his shoulders as if he were sharing a private joke.
But Qin Yu didn't find any of this amusing.
He couldn't possibly fathom the perspective of someone who'd lived a century. Maybe Dumbledore saw life, death, and time in a way no young person could.
He almost wanted to say, If you could borrow another five hundred years, who knows whose future it would be?
But the truth was clear: even the greatest wizard in the world was nearing the end of his days. Maybe that was why Dumbledore was so eager to set things right now, to put his affairs in order before it was too late.
Qin Yu realized there wasn't much he could do for now. But when the time came, he knew where he'd stand. He'd never let those he cared for be picked off one by one.
If there was no other choice, he'd fight.
That thought brought him a strange sense of peace—the suffocating pressure receded.
He gripped his new wand, half-joking, "So you're giving me this wand so I can spend my free time dueling Death Eaters or G.A. members?"
Dumbledore burst out laughing. "You're overthinking it. I'm not about to send you onto the battlefield just yet. I simply thought you'd become a pillar for your friends, so I wanted to bring you into the loop early. And, according to Professor Snape, you really do need a new wand."
His old wand, with its unicorn hair core, had always resisted dark magic. Now, after extra lessons from Professors Snape and Swenton, Qin Yu had gained much better control over his emotions and powers. It was time he learned some more advanced spells.
Dumbledore sighed, making a comical face. "Honestly, I'm not even sure what I want you to do. Maybe I just feel a bit overwhelmed and needed to share the burden. Funny thing is, after talking to you, I feel much better—like a weight's been lifted."
Well, lucky you, Qin Yu thought wryly. Your pressure's gone down, but mine's gone up.
That night, all Dumbledore really did was give Qin Yu a new wand, talk through the current situation, and encourage him to unite his friends and help them grow.
As for specific plans, the old man had none—because even he didn't know what would happen next.
The two of them—one old, one young—sipped tea and chatted idly, ending a conversation that, in later years, would be shrouded in legend and speculation.
Afterwards, Qin Yu left the headmaster's office and started down the stairs.
He'd only gone a few steps when something at his waist began to vibrate urgently.
It was an alchemical device he always carried—one that resonated with a matching whistle.
The very whistle Hermione wore around her neck.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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