Adam's brow furrowed as he set his cup down heavily, the water inside rippling, reflecting the faint tremor in his eyes as he looked at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore's fingers traced the phoenix feather wreath, his gaze lingering on its red berries for a long moment.
"I don't know, child," he said softly.
"I'm not as all-knowing as some might think. There are still many things in this world I don't understand. If you hadn't shared those experiences or mentioned Ariana's letter…"
He turned to look out the window, where leaves fluttered in the sea breeze, a wistful glint passing through his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles.
"I might have dismissed it as a bard's fanciful tale."
Adam's frown deepened. "That biography… what's its origin? Can I see it?"
"Of course," Dumbledore replied, tapping the table lightly and adding a few sugar cubes to Adam's watermelon juice.
"It's in the Headmaster's office, on the third shelf to the left, inside a pale sycamore box."
"But don't take it out of Hogwarts. The manuscript, written in dragon's blood ink, becomes fragile without the castle's magical protection."
He lowered his voice, his gaze thoughtful. "Interestingly, the portraits compared it to a 14th-century manuscript and agreed the handwriting matches the signature on the original Ravenclaw Tower crest."
Dumbledore took a sip from his cup, his eyes drifting to the open copy of Legendary Alchemy on the table before Adam, its yellowed pages filled with hand-drawn symbols and notes.
"You're even more talented than I thought," Dumbledore said, a warm smile spreading across his face.
"At your age, I was still struggling to make an auto-quill write in elegant cursive, let alone earning personal guidance from Nicolas Flamel."
His voice carried a nostalgic sigh, as if he could see his younger self wandering the European continent, encountering a legendary alchemical creation in a Paris cellar for the first time.
"It's… not that big a deal," Adam said, scratching his head. "Not long ago, Nicolas came to see Professor Newt and Tina about an opera, but he got the date wrong. He also saw me working on that garden-trimming device downstairs."
He emphasized the last few words pointedly.
Dumbledore chuckled, clearly picturing the look of shock on Nicolas's face. "So, you're the gifted young wizard with bizarre ideas he mentioned in his letter to me."
"Nicolas wrote to you about me?" Adam asked, surprised.
"Oh, yes. His letter had over twenty exclamation marks, describing how someone turned a garden-trimming device into a medieval war machine."
"He used half a parchment to urge me to start an alchemy course at Hogwarts, saying we shouldn't let young wizards fumble with such… primal alchemy on their own."
Adam's face flushed. After reading the books Nicolas had given him, he'd realized just how absurd his modifications to that alchemical device had been.
Dumbledore didn't dwell on it, though, and continued, "From that device downstairs, it seems you've taught yourself runes quite well. Could you show me how far you've gotten?"
Adam seized the chance, pulling out a book on runes and asking Dumbledore questions. The headmaster answered each one with care and precision.
"Your understanding of runes is spot-on. Much of the modern wizarding world's use of runes stems from ancient runic script, as described in your book," Dumbledore explained.
"Legend has it that Odin, the Allfather, created these runes on the World Tree. But wizarding records suggest their origins may be even older than we think."
He pointed to a note in Nicolas's handwriting. "The runes we use today were derived from ancient ones, largely due to developments in the Middle Ages."
"Those were turbulent times, with everyone caught in the tide of history."
"To preserve wizarding traditions from fading, visionary pioneers created these runes to help new generations quickly grasp the mysteries of magic."
"I share Nicolas's view: ancient runes weren't abandoned because they were outdated. On the contrary, they were so powerful they could backfire on the caster."
Adam's thoughts drifted to the first spell he'd mastered: Seal Magic, Mend Soul.
"So, magic back then was dangerous?" he asked.
"Very much so," Dumbledore replied. "Learning spells from a book, as you've done, was incredibly risky back then—and perhaps still is."
"Not every young wizard can safely harness their own magic."
"That's why Hogwarts was founded. In its early days, the school had fewer than a hundred people, including the Founders themselves."
Dumbledore's voice grew solemn as he pulled an old parchment from his sleeve and placed it before Adam.
"Your progress with runes surpasses many senior students. You could try studying these ancient runic texts."
"This records a spell I learned in my youth, one I still consider immensely powerful."
Adam studied the parchment. The opening lines boldly declared Fire God's Path, but despite intricate details on ancient runic structures and complex magical circuits, there were no specific casting instructions—not even a single incantation.
"Professor, it's like…" Adam began.
"Nothing but runes, right?" Dumbledore said with a knowing smile.
"That's the original form of magic. You not only need to master ancient runes but also reconstruct them. A single mistake can lead to failure—or worse, a magical backlash."
"Now you can see how remarkable those early pioneers were to ensure the wizarding world's legacy endures."
"I'm not expecting you to master this spell in the next two years—it's beyond most students' abilities."
"I only hope you don't lose yourself in the pursuit of power. If there's any magic you want to learn, I'll teach you what I know."
His blue eyes, framed by half-moon glasses, looked at Adam with sincerity, his thoughts drifting to a past where another gifted boy once sat before him, their paths diverging sharply.
Adam blinked, glancing at a corner of the table, and said softly, "It's okay, Professor… I already know it."
He drew his wand, gazing at the sky outside. He recalled the night, two months ago, when he first stepped into the wizarding world, under a starlit sky as pure and ethereal as this moment.
As clouds parted, moonlight bathed him, like a figure in an ancient epic raising a wand to defy the heavens.
In an instant, a blazing orange glow sparked at his wand's tip. A crushing wave of pressure erupted, breaking some unseen barrier, flooding the air with a heavy, suffocating force that pressed down on every living thing within miles.
The sky turned red—not from a deliberate surge of magic, but from the gathering of fire elements in the air, creating a surreal spectacle.
A rain of fire fell over a distant sea of roses, igniting countless flames that rose again, forming a vast, crimson starfield drifting skyward.
Scorching currents swirled, and a phoenix's song echoed through the fiery rain.
A torrent of flame roared from the wand of a mere human, soaring like an enraged dragon, a massive pillar of fire piercing the heavens. The apocalyptic blaze erased everything in its path.
It was as if a mythic scene had come to life, a scarlet column of human will breaching celestial halls, burning with defiance toward the gods.
The firelight illuminated Dumbledore's face, his blue eyes wide with awe—and a trace of fear.
He hurriedly waved his legendary Elder Wand, but its once-invincible magic barely rippled in the fiery deluge.
The fire elements in the air seemed to reject his command, leaving him as powerless as the ancient gods who once witnessed such flames.
"You shouldn't have taught him such dangerous magic, especially with next year…" Snape's brows knitted tightly as he spoke to Dumbledore.
They stood on a scorched, smoldering hillside, gazing at the miles of flower fields consumed by fire, the flames halting only at the coastline.
"You should try trusting others, Severus," Dumbledore replied, waving his wand to restore the flower field. "Adam once said trust is mutual."
Snape's face darkened, his voice cold. "His talent is extraordinary, and that innate ability—it's just like him. Aren't you afraid he'll become another…"
"He comes from the same place as Tom, but his qualities are entirely different," Dumbledore interjected softly, watching vibrant roses sprout anew from the charred earth.
"Hmph. So the great Dumbledore is scheming again?" Snape sneered.
"Actually, Adam saw you at Gringotts today. He noticed your injuries but didn't suspect you."
"That's one difference between him and Tom. Despite all the suspicious details, he chooses to trust others."
Dumbledore's tone remained calm as he waved his wand, delicate dew falling on the roses. He turned to the silent Snape. "Few know this, but when I was a Transfiguration professor, I took a gifted boy from that orphanage and taught him magic personally."
"But he lost his way, straying in his pursuit of magic. Otherwise, he might have gone further."
Snape's eyelids twitched, his face growing darker, as if those quiet words had ripped open a wound he'd rather forget. He snorted, meeting Dumbledore's gaze. "What are you getting at?"
"When I visited that orphanage again recently, just before meeting Adam, I noticed things had changed."
"The matrons spoke highly of him. The children adored him. He even performed at a Muggle magic club."
Snape's impatience was palpable. "And that proves what? Craving wealth and attention—just like him."
"Patience, Severus. He could've used his earnings to better his own life, but instead, he spent most of it on bread and dried meat, sneaking them into the orphanage kitchen, and brought candies for the other children."
"Not long ago, he bought a cake for a child's birthday. The matrons told me that since Adam started going out, every child there has had a proper birthday celebration."
Dumbledore recalled the joyful faces of those children, despite the orphanage's worn facilities. The matrons did their best to feed the children, but their patched clothes showed how little they had.
"That's the biggest difference between him and Tom. He's grateful to those who've helped him, and most importantly…"
Dumbledore's words trailed off, his mind drifting to a night ten years ago when a mother used the magic of love to protect her child, achieving what many couldn't.
"What if it's all a calculated act?" Snape's expression wavered, his voice still skeptical. "He's sharp and recognized me instantly. Maybe he has some prophetic ability."
Dumbledore chuckled, shaking his head. "No, he's more honest than any of us."
"Less than fifteen minutes after we met, he told me that one day, he'd take my life with his own hands."
Snape let out a choked laugh, as if he'd heard the joke of the century. But when he saw Dumbledore's calm expression, his brow furrowed. "You're serious?"
Dumbledore nodded, gazing at the twinkling stars. "If someone offered to pay for your past mistakes, most wouldn't refuse. I know I wouldn't, even if it costs my life…"
Snape stared at him like he was a mad old man. "I must be insane to have this conversation with you. I hope you don't regret this. I can't brew a potion for that."
"You should try trusting others, like he trusts you," Dumbledore said, his eyes clear and profound.
Snape's mouth twitched, recalling the bottle of shampoo Adam had sent him. "Not unless I go mad too."
Dumbledore gave a helpless smile, glancing at the red-roofed cottage's second floor, as if he could see the boy sleeping soundly within.
The scene around them was the aftermath of Adam's spell, restrained at the last moment. Dumbledore had felt the boy's solid soul commanding the magic, reluctantly dispersing the fire elements.
"I've regretted many things in my life, but today isn't one of them. It might even be one of my proudest moments."
"I have a feeling he'll need this power someday, and all I can do is pave the way for him to reach that hall."
Dumbledore, slightly disheveled from repairing the ground, looked brighter than ever, as if he saw a rising star in the boy before him.
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