Old spinster Bathilda's grandnephew had arrived, and John could sense that the way Bathilda looked at him had become somewhat strange.
It was the look of someone seeing two expelled underachievers at once—hard to put into words.
He really wanted to explain: did she have any idea what the title King of Slytherin was worth?
Bathilda introduced the two boys of similar age to each other.
"Hello, my name is Yorl," John said with a light smile.
He knew he should not leave his real name in history.
So he casually made one up.
But the moment the words left his mouth, John's expression turned slightly odd.
He had blurted the name out on impulse, yet it suddenly felt strangely familiar.
Across from him, the boy showed a relaxed smile when he heard the name. "My name is Gael."
There was caution in Gael's eyes. He had come to Godric's Hollow for a particular purpose.
He had not expected that his reclusive great-aunt's house would contain another young wizard.
That made him instinctively wary, even hiding his real name.
"Gael?" John could sense the other boy's distrust.
The name sounded just as casually fabricated as his own. John merely smiled without comment.
Two young wizards had met—separated by nearly a hundred years.
John's room was in the attic, the same as it had been in the Wick household.
Gael's room was on the second floor.
John was currently working on his wand, still needing to refine some of the finer details.
Gael quietly observed the boy.
After being expelled from Durmstrang, Gael had traveled across half of Europe alone before arriving at Godric's Hollow.
The people and events he had experienced had forced him to mature far too early.
He remained wary of strangers and had a keen understanding of human nature.
He knew very well what kind of person his great-aunt Bathilda was.
Which only made him more concerned that John's sudden appearance might carry ulterior motives.
The timing of his arrival was simply too coincidental.
He decided to test the boy who was about his age.
"You're making a wand?" Gael suddenly spoke.
Although John could not see, he was extraordinarily sensitive to others' gazes.
He had noticed Gael's presence long ago.
Hearing the question, John replied casually, "As you can see, yes."
"Wandmakers are rare," Gael said as he stepped into the attic. "With that kind of skill, why are you in Godric's Hollow?"
There was probing intent in Gael's eyes. From old Aunt Bathilda, he had already learned some information about this person.
For example, John seemed to be a Hogwarts student—but like himself, he had been expelled.
Gael's own expulsion had been due to conducting certain black magic experiments that Durmstrang considered extreme. So what had this boy been expelled for?
"You could say it was an accident," John shrugged, brushing the fine powder from the table after polishing. "I didn't expect to end up here either. And my eyes have some issues at the moment."
"I'm very grateful to Aunt Bathilda, so you can rest assured."
John gave a faint smile. "There's no need for half-hearted probing."
The boy before him might be more mature than his peers.
But who was John?
He was Johnny Silverhand.
The architect of the vast Silverhand commercial empire, and the master of Silverhand Manor who had united numerous factions.
Gael's probing was practically transparent in front of him.
This was suppression by sheer difference in level.
With his intentions exposed, Gael showed no embarrassment.
"Fair enough." Gael smiled, then smoothly changed the subject. "Great-Aunt hopes we can get along."
He extended a hand toward John, his tone meaningful. "I think we can set aside our guard against each other."
They were both smart people. Gael understood that John was nothing like the classmates he had known at Durmstrang.
As long as it did not interfere with his goals, Gael did not mind sharing a roof with someone else.
A measured display of goodwill could bring benefits.
That was a principle Gael had understood since childhood.
"Hello, Yorl."
"Hello, Gael."
The two shook hands.
The blond boy had a tall build; even among seventeen- or eighteen-year-olds, few were taller than him.
He was somewhat like the Weasley twins, carrying an unrestrained, carefree air.
Like a golden eagle soaring through the sky, its wings unbound.
…
After Gael initiated that conversation, three days passed.
During those three days, Gael seemed to develop a strong interest in John.
In Gael's eyes, this was someone whose talent and intelligence did not fall short of his own.
His curiosity toward John grew.
He often came up to John's attic, sometimes simply watching as John worked on various preparations.
Godric's Hollow was rich in natural resources, which was why many witches and wizards chose to settle there.
John processed the herbs he had gathered.
Gael watched quietly from the side and asked, "You study potions as well?"
"That's a basic skill for wizards," John said. He had borrowed a cauldron from Bathilda, and golden flames burned beneath it.
Gael observed with great interest.
The more he interacted with this peer, the more surprises he found.
"What is that?"
"Gubraithian Fire," John said, lightly flicking his wand as flames appeared upon its tip. "A kind of fire that never goes out and burns continuously."
"Interesting."
Hearing John's explanation, Gael developed a strong interest in the spell.
"That's advanced magic," Gael said teasingly, his words carrying a hint of probing. "Not something a student would normally have access to."
"Knowledge doesn't have to be learned in school," John said, tapping his temple. "Rowena Ravenclaw once said that wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."
Gael listened carefully and applauded in agreement.
In just three days, Gael felt that this stranger possessed knowledge and insight beyond even Durmstrang's professors.
He had thought that traveling across Europe to reach this place had already given him ample experience.
Yet Yorl's experiences seemed even richer, to the point that Gael felt an urge to share his own plans with him.
It was a grand plan—for all wizards, a plan to change the world.
Gael thought he must be going mad.
This was, in fact, an instinct—an instinct to draw closer to someone stronger than oneself.
Admiring strength was human nature.
Seeing the two boys of similar age getting along well, old spinster Bathilda felt very pleased.
It reminded her of another boy.
As a neighbor, Bathilda knew just how burdened that boy was.
There were no peers around him anymore—only a younger sister who could fall ill at any moment, and a younger brother with a fiery temper and stubborn nature.
Bathilda believed that people of the same age would have common ground.
So she made a decision.
She would introduce the two children in her house to that pitiful boy.
…
The potion in the cauldron continued to simmer. John tapped the table, and the Supersensory Charm spread out, enveloping the entire room.
After confirming that Gael had left, he finally let out a breath.
"Finally gone."
John had quite the headache. Bathilda's grandnephew was like a walking book of a hundred thousand questions.
He asked about everything, and John could only give casual answers to brush him off.
John did not want too much contact with others, lest the future be altered.
But that Gael—seven out of every ten sentences were probing.
John had no idea where Gael's intense wariness came from.
At the same time, John also realized Gael was far from simple.
That boy possessed strength far beyond his peers and was constantly probing him.
And that probing was not merely observation—it was mental.
"Legilimency… at this age, to know such advanced magic," John murmured.
Legilimency, and Occlumency.
The other party had been probing his mind, but John's Occlumency had deceived him.
The boy kept his own Occlumency running at all times, as if guarding some important secret in his mind from being seen.
John was not particularly interested in those secrets. No matter how earth-shattering they might be, by the time of his own era, nearly a century later, any secret would already be history.
"Gael left this behind?"
John noticed a book on the table—clearly left there deliberately by Gael.
He picked it up and ran his fingers over the indented gilt cover.
"The Tales of Beedle the Bard?" John said in surprise. "Was that intentional, or an accident?"
Most of the stories inside were familiar to nearly every wizard.
In the wizarding world, The Tales of Beedle the Bard was like a collection of fairy tales, present in households everywhere.
But John knew very well that some of the things in those stories were real.
The tale of the three brothers.
"Deathly Hallows," John murmured softly, his hand moving to his chest.
Coincidentally, his sword was gone.
The only thing he had brought with him was a counterfeit locket—and the Resurrection Stone inside it.
"Probably just a coincidence."
John did not think the other party had discovered the Resurrection Stone and was deliberately hinting at him.
He tossed the book aside.
Giving a blind man a book—he had no idea what the other boy had been thinking.
The next day, John was called over by Bathilda.
Gael came along as well.
John handed him The Tales of Beedle the Bard. "Your book."
"Thank you, Yorl. I suspected I left it with you," Gael said with a smile as he accepted it.
John felt somewhat speechless.
"I really like the stories inside," Gael continued. "Especially the tale of the three brothers."
"Oh."
"Why so uninterested?"
"Because I'm blind. What do you think?"
"… "
Gael's nonstop chatter finally fell silent.
___
Any guesses?
💡Hint:Chapter 487
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