A strange sensation crept over Wyzett—an uncanny feeling of being utterly exposed, as if someone was peering straight through his soul.
Before he could say a word, the parchment seemed to answer itself: "Ottery St. Catchpole, black castle-like house, isn't it?"
Wyzett rolled his neck, unsettled. "That again? It's like someone's reading me like an open book…"
He remembered having this same sensation in his very first month at Hogwarts—when Professor Snape had stared him down with those cold, penetrating eyes.
"A very accurate description," said Aberforth, his tone approving. "This parchment is enchanted with Legilimency. Now… keep your eyes on that symbol."
But Wyzett frowned and refused. Instead, he dropped his gaze, refusing to meet the eye drawn on the parchment.
"Good! That's the kind of resistance I want to see!" Aberforth actually laughed. "But for a true Legilimens, that sort of struggle won't get you far!"
Once again, Wyzett felt that violating sense of being seen through. Instinctively, he called upon Custodis Meditatio—the Guardian's Meditation—trying to shield his mind from further intrusion.
The eye on the parchment blinked rapidly, the parchment itself beginning to shimmer and flicker with instability.
Aberforth grinned even wider. "Not bad! No wonder Albus says you're gifted. You've got a knack for resisting mental prying—impressive!"
"Look at me! Look at me!" urged the parchment, its voice growing shrill, but Wyzett only strengthened his inner defenses.
Suddenly, flames licked up from the parchment's edge, bursting forth in a blaze of eerie silver light.
The silver glow flooded the side room. Even with his eyes tightly shut, Wyzett felt its force invade his mind.
A vision blazed before him: his beloved home—an ancient, castle-like manor—engulfed in flames. The beautiful garden became a raging inferno, mercilessly devouring everything he cherished…
"Enough!"
For the first time, rage boiled over in Wyzett. His Obscurus core surged violently, while The Wizard's Practical Combat Guide flipped open on its own, unleashing a torrent of stored Ancient Magic.
Silver-blue chains of magic snapped into place, trying to reinforce the seal on his core.
But it was too late. Billowing clouds of black and crimson mist burst through the chains, swirling around Wyzett and etching his skin with sinister, shifting runes.
The Obscurus erupted from his body, coalescing into writhing, tentacle-like shadows that shot out and seized Aberforth, slamming him hard against the wall.
CRASH!
The stone wall caved in with a thunderous roar, drowning out Aberforth's cry of pain.
Wyzett's brows drew together in a fierce scowl. His pupils burned scarlet as he snarled, "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
Though battered and bruised, Aberforth managed a crooked grin, utterly unfazed. "Excellent! You're so much better than Albus! It's your true self I wanted to see!"
"At least you let your real feelings show, instead of hiding everything away! Did you know? Albus—even as a child—was a master of secrets, as if he was born knowing the rules of magical contracts."
"He could hide himself completely… But thank Merlin you're not like that! You know how to express emotion, which means you're better than him! So, what did you see just now? I'm dying to know!"
Wyzett exhaled shakily, eyeing Aberforth's battered but unbothered face. He couldn't help but mutter, "Lunatic."
"No! Voldemort's the real lunatic…" Aberforth barked a laugh. "Me? I just act crazy when I need to. But here's the truth: Voldemort has his eye on you now!"
"You're about to stare madness in the face. That makes you very, very dangerous. I don't know exactly what the parchment showed you…"
"But if Voldemort's involved, whatever you saw—it just might come true!"
A sudden warmth pulsed in Wyzett's palm—the comforting touch of the phoenix feather.
He pressed his lips together, focused, and summoned Custodis Meditatio, doing his utmost to draw the black-red mist back into his core.
Aberforth slid to the floor, coughing violently, flecks of blood spattering his beard.
It took a while for him to recover, muttering as he staggered upright.
"No wonder Albus calls you talented… You really do have the Obscurus gift, just like Credence…"
That name made Wyzett raise an eyebrow. "Credence?"
He remembered the end of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them: Credence had dissolved into a wisp of Obscurus, vanishing among the ruins. Newt Scamander had noticed, but hadn't intervened.
Clearly, it was a hint—Credence would return in the sequel.
"Yes… Credence, my… son." Aberforth coughed twice, spitting blood. "That's the difference between me and Albus: I'm willing to speak my pain aloud."
"Since you've chosen to stay, maybe you'll get to know another side of the Dumbledores—a side apart from 'the greatest wizard of our age.'"
With a flick of his wand, Aberforth restored the wrecked side room, then stormed out to deal—rather forcefully—with the rowdy patrons who'd been startled by the commotion.
When he returned, he repaired the broken stools and gestured for Wyzett to sit across from him once more.
"Let's get down to real learning. First question: What do you think a wizard is? And what is magic?"
What is a wizard?
What is magic?
The questions caught Wyzett off guard.
In his previous life, he might have answered: "It's all just fiction, movie special effects…"
But now, after truly becoming a wizard—studying at a real magical school, mastering spells, sweeping away grime with a flick of his wand, dissolving trolls with a word—he still found himself lost. What did it really mean to be a wizard? What was magic, truly?
"Can't think of an answer, can you?" Aberforth gave a sly, knowing smile. "It's a trick question—there's no single right answer."
Wyzett pressed his lips together, holding back any response, knowing Aberforth had more to say.
"What a dull kid!" Aberforth snorted. "Can't you at least pretend to be curious? You're supposed to ask, 'Why do you ask?' in that innocent, wide-eyed way."
When Wyzett remained silent, Aberforth just shook his head, resigned. "Before Albus found you, you'd never truly encountered magic, had you?"
"You were just tormented by some bastard, fed the idea that magic was evil, forced to fear your own power, right?"
Wyzett nodded. "That's right."
Aberforth went on, "So let me put it another way: Have you ever wondered about similar things?"
"Why are you a Muggle—an ordinary person? Why can you pick up a cup and drink water? Ever thought about that?"
"No," Wyzett admitted, shaking his head, then ventured, "Because I'm just a person… and I've got the strength?"
Suddenly, inspiration struck him. His eyes lit up. "Just like being a wizard! Because I am one, I can do magic!"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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