Hogwarts — the Headmaster's Office.
The safest and most tranquil place in the entire castle.
Strange silver instruments of all shapes spun tirelessly atop delicate tables, releasing thin spirals of smoke. Portraits of former headmasters dozed quietly along the walls. Fawkes the phoenix perched upon his gilded stand, letting out a few melodious trills.
Albus Dumbledore, his silver hair and beard flowing, sat behind his vast desk, writing a letter upon a long stretch of parchment with an ornate quill.
His expression was focused and serene. Everything in the office was in perfect order.
Boom!
The peace was shattered by a violent crash.
The door flew open as if rammed by a rampaging Norwegian Ridgeback, slamming hard against the wall.
A figure in black burst in, carrying an urgency and frenzy never before seen.
Dumbledore's quill paused mid-stroke. He looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his blue eyes.
Severus Snape.
But not a Snape he had ever seen.
The man's signature bat-like grace was gone. He looked more like a soldier fleeing a battlefield—steps uneven, breathing rapid, greasy black hair disheveled against his forehead. His dark eyes, usually as still as a bottomless well, now burned with violent emotion.
"Albus!"
Snape rushed to the desk, bracing both hands heavily upon it. His chest rose and fell sharply. He had even forgotten to use a formal address.
"Severus," Dumbledore said gently, though his gaze had sharpened. "What has you so… agitated?"
There were precious few things in the wizarding world capable of shaking Snape's composure like this.
"Potions! A potion!"
Snape's speech seemed fractured under the weight of his excitement. He pulled out two crystal vials sealed with magic and placed them firmly before Dumbledore.
"A student—a first-year Gryffindor! Named Lucian Thornwick!"
His words tumbled over one another.
"He altered the formulas! The Cure for Boils—and the Swelling Solution! In my class! In front of everyone! He said the textbook was wrong! And then—then he produced this!"
He pointed at the sapphire-like liquid, eyes blazing.
"A miracle, Albus! Perfect fusion! Zero magical loss! I have never seen such a thing! The so-called grandmasters recorded in ancient texts—none of them could have achieved this level!"
Dumbledore's gaze fell upon the vials.
Just one glance—and the habitual warmth in his eyes froze.
The gentle wisdom that seemed to perceive all things was replaced by pure astonishment.
As the greatest white wizard of the past century, his understanding of magic stood at the pinnacle of the age.
He could clearly sense the utterly unreasonable perfection contained within those small crystal tubes.
Carefully, he lifted the blue vial. He did not even draw his wand—he simply allowed his fingers to feel the steady, pure magical fluctuations permeating through the glass.
Then he listened as Snape, in a tone oscillating between collapse and ecstasy, described the quill that had expanded tenfold.
The legendary wizard who had faced down Gellert Grindelwald himself fell silent.
After a long moment, Dumbledore slowly put on his half-moon spectacles.
Through the lenses, he examined the vial closely.
In his eyes, it was no longer a potion—it was a miniature universe, composed of countless microscopic magical runes in flawless alignment.
Each rune rested in the perfect position, resonating harmoniously with the others, extracting every ounce of potential from the ingredients before condensing them together in a way that defied all current magical theory.
Silence lingered.
For a long, long time.
Finally, Dumbledore set the vial down and removed his glasses.
He looked at Snape with an expression rarely seen—solemn to the extreme.
His voice, when he spoke, was low and steady, each word weighted with significance.
"Severus… we may have discovered a true… prodigy."
"A genius capable of changing—no, overturning—the entire history of the wizarding world."
When Dumbledore spoke of such a prodigy, there was no disdain in his tone. Only awe. Only reverence for an extraordinary gift.
Snape stared at him blankly. From the gravity in Dumbledore's eyes, he knew his own judgment had not been exaggerated.
This was real.
"Then… what do we do now?" Snape asked instinctively. For the first time in years, even the proud Potions Master felt at a loss.
Dumbledore returned to his seat, deep blue eyes reflecting faraway thoughts—as though he could already glimpse the distant future.
"Say nothing, Severus."
"For now, no one else must know."
He paused, then picked up his quill once more.
"Protect him. Observe him quietly. But do not interfere."
"A genius of this magnitude will have his own path of growth."
He hesitated briefly before concluding:
"When I have finished this letter to the Ministry of Magic, I shall personally meet this student—Lucian Thornwick."
His tone was calm.
Yet the determination within it made even the air in the Headmaster's Office grow heavy.