Scottish Highlands.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Second Floor.
In Minerva McGonagall's study-slash-bedroom.
Snape stepped out of the fireplace, dusting off ash.
"Is the boy alright?" McGonagall asked immediately.
Dumbledore, observing from a chair, saw more in Snape's micro-expressions than mere annoyance.
"Oh? What happened, Severus? You look shocked. And I know it's not because your hair suddenly decided to wash itself."
Hearing Dumbledore's joke, McGonagall relaxed slightly. She looked at Snape, but the man's face was as cold as ever, his greasy curtains of hair hiding any trace of emotion.
She couldn't see any shock.
Dumbledore, it seemed, understood men far better than she did.
Snape swirled his cloak. "It is as you suspected. This likely has to do with the upcoming election for the President of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers."
"That filthy werewolf hasn't dared to attack a wizard child since the Dark Lord died."
"But today, he did exactly that."
"And he targeted the descendant of a prominent wizarding family."
"Combine that with the fact that the frontrunner for the next term is Finn Granger."
"Hmph. It's blatant intimidation by the opposition."
"Kill a distant relative."
"Force you to drop out of the race."
"But don't do anything drastic enough to make you a mortal enemy."
"Is that their style?" Dumbledore mused.
In the tradition-bound British wizarding world, only a few surnames held real power. And all of them were Hogwarts graduates—his former students.
Familiar faces flashed through his mind until the answer became obvious. "Lucius Malfoy!"
Professor McGonagall gasped.
Snape, however, raised an objection.
"Does he have the nerve? He and his little club only dare to mask their faces and prank Muggles. To use a Muggle phrase, they're nothing but street thugs who only bully the weak!"
"He is a Malfoy," Dumbledore said pointedly.
Snape fell silent, thinking, then realization dawned on him.
The Malfoys were not simple opportunists.
Though they never ran for Minister of Magic themselves, they frequently funded candidates they liked, or even paid to sabotage opponents.
Lucius's grandfather, Septimus Malfoy, had famously used such tactics to turn the Minister of Magic of his time into a puppet.
His father, Abraxas Malfoy, was rumored to have orchestrated the plot that forced Nobby Leach, the first Muggle-born Minister, out of office prematurely.
This election for the Potioneers Society was just another snapshot of the Malfoys trying to expand their influence.
To Lucius Malfoy, a young wizard with no parents and no living direct relatives—just a famous surname—was nothing more than an insect.
And since the dirty work was done by Fenrir Greyback, what did it have to do with the Malfoys? Lucius had likely already destroyed all evidence linking them.
Dumbledore asked, "How is the boy? Was he—"
Snape snapped out of his thoughts and raised an eyebrow. "You won't believe it. The only thing on his mind was scamming the school out of financial aid."
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow in displeasure. "But he qualifies for it. He is an orphan! We checked before you went to Devon."
In an old portrait near the window, an elderly witch with long silver ringlets—who looked completely out of place in the frame—coughed. "I just checked with St. Mungo's. Levinster Granger died on June 29, 1991, at the age of 127. Everard and Elfrida Granger died on September 2, 1980, at the ages of 30 and 28, respectively. If the boy has no other direct kin, he is indeed an orphan."
Dumbledore nodded. "Dilys is correct. Though I am still young—only 109—I did not know Levinster Granger well. But I remember her son and son-in-law as students. If my memory serves me, Basil Granger is undoubtedly an orphan."
"Wait," Snape's mouth twitched. "I never questioned his orphan status. But judging by his clothes, the gold artifact in his hand, his nouveau riche attitude, and the terrifying tree that strangled Fenrir to death... he is not short of money."
The atmosphere in the room suddenly tightened.
Everyone had forgotten about the financial aid application.
More importantly... if you did the math, Basil's grandmother must have given birth to his father when she was in her eighties.
"Fenrir is dead?" Dumbledore frowned deeply.
He had sent Snape because Snape was a former Death Eater. He could use the Dark Mark to track the notorious werewolf.
Although Fenrir wasn't technically a Death Eater, he was allowed to wear the robes when Voldemort had use for him.
Dumbledore had hoped to catch Fenrir alive. That would have caused massive political and financial damage to whoever hired him. Cornelius Fudge, who loved money above all else, wouldn't have let the culprit go without flaying them financially.
"It seems... I need to contact Professor Marchbanks," Dumbledore murmured.
Snape sucked in a breath.
For the first time since returning, his face showed an expression that used more than two muscles.
"You plan to use your political influence? That will terrify Fudge! It will prematurely end your honeymoon period with the Ministry!"
Dumbledore stood up, waving his arm forcefully.
Behind his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes shone with a cold light. "He won't dare! As long as Tom does not return, Fudge will dance to my tune. Furthermore, using such filthy tactics on a child? That is a line that cannot be crossed!"
---
Thousands of miles away in Devon, inside a small room within a tunnel-cave, the "Line That Cannot Be Crossed"—Basil Granger—was sleeping soundly.
He had no idea that his "Transmigrator Nouveau Riche" vibe had just cost him his financial aid.
Or that Dumbledore had just put Fudge on high alert years early. In the original timeline, the ostrich-like Minister didn't pull his head out of the sand until the summer after Harry's fourth year.
Date: August 1st.
Entertainment Room.
Exploding Snap cards and Gobstones had been shoved into the corner.
Now, piles of books took their place.
For the past five days, Basil had returned to the grueling rhythm of his high school senior year back in his old life—waking up at 7 AM to study, finishing at 8 or 9 PM.
As for his "Daily Balls" (a euphemism for... certain solo activities), he had to give them up due to circumstances.
Of course, Basil didn't like reading. There was a reason he dropped out of college as a freshman.
He was doing this because, after merging his memories, he realized something disturbing.
His past self—the little wizard version—felt physically identical to his old human self, Li Lin.
Even when his magic awakened at age seven—making the mushrooms in his hand bigger, tenderer, and tastier—he hadn't felt anything. He just thought the mushrooms were too small, wished they were better, and poof, magic happened.
He hadn't felt any internal energy flow.
It was only in the last five days, when casting spells through the [Magic Book], that he sensed "Mana."
But his Mana stat in the System didn't change.
He felt physically tired after casting, like he had thrown a punch.
Throwing a punch uses energy, but the fist itself doesn't change.
He couldn't use his Mana to recharge Gems either.
His Mana pool felt like an immovable rock. It didn't match the information he received when the System activated at all.
Until today.
He finally found the answer in Adalbert Waffling's Magical Theory.
It was ridiculous.
This was a first-year textbook at Hogwarts.
Can you imagine? It's like trying to find the blueprints for a nuclear bomb and finding the answer in a 7th-grade physics textbook.
---
( Note : Fenrir Greyback was not a marked Death Eater in the books, only allowed to wear the robes. i admits to relying on memory/movies for that detail originally.)