"Good night, Headmaster Dumbledore."
Ian reluctantly took Fox off his head and placed him back on his gilded perch, waved his hand, and prepared to dash toward the office door.
"Mr. Prince!"
Sure enough.
Dumbledore immediately couldn't sit still.
"Huh?"
Ian looked a bit dazed as he turned his head.
"Gryffindor's Holy Sword."
Dumbledore looked at Ian holding the item in both hands with a tone of helplessness.
"Oh, I almost forgot, sorry." Ian scratched his head, looking quite embarrassed, as he walked to the Sorting Hat, grabbed it, and stuffed the sword inside.
"Slow down! Slow down! Ah! I've got it! I've got it! Not Slytherin, not Ravenclaw, not Gryffindor, I should sort you into the Dementor's lair!"
"This is practically murder! Dumbledore, look! He's poking me with the sword!" screamed the Sorting Hat as it accommodated Gryffindor's Holy Sword, sounding rather aggrieved.
As Ian seemed ready to leave again.
Dumbledore hesitated for a moment but eventually raised his hand to stop him.
"Mr. Prince, don't you want compensation?" Dumbledore's eyes behind his glasses flashed, inexplicably bringing up this already concluded topic.
"Now, I just hope those pure-blood nobles stop bothering me. Perhaps among those guys today, there are children of the school governors who can use their connections to force me to drop out on the spot?"
Ian probed.
Only to see Dumbledore slowly shaking his head.
"I certainly cannot agree to that. As long as I'm still Headmaster of Hogwarts, the governors cannot interfere with my decisions. This is something we agreed upon from the start."
Dumbledore stated his stance.
Then.
He hesitated for a moment, then opened his mouth to speak, "This might be a bit inappropriate to say, but I would like to ask if you could accompany me on a trip tonight."
With that.
Dumbledore stood up.
With a heavy expression, he reached out a hand toward Ian.
"Mr. Prince, after this trip, I assure you won't have to worry about pressure from pure-blood families anymore and will receive the apologies and compensation you desire from them."
"You want to study in peace, and you'll be able to study in peace."
Reasons difficult to refuse.
Forced Ian to pull out a smile and turn back.
"My pleasure."
His tone had a somewhat reluctant flavor, but Ian still raised his hand and grasped Dumbledore's hand - the next moment, the world spun, and Ian felt as if he heard the sound of a clock or the pages of a book turning.
The surrounding scene shook.
Soon.
A strange scene replaced the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts. It was a valley, with gentle sunlight and grassland, and a town exceedingly familiar from Ian's memory.
"What kind of magic is this? Apparition? It's different from previous experiences!" Ian stared dumbfoundedly at the town he had only seen in the Misty Illusion Realm not far away.
"It's just a memory."
Dumbledore gazed at the distant town, displaying an extremely complex expression.
"Memory?"
Ian was astonished by the vivid, immersive experience, so lifelike. He could even smell the fragrance of the grass on the ground and feel the fluttering butterflies surrounding him. The trees were lush, and leaves rustled in the breeze; everything felt real, with no fantasy or falseness.
"It's a rather complex application of memory magic, perhaps I've delved too deeply into it..." Dumbledore's tone began to turn somber.
"Godric's Hollow." Ian suddenly spoke.
Dumbledore, initially downcast, immediately brightened.
"Ian, please allow me to call you that... Can... can you lead the way for me?" Having shone brilliantly throughout his life, Dumbledore now appeared extremely cautious.
Ian turned to look at the old man beside him, uncertainty and timidity, vulnerability and weakness—all emotions not meant to be found in Dumbledore—were now so perceivable.
This was Ian's first time sensing Dumbledore's thoughts and intentions so clearly.
"My pleasure."
The same response again.
Ian roughly understood the endpoint of the memory, and he was curious about what kind of person Ariana was in Dumbledore's memory.
Stepping on the grass onto the path.
Ian was in front.
Dumbledore behind.
He seemed to need someone else's courage to pave the way to embark on this memory journey home, sunlight spilled through the gaps between the leaves onto them.
Old post office, a pub amid a breeze, a spire church—all as in Ian's memory, the only difference being more passersby along the way in this town.
"Can this be eaten?"
Ian saw a vendor selling pancakes, curiously went over, only to find he couldn't interact or enjoy the seemingly warm pancake.
The pancake reached his mouth.
Yet he couldn't chew out any taste nor truly swallow it.
"It's just my memory, Ian." Watching Ian repeatedly snatching food from the road passers-by, Dumbledore couldn't help but give a helpless reminder.
Ian finally was completely disillusioned.
He resumed walking forward, guiding Dumbledore through the town, ultimately stopping in front of a house on the outskirts. Unmarked, the house was identical to the one in Ian's memory.