Chapter 41: Chapter 41: Late Night Tea
"Finite Incantatem?"
The elderly wizard walking slowly along the cobbled path hadn't spoken any incantation aloud.
Ian naturally could not make an accurate judgment based on that alone.
All he could sense was an invisible hand halting the magic that had spiraled out of control.
The moment the searing flames vanished, it felt as if the entire world plunged into darkness, with only a faint smell of lingering smoke in the air.
That smoky scent might have been the only proof a great fire had ever blazed there at all.
Moonlight pierced the clouds.
Under the night sky—
Everything seemed as if nothing had ever happened.
Even the fence, previously charred and broken, was fully restored.
"Professor Dumbledore…"
Recognizing the elderly man approaching, Ian couldn't help lowering his head in embarrassment.
Worry and unease swirled within him, along with a flicker of curiosity: why would Dumbledore appear in Hogsmeade this late at night?!
"I prefer you young wizards to call me 'Professor.' It makes me sound a little less dull than I look." Dumbledore soon drew close to Ian.
He showed no sign of scolding Ian for his recklessness.
Instead, he spoke with a teasing tone, humor directed at himself.
"Aren't you going to invite me in for a seat?"
Dumbledore glanced toward the wooden cabin's door.
"Sorry—I'm probably still too shaken to remember my manners!"
Ian said hastily, pushing open the door in an inviting gesture.
His nerves were on edge.
He wasn't sure what Dumbledore intended—he could sense Snape's emotional states at times, but that skill didn't seem to work as well on the Hogwarts Headmaster.
"I really hadn't expected to run into a bold young wizard on my way back to the castle—one who dared attempt creating a new spell right at his own doorstep."
Dumbledore spoke with a touch of amazement as he stepped inside. He surveyed the tidy living room, cast a glance toward Ian's bedroom, and finally chose to sit at the desk near the window.
"That hardly qualifies as creation—more like a near disaster," Ian said quickly, striding to the tea table and pouring a cup of red tea for Dumbledore.
"At the very least, you've already set foot on that path. That in itself is significant." Dumbledore produced a small bag of brown sugar from somewhere and began dumping large spoonfuls into his cup.
He was openly complimentary.
Yet Ian couldn't bring himself to feel happy.
"If not for your help, Professor, I might've caused unimaginable harm." He didn't wait for Dumbledore to rebuke him; he hurried to make his own self-criticism first.
"I should never have tried such a dangerous thing—I almost burned down the entire village. What a foolish thing to do!" Even now, just recalling it gave Ian a real sense of dread.
Seeing Ian's look of sincere remorse made Dumbledore pause for a second.
Then—
The elderly Headmaster gave a small, amused shake of his head.
"We cannot be too harsh on a young wizard like you," Dumbledore said gently, his gaze apparently fixed on stirring his tea. "I only hope this startling incident impresses upon you that, on the path of magical exploration, caution is more vital than any other quality."
Within the stillness of the wooden cabin—
Dumbledore's measured, heartfelt words seemed both calm and powerful.
"I'll keep your advice in mind."
Ian nodded solemnly.
"Relax a bit. Perhaps…you should first put on some proper clothes," Dumbledore suddenly remarked with a laugh, and only then did Ian notice he was still wearing nothing but underpants.
Ian blushed slightly but tried to act casual.
"????"
Dumbledore wore a momentarily puzzled expression.
"Professor, did you come here specifically to see me?"
Ian seized the opportunity to ask.
He hardly thought Dumbledore normally stayed in Hogsmeade.
"No."
As expected.
The old wizard shook his head and took a sip of the sugar-laden tea—a brew with "lethally high" sweetness. "I was only here to deliver a letter. On my way back, I happened to notice your, shall we say, fiery display."
"In fact, I've been watching you from not too far away for quite a while now. I must say…" A complex gleam flickered in Dumbledore's eyes. He sounded truly impressed.
"Your way of understanding magic differs from that of most wizards." He was obviously referring to Ian's research into spell structures, a subject many wizards never delve into too deeply in their entire lives.
"Huh?"
Ian pretended puzzlement, with a hint of unease.
"No need to worry. It's not a bad thing—it's a…talent that only a select few possess." Behind the thick lenses of Dumbledore's spectacles, a pair of deep, discerning eyes rested on Ian.
"I've heard you've learned Snape's Sectumsempra?"
He slipped in the question casually as though curious.
"Ah?"
Ian froze for a moment.
Then—
He nodded.
Snape had warned him not to tell anyone, but with Dumbledore posing the question so directly, trying to hide it from a master of Legilimency seemed pointless—and unwise.
No matter what, Ian didn't dare take that risk.
"I didn't mean to learn it—Professor Snape basically held my head in place and said if I didn't master it, he'd lock me up in some horribly evil place."
Ian stuck to his principle of telling some truth, but not all. He vividly described how Snape forced him, playing up how frail and helpless he had been.
However—Dumbledore clearly didn't care about that story.
"How long did it take you to learn?"
He stirred his tea as if only half-interested.
"An hour?"
Ian lied.
There was no helping it.
If he told the truth, who knew what chaos it might cause if people found out he could master Dark Magic in seconds.
"And really, it's mostly because Professor Snape is such a good teacher!"
He tossed in a quick afterthought to shore up his little fib.
"…"
Dumbledore offered no response.
He conjured a thin rod of some kind and kept stirring his tea.
He didn't take another sip.
"I see."
Dumbledore gazed out at the starry sky beyond the window. "You're destined for extraordinary accomplishments, my child. Whatever you do, don't waste the brilliance of your—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Suddenly—
There was a strange, subtle ripple in the air.
At once—
A burst of scarlet light appeared, and a red phoenix spread its wings in flight. Its feathers shimmered like radiant beams in the dimly lit room—a breathtaking sight.
"Mr. Prince, it looks like this tea party ends here." Dumbledore set down his cup and stood, straightening his slightly wrinkled white robes.
Just then, as if remembering something, he turned back.
"A small hint: the spell structure and its magical circuit are not the direct source of a spell's creation. Perhaps you should consider shifting your focus when it comes to seeking out magic."
Dumbledore's words were concise and pointed.
"Shifting…my focus?"
Ian murmured thoughtfully.
By this time—
Dumbledore had already raised his arm, waiting for the phoenix to settle.
Neither he nor Ian, who was still reflecting on the Headmaster's words, expected the phoenix to circle the room for a few loops before diving down from the ceiling—And landing squarely on Ian's head with its two claws.
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