Chapter 4 — Dumbledore's Test
Darren stared at the letter for a long time after finishing it.
Whether or not to go to Hogwarts had suddenly become a serious question.
Before, he'd thought he was just an ordinary transmigrator — maybe with a quirky system, maybe the kind who just wanted to see the world of magic. He'd even been excited about the idea of studying at Hogwarts.
But now?
Now he was Harry Potter's younger brother.
The kind of brother who existed only to suffer, get captured, or die in some tragic flashback so the protagonist could unlock his next level of power.
According to every story trope ever, he was doomed to die dramatically — just to make the hero look cooler.
Darren groaned. "Yeah… no thanks."
Maybe he shouldn't go to Hogwarts at all.
But before he could finish the thought, the system chimed in.
[Ding! Detecting hesitation in the host's resolve.]
[The system has decided to remind the host of its full power.]
[At its current stage, the system can withstand a full-force strike from Merlin himself and still evacuate the host from this dimension.]
[As the host's 'Holy Father Value' increases, the system's strength will continue to grow.]
[For this system, Hogwarts is merely the beginning.]
Darren blinked. "…Huh."
Then he gave the system a thumbs-up.
"Okay, fair point. You win."
He grinned.
[All right then—let's go to Hogwarts!]
Plot or no plot, danger or not, he was going to Hogwarts to "shine the light of the Holy Father" across the school!
…Whatever that meant.
He'd barely finished his inner declaration when a gentle voice spoke behind him:
"Oh, dear little Darren," the voice said kindly. "You've read the letter, haven't you? Perhaps we should sit down in your room for a bit. I think you might need a nice glass of chilled lemonade to calm down."
Darren froze.
He looked up and saw an old man in a deep purple robe standing before him.
Tall and thin, with a long silver beard that brushed his chest.
Half-moon spectacles glinting over bright blue eyes.
A crooked nose that looked like it had been broken at least twice.
There was no mistaking it.
Albus Dumbledore.
"Yes," the man said warmly, smiling as if he'd just read Darren's thoughts. "I am Dumbledore. Professor Dumbledore, if you prefer. Headmaster of Hogwarts, as I believe you already know."
For a moment, Darren forgot to breathe.
Then—
[Ding! The host is being probed by a high-level Legilimency spell. Proceed with caution.]
Darren's smile twitched.
You've got to be kidding me.
The first thing this old man did was dig into his mind?!
He'd thought Dumbledore was just coming over to chat—or maybe offer him candy and a chance to pack. But no—this old fox immediately launched a mental invasion.
Sure, Darren understood why.
His name had only appeared in the Hogwarts registry half an hour ago, while Harry's had been there since birth. Of course Dumbledore was suspicious.
Still, couldn't he at least pretend to be polite about it?!
If Darren didn't have the system guarding him, his "transmigrator secret" might've been exposed right there on the spot.
Ruthless old geezer… fine. You want to peek? I'll show you something worth seeing.
[System, project the memories I choose—exactly as I remember them!]
In an instant, Dumbledore's Legilimency spell filled with vivid, heart-wrenching images.
An eleven-year-old boy standing between a bully and a crying girl—only to be shoved down the stairs, bleeding but still trying to protect his head.
A ten-year-old boy sitting alone in the corner of an orphanage, secretly sharing his meager food with a stray cat.
An eight-year-old crying as his aunt beat him in public—for the crime of stopping a thief.
A six-year-old boy, hopeful as a wealthy couple visited the orphanage. They liked him—almost adopted him—but he noticed the sad face of his friend beside him and told the couple to adopt that child instead.
The boy was never seen again.
A four-year-old scraping vegetable peels from a bin, punished for two days without food because he'd brought a beaten child to the orphanage and reported the abusers.
A toddler lying on the grass, feeding his watered-down milk to a starving baby.
All of it rushed through Dumbledore's mind like a flood.
He had only meant to take a brief look—just to confirm the boy wasn't some disguised dark wizard. But once the images began, he couldn't stop.
He felt the boy's pain, his quiet kindness, his selflessness.
It overwhelmed him.
By the time he withdrew his wand, his hands were shaking.
The child wasn't an imposter. He wasn't dangerous. He was good. Too good.
Braver than most grown men, and kinder than anyone had a right to be after so much suffering.
Dumbledore's throat tightened. His eyes—those wise, ancient blue eyes—shimmered with tears.
He pulled off his glasses and wiped them, his voice breaking slightly as he spoke.
"Forgive me, child… forgive this foolish old man. I may have forced you to relive painful memories. I'm so very sorry, my boy."
Darren blinked, keeping his face carefully blank, though inside he was rolling his eyes.
Yeah, sure. The same Dumbledore who used Legilimency on Harry every other week is suddenly sorry now.
In the original books, this old fox was suspicious of everyone. Even Harry hadn't been spared his probing gaze.
So no—Darren wasn't buying the whole "weepy grandfather act."
Apologies were cheap.
Repentance? That was another story entirely.
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