The silence was unbearable. The Elder's presence pressed like an ocean on their chests, suffocating yet divine.
Professor McGonagall steadied herself, her wand trembling slightly. Few wizards alive could make her feel powerless, but this was something else entirely—an authority that could not be defined by spell or rank.
Alaric's voice cracked. "Who… who are you?"
The Elder stepped forward, his silver robes whispering against the floor. His gaze pierced Alaric as though measuring every secret in his soul.
"I," the Elder said slowly, "am of your blood. I walk among shadows and carry the legacy of the Vale family. The world has forgotten us, but we… we have never forgotten the world."
Minerva's sharp mind reeled. Vale? That name does not exist in any magical record… not in Hogwarts, not in the Ministry, not in the old bloodlines. Who are they?
The Elder turned his eyes toward her, and she instinctively lowered her wand. Not because she wished to, but because her magic itself bent under his weight.
"You are Professor Minerva McGonagall," he said softly, almost kindly. "Guardian of Hogwarts, loyal to Dumbledore. Do not mistake our silence for weakness. The Vale family stood before Hogwarts was founded. Before the Ministry. Before your histories began."
Alaric's heart pounded. His parents exchanged a glance, their farmer façade slipping away like a discarded mask. His mother's eyes glowed faintly, his father's hands emanating subtle ripples of power.
"You knew?" Alaric demanded, his voice breaking. "All these years, you let me believe you were… ordinary?"
His father finally spoke, his tone calm but heavy with regret. "We wanted you to grow without chains. To build your own mind, your own strength, unburdened by destiny."
The Elder's presence deepened, and the air grew colder. "But destiny does not wait forever. You are called, Alaric. The wizarding world opens its doors to you—but remember, Hogwarts is but a school. The true heritage of your bloodline lies beyond its walls."
Minerva could hardly breathe. The implications shook her—if this was true, if the Vale family truly predated the foundations of wizarding society, then Dumbledore himself had only ever seen the tip of an endless mountain.
And yet, Alaric… this boy… this genius of technology, worth billions, with the arrogance of youth and the hidden scars of time-travel… he was the heir to it all.
The Elder's gaze softened for the first time as he looked at him.
"You have much to learn. Both in the world of wizards… and in the truths we kept buried. Walk carefully, Alaric Vale, for when your bloodline awakens, the earth itself trembles."
The Elder raised his hand. The air cracked with white light. Then—just as suddenly as he appeared—he was gone.
Minerva stood frozen, her heart racing, her mind overwhelmed. She looked at Alaric again—
not just as a student, but as something that might one day outshine even Dumbledore himself.