"My bloodline…?"
The Headmaster's office was quiet, the portraits on the walls all peering curiously at Louis—the supposed descendant of Merlin.
So it's come to this, Louis thought. This is probably a check-up, isn't it? After all, being a descendant of Merlin sounds far more dangerous than Voldemort ever was. Dumbledore must be worried I'll turn into another Dark Lord.
Still, since he'd convinced Dumbledore of his identity, he knew he'd also have to accept the pressure that came with it. Louis had been prepared for this from the start.
"Yes, Mr. Wilson. Your bloodline's power seems… unusually well-hidden," Dumbledore said.
If even a descendant of Merlin couldn't be recorded in the Book of Admittance, then who else possibly could? Yet Louis's name was absent, so Dumbledore could only speculate that Merlin's bloodline was so unique that the book itself had overlooked him.
But then how do we defend the credibility of the Book of Admittance? Otherwise, who would ever trust it again?
"Is that so? Perhaps. But I never noticed," Louis answered casually.
"Have you noticed any sudden changes in yourself? A burst of uncontrolled magic?" Dumbledore asked.
A magical outburst—something every young wizard experienced. At a certain age, emotional surges caused their magic to erupt, disrupting the world around them. That was why students began Hogwarts at eleven: to be taught to control it.
For children of unusual bloodlines, such outbursts often came with peculiar traits. And Louis's was perhaps the most unusual of all.
Had he experienced an additional, hidden surge? Perhaps even here, inside Hogwarts, unnoticed by anyone? That was Dumbledore's suspicion—after all, from Fawkes's reaction, Louis's aura now was noticeably different from when he had first arrived.
What he couldn't know was that Louis's "change" had only just occurred—at the exact moment he tricked the phoenix. His achievement had strengthened, and only that explained Fawkes's affection. Without it, Louis would've been roasted alive.
"Sorry, I didn't notice anything like that," Louis shrugged, then countered smoothly, "Do you perhaps have a theory, Professor?"
The question was nothing but idle chatter—meant to keep Dumbledore from spinning baseless guesses.
After all, in the entire Harry Potter saga, there had never been such a thing as "Merlin's bloodline." Louis was perfectly calm. He was a one-of-a-kind scam, and there was no risk of exposure.
Sure enough, Dumbledore shook his head. "I have no definite thoughts. Your bloodline is… unique. One could even say singular. We have no points of comparison."
"I see. But what does that have to do with you calling me here? Don't tell me you want to study me?" Louis asked.
Dumbledore, famed for his alchemy and as the discoverer of the twelve uses of dragon's blood—did he intend to publish the twenty uses of Merlin's bloodline?
"Of course not," Dumbledore denied at once. "You are free. No one has the right to 'study' you. However…"
"However what?"
"However, your existence will inevitably draw attention. Some will be curious, some will admire you—but others will fear your power, or even seek to claim you for themselves."
Louis smirked. He knew Dumbledore was right, but who was he supposed to fear?
"Claim me for themselves? Sounds like a marriage proposal," he joked.
"That would be the gentlest method," Dumbledore said gravely. "More likely, they'll try to bribe you—or coerce you."
"Bribes… threats?" Louis chuckled.
"You don't seem the least bit concerned?" Dumbledore frowned, puzzled at his calm.
"Why should I be, when you're here? You're the most powerful wizard alive," Louis replied smoothly.
Dumbledore shook his head, about to say more, but then changed the subject. "Mr. Wilson, perhaps you should start with yourself. Make more friends."
"Friends? Of course—I take friendship very seriously," Louis spread his hands innocently.
"Then perhaps stop bullying your classmates?" Dumbledore suggested.
"So someone did complain!" Louis grinned, baring sharp white teeth. "Headmaster, just tell me who it was. I guarantee—they'll become my friend."
Guarantee? Become your friend? Dumbledore nearly groaned aloud. Are you planning to bribe them, or threaten them? For Merlin's sake, put away that grin already!
Dumbledore could barely keep his expression steady—he almost felt like grabbing Louis on the spot and locking him away so he wouldn't wreak havoc any further.
"No one reported you, Mr. Wilson. Your actions are plain for all to see," Dumbledore said calmly. "I only hope you'll be a bit kinder to your classmates."
"I am quite kind," Louis smiled at him. "Unless someone provokes me first, I generally don't go looking for trouble."
"…And your pumpkin clown?"
"Oh, that was an accident. I didn't expect the other Slytherin boys to be so frightened of it. But you see, I didn't repeat it, did I? It was only a holiday surprise."
Louis's explanation… was not unreasonable.
Dumbledore mused for a while before asking, "Mr. Wilson, what do you want to do in the future?"
"My future?"
"Yes. For instance, what career do you wish to pursue? Have you ever thought of staying at Hogwarts, or—"
"Most likely, I'll live in the Muggle world. Magic is wonderful, but I don't think I could adapt to such a backward lifestyle."
Louis glanced at the dim oil lamps and the fireplace in the Headmaster's office, then shook his head with open disdain.
"But isn't the wizarding world better suited to you? Your uniqueness would be difficult for Muggles to accept," Dumbledore countered.
"That just depends on wisdom, Professor. To make others accept your strangeness, all you need is a bit of kindly deception. For example: I'm a magician—it's only natural that I look a little extraordinary." Louis shrugged.
"But when you say the magical world is backward, I must disagree. After all—"
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Louis interrupted, wagging his finger, "before you defend the magical world, I should point something out. We don't have equal information. You don't understand the Muggle world, but I understand the wizarding world well enough. After all, it's all written in books."
"Besides, I come from a normal Muggle family. I have parents who love me, who give me everything I ask for. And I love them, and would do much for them."
"I'm not like Harry Potter. He lives poorly at his uncle's house. I know this better than anyone—I see him every day, doing chores, treated with cold neglect."
Louis spoke casually, as though it were idle talk. "Of course he'd love the wizarding world. It's where his happiest memories are. Isn't that right, Headmaster? Isn't that exactly what you intended?"
Dumbledore's gaze flickered. He hesitated, even considered whether he ought to use Legilimency to probe Louis's thoughts.
It went against his morals—but Louis's identity made him waver.
In the end, he held back, clinging to principle.
That was the measure of Dumbledore's greatness—always restraining himself with morality. Anyone else with such a gift would abuse it for personal gain.
Both Dumbledore and Snape refrained from such violations, though for different reasons. Dumbledore out of principle; Snape simply because he had no desires left in life. Aside from bullying students from other Houses, he wanted little else.
But Dumbledore didn't know—Legilimency would have failed anyway. He wasn't even looking into Louis's real eyes. Illusion had shifted his gaze.
What Dumbledore saw were Louis's eyebrows.
Legilimency was nearly impossible to defend against. Only Occlumency worked. Unless—your opponent couldn't see your eyes at all.
And Louis couldn't always avoid eye contact, but he could misdirect with illusion, making the other see "eyes" where none were.
If Legilimency pulled anything from that, it would be a miracle.
"Well, everyone has their own ideas. Still, I have one suggestion, Mr. Wilson," Dumbledore said at last, smiling faintly. "Why not treat your classmates a little better? They may become valuable allies in the future."
"That, I can't agree with, Headmaster." Louis curled his lip. "Do you really believe their personal feelings toward me will determine their actions later?"
"Perhaps you could elaborate," Dumbledore prompted, intrigued.
"Pure-blood families are like Muggle nobility. Because they're few in number, their ties are deeply tangled." Louis's voice dropped low. "Friendship to them is never as reliable as blood. When their kin plot against me, do you think any classmate—no matter how friendly—would truly stand at my side?"
"This…" Dumbledore faltered. "There are always exceptions…"
But even he couldn't finish the sentence. The answer was obvious—of course most would not.
"So you see, Headmaster, you understand too," Louis said with a thin smile. "Rather than chase the illusion of friendship and impossible loyalty, it's better to carve a deep shadow into their hearts—make them fear me."
His eyes gleamed with cold light.
"Fear me so much they wouldn't dare plot against me. So much they wouldn't dare act—or even dare think of it.
Better to make them fear me… than respect me."
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