Dumbledore looked at the brass plaque again.
He looked at it for a long time.
Long enough that Mrs. Hawke began to feel slightly uneasy and gave a soft cough.
"So it's that child... Iain Kent. He's a good boy, just a bit too quiet and too mature for his age. Still, I've always known he was destined to do something remarkable one day."
"He understood a great many things from a very young age, and because of that, he's never quite managed to fit in with the other children at the orphanage. He always prefers doing his own thing."
Mrs. Hawke showed no reaction at all to Iain's original surname.
After all, she was only a Muggle.
Faced with Mrs. Hawke's reflections, Dumbledore seemed thoughtful.
"So Iain Kent has lived a rather solitary life here?"
For some reason, Dumbledore continued using Iain's current name. He seemed to have caught onto some key detail, and his gaze flickered slightly as he looked at Mrs. Hawke.
Under Dumbledore's scrutiny, Mrs. Hawke froze for a moment.
"No, no, that's not what I meant. Little Iain has always looked after the other children here. Sometimes he even hands out sweets. He just doesn't care much for games like hide-and-seek."
"And when help is needed with chores, little Iain asks a few of the children who admire him, then gives them a bit of money afterward as payment."
"That's why I say he's precocious. He already knows how to hire people to do work for him. Other than that, nothing gets more of his attention than all those cats and dogs he keeps."
The headmistress offered a quick defense of Iain.
A talent for making use of other people, after all,
was practically considered a virtue among the Western upper classes.
"He likes small animals? A fine hobby. I happen to know another rather reserved friend like that." Dumbledore spoke with a hint of amusement as he followed Mrs. Hawke out of the office.
"I've always thought little Iain would grow up to be a very successful businessman. Even in the current hard times, he sometimes manages to find us things like chickens and ducks."
"Though he tells the children those chickens and ducks were suffering from some kind of depression and came to him hoping to nobly sacrifice themselves, I know he's been making money through his little animal friends all along."
"If times were a bit better, little Iain would already have made something of himself by now. Of course, it's us who've held him back."
As she led the way, Mrs. Hawke kept praising sensible little Iain. Thanks to the Prime Minister, no one was having an especially easy time these days, no matter what class they belonged to.
"In truth, you've run this place very well. I can feel how much care you've put into it." Dumbledore offered the reassurance gently, and Mrs. Hawke was clearly pleased by it.
Having a lifetime of effort recognized was always gratifying.
"You sound as if you've been here before," Mrs. Hawke said, having noticed his phrasing. And as she led him through the corridors, she had also begun to suspect he seemed oddly familiar with the layout.
That surprised her.
Dumbledore merely smiled.
"This is my third visit."
Mrs. Hawke did not press further. She cared more about Iain's future than anything else, so she continued praising the boy all the way until she stopped outside the door to Iain's room.
"This is the one."
Mrs. Hawke halted at the end of the third-floor corridor and raised her hand to knock. Her knuckles struck the old wooden door three times, neither too softly nor too hard.
"Iain? Are you asleep?"
There was silence inside for a few seconds, followed by a rustle.
"No. What is it?"
"There's a gentleman here who wants to see you."
There was another pause.
Then the lock clicked, and the door opened from the inside. Iain stood in the doorway wearing an old T-shirt that had been washed nearly white, his hair somewhat messy.
Even so, the untidy look could not hide how strikingly handsome he was. A high nose bridge, perfectly shaped lips, and a strange sort of charm that invited instant projection and identification.
As though he were one of the Creator's most carefully crafted masterpieces.
Even Dumbledore, who had seen no shortage of remarkable people, paused for a brief instant.
"Good evening, Mrs. Hawke," Iain said politely. At the same time, his gaze passed over her shoulder and landed on the old man behind her.
Dumbledore was studying the boy in front of him.
And the room behind him as well.
The rows of cages against the wall. The cats and dogs wandering loose. The old cat sprawled across the radiator. And the tabby tied up on the bed.
Dumbledore's mouth twitched more than once.
Meanwhile, Iain studied Dumbledore for about five seconds. From the long white beard to the deep purple robes, from the half-moon spectacles to the staff that looked like wood but somehow not quite like wood. His expression shifted from drowsy to puzzled, then from puzzled to a strange, stunned look, as though he were trying desperately to remember something.
"Iain Kent, you..."
The old man began softly, then trailed off.
Iain did not respond.
He was still forcing his superhuman brain to work through that maddening sense of familiarity.
His brows drew together slightly. Who was this old man? Why had he appeared at the orphanage in the middle of the night? Why was he saying my name like that?
Mrs. Hawke cleared her throat, breaking the brief silence.
"May I speak with Mr. Kent alone?" Dumbledore suddenly turned to Mrs. Hawke and asked. He still used the surname Iain had acquired after coming to live at the orphanage.
"Of course!"
Mrs. Hawke answered immediately.
"Little Iain, mind your manners!"
She gestured for Dumbledore to enter, then turned to Iain with a reminder, hoping he would seize the opportunity and not ruin this meeting.
Iain nodded obediently.
Satisfied, Mrs. Hawke patted him on the shoulder, turned, and walked away, her footsteps gradually fading down the stairwell.
The corridor fell quiet.
Only the sound of rain outside remained.
And the breathing of the two people left standing there.
"Come in."
Iain stepped aside and gave him room to enter.
Dumbledore inclined his head slightly and walked into the room.
His figure seemed especially imposing in a space this small, standing there with the hem of his robes brushing over the scattered cat fur and bits of hay on the floor.
It was like hanging a Renaissance painting inside a pet shop.
"You really do have quite a lot of little animals here."
Dumbledore's gaze moved slowly across the room.
He first looked at the rows of cages against the wall, lingering on the bullied tabby cat, then shifted to the nightstand, where a small red ornament sat. It was not large, about the size of a fist, an irregular polyhedron that caught the warm lamplight and scattered it into tiny flecks.
It was obviously nothing valuable.
And yet when Dumbledore's eyes settled on it, one of his brows twitched almost imperceptibly.
Then he looked toward the wardrobe in the corner.
It was an old wooden thing, most of the paint peeled away, revealing the gray-white wood beneath. Its doors did not shut quite properly, leaving a narrow gap.
Dumbledore let his gaze rest on the wardrobe a little longer than he had on the ornament.
"So then, sir who looks like Gandalf," Iain said, standing beside his bed with one hand resting on the head of a three-legged sheepdog.
"What exactly do you want with me?"
"If you're here to buy a cat, I've only got a few ginger kittens left that haven't already been reserved. Price-wise, fifteen pounds for one, twenty-five for two."
"They're all healthy, and very gentle."
He spoke cautiously.
Iain guessed the man was here to buy a pet. Especially that tabby. The old man's gaze had lingered on the female tabby for quite a while.
"Hm?"
Dumbledore withdrew his gaze and turned to face him. The corners of the old man's mouth curved upward slightly, and those pale blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles gleamed with something difficult to read.
"What were you doing just now?"
Instead of answering Iain's question at once, he asked one of his own.
Faced with such a baffling question, Iain only paused for about a second.
"Obviously I was trying to use modern science to help my business grow." Iain did not bother hiding anything. He openly produced the potion he had just prepared.
"A triple-hormone mix. Estradiol benzoate, progesterone, testosterone propionate. I also added a little cloprostenol. It can effectively increase animal breeding rates."
"Don't worry. My ratios are extremely scientific. It won't harm the animals or their young, and before using it, I always ask for the animals' consent."
"None of them refused," Iain said frankly. He had never taught himself traditional Chinese medicine, but he had taught himself veterinary science, and he considered himself quite skilled.
His "customer," however, did not seem especially convinced.
"..."
The corner of Dumbledore's mouth twitched again. His eyes moved back and forth between the terrified tabby cat silently begging for help and the thoroughly self-assured, utterly righteous-looking Iain.
At this very moment,
even the most inscrutable headmaster in Hogwarts history nearly failed to keep a straight face.
He felt certain Iain had remarkable talent in Potions. After all, without even enrolling, he had already managed to produce the Muggle equivalent of a love potion.
"What's wrong, sir? Weren't you here to buy a cat?"
Seeing the old man trail off again, Iain worried that he might have dementia and had forgotten what he meant to do, so he kindly reminded him.
Iain had always been such a kind child.
"I would like to buy this cat."
Sure enough.
Just as Iain had guessed from the start, the old man had taken a fancy to that tabby. And a few minutes earlier, Iain had already decided what sort of price he could ask for the cat he had rescued.
"That one? Why, that's my finest pet. I've watched her grow up since she was tiny." It was a very simple, direct sales pitch. Iain was preparing to lean into emotional marketing.
However,
"Would five hundred pounds do?"
The wealthy old man cut off Iain's stream of patter with a single number.
"Deal."
Iain's mouth reacted faster than his brain. He immediately secured the tabby in a cage and thoughtfully included a handwritten cat-care guide, along with a litter tray, a cat bed, and a teasing wand handmade by the orphanage children.
"When it comes to cats, you have to be careful with their stomachs. When switching food, you need to do it gradually over seven days. If you're careless with them, they might get upset and hand you a vet bill worth dozens, maybe hundreds of pounds."
"Of course, I also work part-time as a vet, so if you run into any issues, you can come to..." While handing over the tabby, Iain spoke with complete seriousness.
He really did love small animals.
It was just that sometimes passion had to make way for business.
"Mm."
Dumbledore accepted the tabby. As the cat kept meowing in protest, he reached in to soothe her before looking once more at the boy whose Potions talent was, in his view, "quite extraordinary."
"As a matter of fact, child, I originally came to see you for something else." After that completely unexpected detour, Dumbledore finally decided it was time to address the real reason for his visit.
"What is it? Just so we're clear, I'm not open to adoption. Not even by a beautiful eccentric aunt, at least not for now." Iain refused almost reflexively, getting his rejection in first.
Because of his good looks, people often applied to adopt him. After all, if you were going to raise somebody else's child, who wouldn't want the adorable one everyone loved at first sight?
But Iain worried that if he went with a new family and they ended up pouring their hearts into him, they might turn into someone else's main course that very same night. So he had never had even the slightest desire to leave for a new home.
It was not paranoia. It was just that, having read enough history, Iain knew that over in Europe and America, some people treasured hearts and livers metaphorically, and some people liked them literally.
Fortunately, the man did not seem to want to take him home.
Only, what the old man said next struck Iain like a bolt of lightning.
"Child, you are a wizard... I think you may already have noticed that yourself." Dumbledore spoke softly, still soothing the tabby cat he had taken from the cage and now held in his arms.
"?????"
"!!!!!"
At that moment, it was difficult to describe the feeling that froze Iain where he stood.
It was as though a bolt of lightning had split through his mind. Someone named Kent, of course, possessed a super-brain blessed with super-intelligence, and that super-intelligence instantly began connecting all the scattered pieces.
"Wi... wizard?!"
All at once, Iain seemed to understand something. He understood why animals could understand him. He understood why he could persuade tables and chairs to come alive.
That earlier sense of familiarity, the one that had refused to load properly, finally finished buffering.
His gaze swept across Dumbledore again, from robes to staff, from staff to half-moon spectacles, from spectacles to those pale blue eyes.
The information had finally loaded.
And Iain realized something.
He had thought he had crossed into an ordinary London in the early nineties. A normal world with no supernatural forces, only runaway trucks and the road to riches.
And yet,
he had spent eleven whole years in this world planning out his life, calculating how to become a tycoon through the internet and Bitcoin.
Never once had he imagined
that the door to a magical world would open in front of him.
That this old man, appearing the moment he stepped into the room, would make him realize he had spent the last eleven years thinking in entirely the wrong direction.
"Hah... how can this be?!"
Iain's expression changed violently in that instant. His eyes widened, his mouth parted slightly, and his whole body stiffened as though someone had hit him with a Full Body-Bind Curse.
Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore.
Hogwarts.
Magic.
Wizard.
His super-brain worked at high speed, and the picture gradually became clear.
His worldview was collapsing.
And rebuilding itself.
Actually, it did make sense.
If he could cross over, be reborn, and possess supernatural abilities, then the existence of a magical world was not so unreasonable after all.
It was just that its appearance had come much, much too suddenly.
Where was my owl letter?!
Breathe.
Deep breaths.
It took Iain a full thirty seconds to get his breathing back under control.
Throughout the process, Dumbledore simply stood there quietly, without urging him on. He only asked, in a tone touched with curiosity,
"You don't look merely shocked. There also seems to be a trace of fear in your emotions. Unease, perhaps?"
Whether or not he was using magic, Dumbledore seemed uncannily able to read every one of Iain's feelings.
His tone was gentle.
But his gaze remained deep.
This great wizard, whose influence stretched across history, had perhaps a fifty percent statistical chance of using Legilimency here.
Though sociologically speaking,
it did not seem very likely that Dumbledore would.