"Perhaps he was always destined to have a bad nature, but if I had shown him more concern rather than threatening disdain, he might not have turned out this rotten."
The old headmaster sighed softly.
He looked extremely fatigued.
And indeed, he was.
After all, this journey down memory lane.
Dumbledore was practically tearing open a raw wound, just so Ian could learn something significant in his life and avoid repeating his mistakes in the future.
"Is he Voldemort?"
Ian asked, fully aware of the answer.
"He was known as Tom Riddle, but you wouldn't be wrong to call him Voldemort; he abandoned his original name in his pursuit of power."
Albus Dumbledore turned around, and the scene began to blur and spin, the light and shadow gradually distorting, and that familiar Hogwarts Headmaster's Office reappeared.
All that happened before faded like a mirage, the silver instruments on the desk still steaming, the headmasters on the walls whispering, the Sorting Hat complaining about Ian to Phoenix Fox.
"Trust me, I'll find a way to deal with him sooner or later."
"Even Gryffindor wouldn't dare treat me with a brush; why is this little wizard so bold?"
"If it weren't for Dumbledore protecting him, I would have jumped up and hit his knee just now!"
Despite Phoenix Fox's indifference, it couldn't stop being nagging, until it saw Ian looking in its direction and immediately clammed up, pretending to be dead.
"Decided, Fox, take it to the Black Lake for a bath, and next time I'll let you stay on my head a bit longer!" Ian had a way of settling scores the same day.
With this promise, Fox immediately grabbed the Sorting Hat and flew out the window.
"Born evil Prince! When you have children coming to Hogwarts, I'll surely sort them straight into Azkaban!" the Sorting Hat's hysterical screech faded into the distance.
"Makes me laugh, I'm not having children," Ian was indifferent to the Sorting Hat's threat, and he looked at Dumbledore. The old headmaster had taken a book from the shelf.
"Consider it a gift, for taking up so much of your time."
He handed "Poet Peter's Story Collection" to Ian.
"Thank you!"
Ian took the book from Dumbledore's hands, eagerly opening its pages. As expected, on the first blank page, there was a note from Dumbledore with his thoughts on the book.
And just beneath his thoughts was Dumbledore's signature. Unlike the review slips in the library's Forbidden Book Area, there was plenty of blank space left on this page.
"It'll be useful someday!"
Ian's satisfaction was something Dumbledore found hard to comprehend.
"Don't you want to ask about the Three Sacred Artifacts of Death?" Dumbledore evidently had a new misunderstanding, as he placed his Elder Wand on the desk.
Ian didn't even glance at it.
"I've read about their stories in other books. With all due respect, if the Three Sacred Artifacts were truly so formidable, how could Aurora's grandfather have lost to you?"
Ian understood the truth behind the Sacred Artifacts. Indeed, they were immensely powerful alchemical creations, but Ian's alchemical skills were not yet advanced enough to decode them.
As for their efficacy.
Whether the Resurrection Stone or the Invisibility Cloak, they were more hype than practical use. Perhaps the Elder Wand was the most genuine of them, but Ian believed that true power comes from oneself.
Whoever holds it becomes invincible?
Many facts have proved such rumors are really not as reliable as the Avada Lightning Chain.
"A very wise view, just as I said, you indeed understand more than many adult wizards." Dumbledore exhaled gently and sat down slowly.
He appeared very tired and exhausted, his entire body leaning back into the chair like a factory worker who had screwed bolts for 15 hours, returning to the dormitory at the employees' hostel.
"I hope today's journey has been of help to you." Dumbledore spoke softly.
Ian placed "Poet Peter's Story Collection" into his coat.
"Is there nothing you want to ask?"
He decided to reciprocate the favor.
When a grand and great elder speaks candidly and uses painful past experiences to help him understand some truths, he should, of course, reciprocate with the most sincere trust.
Anyway, some things have already been inadvertently revealed.
"Your actions have already given me the answer, so I don't need a verbal response."
Faced with Ian's direct inquiry, Dumbledore shook his head, taking off his slightly blurry glasses and beginning to wipe away the tearstains with a small handkerchief.
"To be honest, the day I guessed the answer, I was very jealous of you... truly, Ian, very jealous. I never thought I'd feel that emotion at any time."
Dumbledore's hand trembled lightly, "Such an unbelievable talent. I once heard that Merlin had this ability too, but in the end, in my lifelong pursuit, I was unable to verify that rumor."
"In fact, not only Merlin, but among some undisclosed artifacts at Hogwarts, I also found a journal from Helga Hufflepuff, the founder of Hufflepuff."
"That was perhaps the biggest clue I held onto for a long time with great hope." Dumbledore put his glasses back on, a profound regret in his gaze.
"What clue?"
Ian asked curiously.