Deep within the mountains, a burst of white light erupted, releasing an infinite well of healing energy. It was like a beacon in the darkness, tearing apart the blackest night and transforming it into a morning of hope. The light shone defiantly, declaring that no evil would rise so long as this person existed.
Suddenly, there was an apparition. One by one, several figures appeared, staring in awe at the fading remnants of the beacon.
"What a powerful Patronus," murmured an Auror, his voice barely above a whisper.
"It is not entirely a Patronus," Dumbledore said calmly. "It carries vitality—life itself—woven into its very core."
He sighed, a familiar mix of admiration and exasperation crossing his face.
"Ahhh… that boy," he added softly. "He continues to give me headaches."
"Who is he, Dumbledore? Who is this boy?" one of them asked uneasily. "He sounds like trouble."
A harsh snort followed.
"Trouble?" another voice cut in. "You mean him? His adventures are killing us too. He's a psycho—no fear of death whatsoever. Keeps challenging cursed places, ancient ruins, and half-forgotten myths like they're playgrounds."
A tall, one-eyed wizard leaned forward, his eye twitching as it widened and shrank erratically.
"Are you sure he's normal in the head? And with Harry entering Hogwarts next year… do you really think it's wise to keep him in the school?"
Dumbledore's expression softened, though the weight behind his eyes deepened.
"Alas," he said quietly, "I can do nothing. He is the finest wizard the wizarding world can produce—after me, of course." A pause. Then, almost wistfully, "I only wish he would stop trying to kill himself."
The group fell silent.
Dumbledore straightened, his robes settling as authority returned to his posture.
"Now then," he said lightly, as though the conversation had not shaken the surrounding, "I have some matters to attend to."
With that, he turned and vanished, leaving behind a bunch of uneasy wizards—and the lingering echo of a boy who even Dumbledore feared might burn too brightly.
Dumbledore apparated into the Hogwarts infirmary, the soft crack echoing between the white curtains. His gaze immediately fell upon the boy lying on the bed, battered and burned, as Madam Poppy Pomfrey worked furiously to mend his injuries.
She looked up sharply."Headmaster, I am telling you—he should be banned from using magic. Do you know what he faced this time? The injuries are severe, and these markings…" She gestured to the blackened scars. "They are from a whole group of Inferius."
Dumbledore's eyes widened.
For the first time in years, anger broke through his calm."What were you thinking?" he demanded, his voice sharp. "Are you trying to kill yourself? Do you have any idea what your loved ones would suffer? Do you think it is easy for those who remain behind? I have lost too much to the very things you keep chasing!"
The boy tried to speak, but Dumbledore cut him off."Enough," he said firmly. "Stop. I will not say this again."
"Professor," the boy said weakly, "I know you're angry—but I found something you'll want to hear. It concerns Voldehead."
"That is no excuse," Madam Pomfrey snapped, folding her arms. "Not for nearly dying—again."
Dumbledore studied the boy in silence, his blue eyes piercing yet conflicted."When you are able to move," he said at last, "you will meet me in my office."
Kyle stared up at the hospital ceiling, exhausted but strangely satisfied.
This is life, he thought.
And as his eyes slowly closed, his mind drifted back—to how it had all begun.