Dumbledore really was exceptionally good at reading emotions, so much so that most people tended to assume he was using Legilimency every waking moment.
Iain's expression changed several times in the span of a few short seconds. From confusion to shock, from shock to a kind of nameless unease, as though someone had shoved him from behind without warning.
Still, once Dumbledore pointed it out, Iain did not feel the slightest bit flustered.
He did not particularly mind the old man observing his super-brain.
A super-brain, being a brain by nature,
ought not to be known only to Iain himself.
Of course,
with the help of that super-brain,
Iain had also secretly tested Dumbledore's condition in his own way.
At this very moment, inside his head, he was frantically imagining an intensely tangled romance between Grindelwald and Dumbledore, the sort of plot that belonged in an outrageously explicit forbidden novel, every scandalous detail rendered to the absolute limit.
It was vivid enough to feel immersive.
That was what made it a super-brain.
Anything it came up with was obviously in high definition.
And yet even so, the old man before him remained utterly expressionless. Not even his eyes changed.
Which suggested that Dumbledore probably was not using Legilimency after all.
If Dumbledore's self-control was deep enough to endure even that without cracking...
then there really was no countermeasure.
When you lived by the sword, you died by the sword. If Dumbledore could withstand Iain's mental theatrics, then Iain could hardly complain if some forbidden little secret of his own ended up being seen.
An eye for an eye.
Fair.
"There's a reason I'm frightened and uneasy. Because if wizards really exist, then it means all these little animals aren't drawn to me because my personal charm is off the charts."
"And the fact that I can persuade tables and chairs to voluntarily come alive and dance for me isn't because I'm silver-tongued either. A revelation like that would be hard for any normal person to accept, wouldn't it?"
Iain's face was still a little pale.
Yet after hearing such an absurd explanation, Dumbledore offered no immediate comment. He simply stared fixedly at the boy in front of him with a strange, stunned expression.
"..."
It was difficult to put Dumbledore's current mood into words, because based on his life experience and instincts, he had already concluded that what this boy was saying was at least eighty percent believable.
Which also meant that to some extent, the boy genuinely was upset and uneasy for such a mind-bending reason.
No, but really... why did this child think he belonged among normal people?
What kind of normal person had a thought process this crooked?
"..."
Silence spread through the room.
When it came to emotional control, Dumbledore was, as always, a professional. He did his best to maintain his warm smile and looked deeply at Iain once more.
"In all my years..." Dumbledore said softly, almost as if speaking to himself, "this is the first time I've ever met someone upset to discover he can do magic."
"And for this reason, no less."
He looked torn between laughter and disbelief.
Iain was too busy wallowing in his disappointment to catch the old man's muttering. It took him about ten seconds to digest this brutal fact, and then he lifted his head, sighed, and resigned himself to it.
"So I'm supposed to go study at a magic school, then?" Only now did Iain begin the real performance, putting on the air of someone utterly unfamiliar with Hogwarts as he asked his question.
The boy had already made up his mind. Even if the other man exposed him, he would simply pretend not to hear and keep following the script he had planned for his role as a bewildered young wizard.
He could not let all the hard work of his super-brain go to waste.
"Yes. Hogwarts is a school of magic, devoted to teaching young witches and wizards like yourself. I imagine you realized very early on that you were different."
Thankfully, Dumbledore showed no sign of finding anything unusual. He simply replied like a mercilessly efficient NPC, delivering words he had likely spoken to countless young wizards over the years.
Iain avoided Dumbledore's eyes, not out of timidity, but because he did not want to look into the gaze of a man over a hundred years old who somehow still seemed cleaner and purer than he did.
"That much is true. I can make all things listen to my voice, including inanimate objects... though there are limits to the ability. I still haven't managed to make the whole orphanage building come alive."
"I've tried several thousand times. At most, I can sometimes get the orphanage to shake a little."
Iain responded like a good child, honest and straightforward.
"?????"
Dumbledore had no idea how many times he had been baffled by now. He genuinely felt unable to understand what sorts of strange and impossible things filled the mind of this legendary descendant standing before him.
A long moment passed.
"Why have you been trying to bring the orphanage to life?" Dumbledore asked at last. His intuition told him he absolutely had to understand the obsession behind Iain's attempts.
Otherwise,
he feared that one day he might leave on a trip, only to return and find Hogwarts itself had stood up and walked away.
Most wizards probably could not do such a thing, but who knew where the limits of Merlin's bloodline lay?
Faced with Dumbledore's serious question, Iain blinked.
"The logic's simple. Property values around here are only middling to low by London standards. I just wanted the orphanage to stand up and walk itself to a more expensive district."
"Unfortunately, our orphanage has no ambition at all. It refuses to cooperate with me."
When Iain said this, there was real irritation in his voice, laced with the disappointment of someone frustrated by wasted potential.
"..."
Once again, the boy's answer defied even Dumbledore's near-supernatural powers of prediction.
This time, however, Dumbledore recovered quickly.
He suddenly laughed.
"Perhaps one day you'll manage it. Hogwarts will certainly help you learn to control your magic."
"There, you'll learn how to use it properly, encounter all manner of extraordinary creatures, and... make close friends who can stand beside you."
"The magical world can be a wondrous place."
Dumbledore extended the invitation.
Very few school heads ever personally invited a young wizard to enroll.
And being invited by the most powerful wizard in the world did make Iain feel a small thrill somewhere inside.
Every Hogwarts first-year got someone to guide them into the magical world.
Other people crossed into a magic setting and were met by Hagrid, or perhaps some ordinary professor.
But him?
His personal guide was Dumbledore himself, coming to his door in person.
That kind of treatment.
That kind of prestige.
As expected of me.
"That does sound rather nice. To be honest, sometimes I've dreamed of a kingdom of magic myself."
Iain became visibly eager.
He was no longer as dejected as before, because he had figured something out: having magic and persuading tables and chairs through pure eloquence were not mutually exclusive.
No one could prove it was not his eloquence.
"It is rather nice..." Dumbledore smiled as well. Holding the cat in his arms, he rose to his feet and straightened his robes. "In that case, I shall come again in half a month."
"When the time comes, I'll personally take you to buy the things you'll need for school."
Dumbledore prepared to leave, mentioning that tonight he still intended to quietly go and see the child of an old friend.
Iain guessed that meant the Boy Who Lived, who would also be starting school this year.
After all, it was 1991 now.
"How much money will buying everything require?"
Iain hurried to politely see Dumbledore to the door, while also asking the question he cared about most: whether the cost of attending Hogwarts was something he could actually afford.
If not,
he might have to consider selling something valuable.
Over the years, handsome aunties were not exactly people Iain had failed to get to know. Wasn't the whole point of that to leave himself a way out?
"Hm?"
The fact that the boy would actively worry about tuition, instead of taking for granted that the school should simply shoulder everything, made Dumbledore look at him with quiet approval.
"You needn't worry about money. Trust me, you possess more than enough wealth."
Dumbledore's tone was gentle, and his broad hand brushed lightly over Iain's shoulder.
"Ah?"
Iain froze for a moment, then immediately realized that his parents had probably left him some sort of savings. Perhaps not as much as Harry Potter's, but from the sound of it, certainly not a trivial amount either.
Sirens. A stretcher. The iron gates of the orphanage.
The memories surfaced again.
Now that he knew more about his own origins, Iain could not help noticing one troubling question:
if his parents had also been wizards, how could they have died so simply in a truck accident?
Could Voldemort somehow be involved in this too?
While Iain was still thinking,
"Until half a month from now, child."
Dumbledore and Iain stepped out of the room together. When they met Mrs. Hawke, Dumbledore followed her toward the front door while she, having heard enough to be overjoyed, walked alongside them.
"Meow~"
The cat in Dumbledore's arms suddenly cried out.
The old man stopped.
He turned back and looked at Iain with a gaze full of meaning, a look carrying some emotion too difficult to name.
"Oh, and as your future headmaster, I hope calling you Iain will not seem discourteous."
Dumbledore spoke softly as he soothed the cat.
"There is one thing I would like to warn you about in advance."
His tone remained calm.
"What is it?"
Iain blinked again.
"Hogwarts has certain teachers... who are extremely strict with their students. Yes. Extremely strict." The old man paused and gently stroked the tabby down its spine.
"You should prepare yourself mentally."
He offered the warning carefully.
Iain paused for a moment.
But he quickly understood.
Snape.
The strict teacher Dumbledore meant had to be Snape. That greasy old bat held some inexplicable hostility toward every non-Slytherin student. Dumbledore must have already seen the Gryffindor quality of justice radiating from Iain, which was why he had gone out of his way to warn him.
A brave, kind, pure-hearted Gryffindor would definitely be targeted by Snape!
"So that's why Dumbledore came in person. He knows I'm a born Gryffindor, the proper sort of Gryffindor who, even as a wizard, is destined to become a sword saint!"
"Magic will just make me swing faster. Eight hundred sword slashes a second. If Gryffindor himself came back to life, he'd call me a good lad!"
A wave of smug delight rose at once in Iain's heart.
Dumbledore truly was the headmaster of Hogwarts. What sharp vision. One glance and he had seen exactly what sort of person Iain was.
Just, brave, and unbowed before authority.
Weren't those basically his core traits?
"Don't worry, sir!" Iain suddenly straightened his back, his face solemn. "I can handle it. No matter how much that strict teacher tries to make things difficult for me, I won't retreat even the slightest bit!"
"I'll only hold myself to an even higher standard!"
He spoke with conviction, his resolve impressive.
"That's good."
The old man nodded, his tone calm.
"I do hope you'll still have that confidence when the time comes."
Then he pushed open the door and stepped outside.
The old cat in his arms shifted position, revealing a length of striped tail that swayed once beneath the corridor light.
"So your school intends to accept little Iain already?" Mrs. Hawke asked as she followed alongside, fishing for information.
"Yes. And we shall consider it our good fortune if he chooses us."
"You are far too modest."
...
Very soon,
with Mrs. Hawke seeing him off, Dumbledore disappeared into the rain.
Inside the orphanage gates, Iain remained where he was, trying to process everything that had happened tonight.
Hogwarts.
Magic.
Dumbledore.
It all still felt unreal.
He had spent eleven years planning out his life. The internet, e-commerce, Bitcoin, artificial intelligence, energy stocks, and eventually going all in on whatever chaos came next in global politics.
And now he was being told he was actually a wizard, and that he was about to spend seven years studying in a castle with neither electricity nor internet.
His plan to become the world's richest man had gone up in smoke.
Still...
the magical world was not bad either.
"No, it's amazing!"
Iain flopped back onto his bed and pulled the blanket over his head.
The stool crawled over from the foot of the bed and nudged its head into the crook of his arm.
He reached out and casually rubbed the dog's head on the other side.
Then his mind began turning to something else.
So this world had magic.
Which meant the strange books he saw in his dreams might just be some sort of bloodline magic awakening in his subconscious.
Yes, Iain had another secret.
Ever since he could remember, every seven days without fail, precise as clockwork, he would have the same lucid dream, so vivid that when he woke, every detail still remained crystal clear.
In the dream,
there was a vast room filled with eerie murals.
Before, Iain had always assumed this was because, having lived two lives, his mental strength was stronger than that of normal people, so every seven days his brain had to weave a lucid dream to release excess mental energy, the same way a computer had to clear its cache now and then.
He had even been proud of that theory, convinced it proved his scientific literacy was first-rate.
But now it seemed...
those dreams might not have been any sort of "mental overflow cache clearing."
They were his bloodline magic awakening.
"I don't know whether other wizards have anything like this, but I definitely do. With this much charisma, one of my ancestors had to be some kind of demonic warlock."
With his worldview now hopelessly crossing wires, Iain closed his eyes and recalled the scenes from past dreams.
Those flowing lights.
Those ancient symbols.
Those whispers he could not understand, yet somehow found strangely familiar.
Counting the days,
tonight was once again the seventh day in the cycle.
Perhaps,
Iain thought, he ought to try deciphering the murals in that room instead of just treating it, as usual, like his own private memory-palace hideout.
"Oh, right. Last time my super-brain, worried I'd be lonely, even invented an unexpected intruder for me. That was probably the projection of a succubus dormant within my warlock bloodline!"
"What was her name again...? Oh, right, Ariana. Very similar in style to Annabelle, that famous creepy doll. Sounds exactly like the sort of name a succubus would have!"
Adolescent boys were always prone to strange, unrealistic thoughts.
Maybe it was just imagination at work.
Maybe it also had a tiny little bit to do with Iain's mental state being leagues ahead of everyone else's.
In any case, as his thoughts slowly settled, Iain once again slipped into his dream.
That incomparably vivid...
world.