The next morning.
The sky seemed covered by a vast grey curtain. Thick clouds hung low, letting no sunlight through. The air carried a damp, earthy chill.
The Shafiq family's private cemetery lay in a fir forest behind the manor. The surroundings were utterly silent, save for the rustle of wind through the treetops.
Two figures in black robes stood before a white marble headstone. A bouquet of dew-touched white lilies rested at its base—just placed there by William.
He had stepped aside now, silently watching as Richard bent forward. The hands that usually held a wand or a newspaper trembled slightly as he gently placed the flowers he carried before the grave.
Carved in gold upon the stone was a simple, solemn inscription:
[Diana Shafiq]
[Born 20 December 1935 – Died 28 June 1976]
William stood quietly behind his father, letting the cold morning wind brush through his hair.
Richard murmured softly to the headstone for a long time. His voice was low, as if recounting trivial matters from the past year—family affairs, news about his son—or perhaps quietly complaining about life's small frustrations.
After a long while, Richard straightened, quickly returning to the composed demeanor of a family patriarch.
"Let's go," he said quietly.
William gave the name one last long look.
"Goodbye, Mum."
As he turned away, his gaze grew distant.
Strictly speaking, he wasn't from this world originally.
Thirty years ago, when he was born into this ancient pure-blood family carrying memories from his past life, he soon realized he had reincarnated in the world of a novel he once read—Harry Potter.
But because he had read it at a young age, and decades had passed since then, many details had long faded. He remembered only the general storyline and a few key points in time.
Still, that vague foresight had allowed him to accomplish several important things.
For example, during the darkest days of the First Wizarding War, the Shafiq family—one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—faced enormous pressure to choose a side.
Most pure-blood families fanatically supported Voldemort's doctrine of wizard supremacy. Many eagerly joined the Death Eaters.
Richard had wavered at the time. He believed in wizard superiority himself, yet understood the war would be brutal—and choosing the wrong side would end disastrously. As head of the Shafiq family, he represented more than just himself.
It was William, freshly graduated from Hogwarts, who spent an entire night arguing with his father in the study, fiercely opposing the decision.
"Voldemort doesn't want friends, he wants servants."
Richard still remembered those words vividly.
"Even if you share his ideology, that madman won't treat you as an equal. The Shafiq family doesn't need to become anyone's servant, nor sacrifice itself for some so-called glory."
In the end, Richard chose to wait and observe. The family offered only verbal support and some financial contributions, never participating directly in Death Eater activities.
History proved William right.
Not long after, news spread across Britain: the Dark Lord had been defeated by a baby. Once-arrogant Death Eaters were arrested and sent to Azkaban. Only a few escaped through desperate betrayal or influential backing.
The Shafiq family, having taken no direct action, emerged entirely unscathed and quickly regained its footing after the war.
This was one of the advantages of being a reincarnator.
But there were things that left him utterly powerless.
Like his mother's death.
Diana Shafiq had died from a rare hereditary curse—a blood curse inherited from the Greengrass family, where some women developed visible symptoms over time.
Unfortunately, Diana had been one of them. Though Richard cared for her devotedly, her condition only worsened.
William knew of blood curses from the story, yet in the face of an incurable magical illness, he had been helpless.
He could only watch as his mother weakened day by day, until she passed away on what should have been a bright summer day.
Stepping out through the cemetery's iron gates, the air felt slightly fresher.
"You go ahead, Father," William said, pausing to straighten his collar. "I'm heading to Diagon Alley."
Richard frowned. "We have everything at home. Why go to that chaotic place?"
"To buy teaching materials. I need to prepare for my work as a professor."
Though William had excelled in Alchemy—earning an Outstanding on his N.E.W.T. and working for years in the Experimental Charms Committee—being skilled and teaching others were entirely different matters.
Considering most students' comprehension and the daunting difficulty of the subject, preparation was necessary.
And more importantly… that late-arriving system.
William calculated quietly.
The system's core was earning points, and the Student Performance rewards were especially attractive. But Alchemy at Hogwarts was a sixth-year elective—far too limited in reach.
If he taught only that, he'd earn barely any points from a handful of students.
To improve the performance of the entire school, the title of Professor of Alchemy alone wasn't enough.
He needed greater authority. A wider teaching scope.
"I suppose I'll need a serious discussion with Dumbledore," William murmured thoughtfully. "Hopefully, that old bee still loves sweets as much as the rumors say."
He already had a rough plan for his future at Hogwarts.
"Very well. Do as you like," Richard said, waving a hand. "Just come home early."
"I will."
They exchanged a glance, then turned in opposite directions in perfect unspoken understanding.
Crack! Crack!
With two sharp pops, their figures twisted and vanished, leaving only a few leaves drifting gently in the air.