Iain was rather worried.
Fortunately, Dumbledore merely twitched at the corner of his eye and did not dig any deeper into the sacred matter of goblin property. He only rubbed his brow and tried to calm himself.
Albus, you have found an inheritor of ancient magic powerful enough to drive the world mad.
Words appeared once more in the diary. The line was written slowly, the strokes neat and careful, as though after that brief lesson just now, the diary had glimpsed some secret.
Dumbledore looked at the words and fell silent for a while.
Of course he knew how terrifying Iain's so-called "innate magic" truly was.
How frightening.
How dreadful.
And how... unbelievable.
"Since you found this contact book, it belongs to you from now on."
Dumbledore did not respond to the diary. Instead, he turned to look at the young wizard.
It seemed almost deliberate, as if he were changing the subject.
Iain did not notice that.
Because he froze outright.
"Contact book?"
Iain's eyes widened, his face filled with confusion and incomprehension.
"Isn't it a Dark Magic object with a witch living inside it?"
When he said "Dark Magic object," his voice was noticeably lower than usual.
"You thought it was a Dark Magic object, yet still dared to learn ancient magic control from it?" Dumbledore smiled helplessly.
He knew Iain was awkwardly trying to hide something.
"My faith is firm and my will is iron. Mainly, I wanted to use a Dark Magic object to temper my heart and put my soul and brain under some pressure."
Iain's answer did not sound like a lie.
Dumbledore moved from rubbing his brow to rubbing his temples.
A moment later,
"This is only a diary. An ordinary magical object made through alchemy," the old headmaster explained. "It contains a backup of the knowledge a certain legendary witch possessed during her student years. However, that legendary senior student can also use this diary to communicate with its holder at any time, just as she is doing now."
The old witch wasn't dead!
Iain was shocked all over again.
Albus isn't dead. Why would you assume I must be? Foolish little brat.
While Dumbledore remained silent, the diary popped up to criticize him.
Once again, it touched a wizard's reverse scale.
"I see!"
Iain was furious, but he still had to put on a show of generosity in front of his future headmaster. So he could only pretend not to see the other party insulting his super-brain. He directly snapped the evil notebook shut, shoved it under his clothes, and pinned it in place with his belt to prevent it from opening by itself again.
After learning it was not some Dark Magic object, he was actually less afraid of it.
So what if it was a legendary old witch?
It wasn't as if she could crawl through the internet and come beat him up.
The diary tried to force its way out from his waistband.
Unfortunately, Iain's belt was as firm as a steel cable.
Dumbledore watched the young wizard and the diary wage their little battle of wits, then shook his head with a faint laugh. After observing for a short while, he spoke softly again.
"Rest early tonight. Tomorrow, I will take you to Diagon Alley to purchase the things you will need for your studies."
The old headmaster's tone had returned to its usual warmth.
Iain's eyes brightened.
"Professor, what is Diagon Alley?"
He still remembered the persona he was supposed to be playing. Yet such a simple question only earned him Dumbledore's silence. The old headmaster turned and walked back toward the Dumbledore cottage without looking back.
The young wizard could only hurry after him.
"Professor, can I buy eighteen wands?"
He changed to another question.
Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Why eighteen? Child, a wand is a wizard's companion. More wands do not make a wizard more powerful."
He tried to teach the young wizard some actual common sense.
Unfortunately, Iain's thinking was astonishingly unexpected.
"Sister taught me a traditional spell today, Wizard's Hand. It lets me use invisible hands, like unseen tentacles, to grab things in the physical world."
"So I was thinking, if I make them hold eighteen wands, wouldn't I be able to roleplay as a mobile magical artillery platform? I'd have a massive advantage when fighting other wizards!"
Iain enthusiastically shared his grand concept.
Of course, he had not only imagined eighteen tentacles. It was simply that he wanted the other dozens of tentacles to hold different weapons.
"??????"
Even so, Dumbledore was once again rendered silent.
He looked at Iain showing off his invisible hands, at Fawkes still "hatching bird eggs" on top of his head, and at the diary pressed into a dent beneath Iain's belt.
Bad.
His right eyelid had started twitching again.
"You need to gain a proper, clear understanding of magic and the magical world... Before term begins, I will make sure you receive training in that regard."
Who said Albus Dumbledore was not a responsible headmaster?
From the seriousness in every word he spoke now, one could clearly see how responsible he was toward the other young wizards at his school.
"If you want your wand to feel truly natural in your hand, you must not think of it merely as a tool..."
The exhausted old headmaster began teaching as he slowly led Iain back into the house. Then he raised his wand and pointed it at the second-floor room that had been blown beyond recognition.
Although the skeletons had done their best to repair it, it still looked somewhat unfinished.
In response, Dumbledore simply lifted his hand and cast a spell.
"Reparo."
Perhaps this too was a magical demonstration from a professor to a young wizard.
The whole process took no more than five seconds. Every trace of damage vanished as though time itself had flowed backward.
"Oh! Merlin's luncheon meat! This is an absolute blessing for construction workers!"
Iain watched the whole scene with his mouth open, then offered a heartfelt exclamation.
Dumbledore smiled with satisfaction and withdrew his wand.
"Rest early. You will need to wake early tomorrow."
For the first time, the old headmaster had displayed magic in front of the young wizard, showing him that magic was an art meant to help people.
"Good night."
He gently reminded Iain, then left the Dumbledore cottage without saying where he was going, or when he would return.
Iain stood by the window, watching that figure gradually recede until the curve of the hill swallowed it.
"Middle of the night. Wonder where he's going."
He muttered, then turned and began inspecting the newly repaired room.
"Still, Professor Dumbledore is right. If I want my wand to truly feel natural in my hand, I can't just treat it like a tool."
"I'll have to catch a spirit and stuff it inside my wand... no, eighteen wands need eighteen spirits."
After being taught face-to-face by the headmaster today, Iain could definitely say he had been enlightened and had gained a great deal.
As expected of the greatest wizard at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was also max-level when it came to teaching and guiding students. Iain resolved to listen to the old professor's guidance many more times.
"It will help me see the true magical world!"
Iain's heart surged with excitement. Just as he was about to go downstairs, wash up, and sleep, he stood in the corridor and suddenly heard a faint rustling.
It came from the locked room next door.
It sounded like something scratching at wood, or perhaps many tiny legs crawling across paper. The sound was not loud, but in the quiet night it was especially clear.
"A magical Jerry?"
Iain became interested. He pressed his ear to the locked door. After hesitating for a moment, he still crouched down and peered through the gap beneath it.
And then,
four eyes met.
Iain saw a small, thin skeleton.
And the skeleton's hollow, dark, glittering eye sockets.