His senses cut sharper than most. And for all his suspicion, what he perceived rang undeniable. Merlin's mind lay smooth and still, like a deep lake at dawn. No ripples. No falsehoods. Nothing but conviction, as Merlin himself believed it.
"It seems Mr. Ambrosius speaks truth," Dumbledore murmured, tone reflective. "Simply knowing of it invites danger…" His eyes grew pensive, as though tasting inspiration. "So much of magic remains unknown. Even so many centuries on, there are doors unopened."
Flamel nodded, lips pressed in thought. "I have never encountered such a phenomenon either. Unless, of course…" his eyes narrowed just slightly, "Merlin has managed to deceive even himself."
Prudent as ever, the alchemist's words hung heavy. Ian echoed that cautiousness, suspicion lingering as he frowned.
"You really are always this cryptic. By your logic, I ought to let you Memory-Charm me right now. Isn't that what it comes down to?"
Truth be told, Ian despised the very idea. Memory erasure was repulsive to him. Was the man you remembered yourself to be the same person, if part of you was forcibly cut away?
But if he refused… If he remembered this secret knowingly… Would he then invite the same unseen hand of death that had claimed legends before him?
"Tch."
'Damn Merlin. Damn him for this twisted dilemma!'
Even if the Archmage's words rang true, it didn't stop Ian from grinding his teeth at him once more. When you disliked someone, even their way of breathing made you itch. And right now, Merlin was more than irritating; he was making Ian uneasy.
The question flashed, sharp as a dagger: if killing Merlin now could silence the threat forever, why not?
Merlin's eyelids twitched, as though sensing the black thought. His voice rushed out quickly, almost unbidden, yet carrying an odd certainty.
"You don't need to," Merlin said, low but firm. "That cursed thing… it will not touch you. Not someone like you, someone already far more cursed."
Ian squinted. "And what's that supposed to mean?" He wasn't sure if Merlin had just offered him comfort or an insult. But his shoulders loosened, just slightly, and the air around him eased.
"I only call it as I see it," Merlin said, shrugging with a faint, wry smile. "I've learned that from you, it seems."
It was almost absurd, the King of Wizards, adopting Ian's irreverent style.
Slowly, Dumbledore stepped forward. His gaze lingered on Merlin, calm yet grave.
"Though I believe you must have used a Confundus Charm, I have verified the matter. Hogwarts itself accepts you as a student within its halls. For that reason, I will give you my trust. But know this, such trust is not infinite."
Merlin froze, then understood. His lips curved into a smile tinged with humility. He lowered his head in a genuine, respectful bow.
"…Thank you. For your trust."
The breath he let out was long, like the first exhale after surfacing from deep waters.
Ian raised an eyebrow, ready to quip, but the moment slipped from his grasp as Dumbledore had already turned to Nicolas Flamel.
Understanding flickered across Flamel's face, and he inclined his head. Dumbledore's wand rose, releasing a soft, silvery glow that wrapped Flamel like a warm haze. Slowly, the legendary alchemist's eyes clouded, growing dazed, as though something important had slipped away from his grasp, forgotten.
The corridor fell wholly still.
And then, in silent resolve, Dumbledore turned his wand upon himself.
Ian's heart jolted. His pupils contracted as he watched Dumbledore's body tremble slightly, his gaze turn vacant, only for focus to return a heartbeat later, calm and steady once more.
"This… this is insane." Ian swallowed hard, a chill crawling down his spine. "Even toward himself, he's this ruthless…!" His thoughts raced, shaken by what he had just witnessed. A man willing to erase his own memories without hesitation, no wonder Voldemort had never stood a chance before this headmaster. And Grindelwald? Perhaps he hadn't been wronged, either.
The sheer audacity and resolve of the old wizard left Ian rattled. Would he, if put in the same position, ever be capable of such merciless decisiveness against himself? He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure at all.
"Mr. Ollivander."
Dumbledore's voice came soft, warm, seamless, like nothing unusual had just occurred.
"The family letter entrusted by your grandfather, I've already given it to you."
Flamel nodded in turn, his own tone equally natural.
"Yes. Handle it swiftly, if you will. There are still certain rare materials I hope your family can help me find."
Not a flicker of hesitation broke their conversation. It was fluid, casual, as though both men had always been here for this purpose alone.
The rewritten memories glowed through every gesture. Dumbledore's mastery of the Memory Charm put Lockhart's much-sung "talent" to shame. Compared to this, Lockhart was a child waving sparklers in a storm.
'Lockhart'… Ian mused grimly. The man was still rotting in prison, living out Gellert Grindelwald's life and name. Given Lockhart's vanity, that must be eating him alive. It almost made Ian curious, what little scraps of "news" still trickled out about Grindelwald these days? None had reached him for quite some time.
Dumbledore's voice drew Ian back.
"Later, I would like a private word with you, about the things that happened before." His eyes were calm, thoughtful. No mention of Merlin. No mention of the truth. The Memory Charm had scrubbed it away clean, even with Merlin standing right there.
"Understood, Headmaster." Ian inclined his head, keeping his composure polished, nothing leaking betrayal, unlike Ron, who would've blurted ten awkward confessions by now.
Still… Ian was not blessed with infinite patience.
The moment Dumbledore and Flamel departed, Ian's gaze snapped toward Merlin, sharp as a blade.
"Now," he demanded, "you'll finally tell me about the Raven, won't you?"
Merlin gave a slow nod, but his features remained guarded.
"First," he said carefully, "let me ensure no other students are eavesdropping. You never know, messy bloodlines sometimes leave odd inheritances. Someone's ears could be sharper than they have any right to be."
For once, the paranoia felt convincing enough. Perhaps Merlin truly wanted to shield others from harm.
He closed his eyes, sensing the air around them. When he opened them again, relief softened his expression.
Ian seized the moment. "I've noticed you avoid magic whenever possible. So which is it, you can't handle complex spells anymore, or you don't dare risk it?"
Merlin chuckled softly. "Your curiosity really is insatiable."
Lowering his head, he brushed a palm across his skin, and a shimmer answered. A ring glinted into view, the same ring Ian had glimpsed once before on Professor Arthur King's hand.
It was proof enough.
Arthur King was Merlin.
Ian didn't even flinch, he had already pieced it together long ago.
"I can't," Merlin admitted with a sigh, fingers curling around the ring. "Or perhaps it's… I won't. Fear lingers. It's complicated. Truth is, if Dumbledore had never stepped into the realm of legend, this ring alone could have bent reality around him at my command."
That admission carried weight. The ring, his crutch, his weapon, his lifeline.
Ian narrowed his eyes at it, voice skeptical. "What exactly is it?"
Merlin's lips curved faintly. "A crude imitation."
Evasive. Elusive. Merlin could play the riddle game better than Dumbledore, which only stoked Ian's irritation. But then the King of Wizards shook his hands out lightly, as if surrendering his mischief. His tone grew serious.
"Very well… as you wish."
He pressed his fingers to his temples, then drew outward. Filaments of memory, thin as spun silver, slipped free of his mind in gossamer strands. He flung them into the air, and in an instant, the world around them shifted.
The corridor dissolved. The arches, the stones, even the mist itself, all unraveled.
Countless threads stretched into a new reality, weaving a stage between them.
It was memory magic again. A more profound working this time, a world of remembrance, built from Merlin's own hands.
And there, Ian knew at last, Merlin was about to reveal the tangled truth of his old enemy… the Raven.
The truth.
The grievance.
Their grudge.
(End of Chapter)
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