Nios ignored the mess on the floor and turned to give Dumbledore a gentle smile.
"Just a small management issue, please excuse the inconvenience."
Dumbledore did not respond, his brows slightly furrowed, his sharp eyes peering over Nios's shoulder, fixed on the blood and gore that was writhing and converging towards the center.
Nios keenly caught the Principal's concern.
"This isn't a suitable place for a conversation."
He made a 'please' gesture.
"Let's go to the study."
With that, he led the way for Dumbledore.
Stepping into the main hall of the manor, he sighed softly, looking at the furniture and walls damaged by Azazel.
He casually patted the wall beside him.
"Buzz..."
The entire manor was filled with white lightning, scattered furniture fragments flew back to their original places, torn tapestries were restored as new, overturned objects stood upright on their own, and even dust seemed to be wiped away by an invisible cloth.
The entire hall instantly looked brand new, as tidy as a show home that had just completed its exquisite renovation.
Dumbledore looked around the refreshed interior with interest.
Nios had discarded the ancient manor's original medieval style, transforming it into something extremely modern, even what could be called 'Muggle futurism'.
'Interesting,' Dumbledore mused internally, 'These devices… are they some kind of Muggle projection of their imagination of future technology?'
He guessed correctly; Nios had, from memory, replicated the appearance of home appliances that would only be common in 2025, and though they were merely superficial, they were enough to bring him a sense of comfort.
Dumbledore stopped, pointing to an oversized black mirror on the wall, and asked curiously, "Nios, what is this… used for?"
"Decoration."
Nios answered concisely, without stopping his steps.
The two walked and stopped, finally arriving at the study.
This study seemed to be the only room in the entire manor that had escaped Nios's 'modernization' magic.
Heavy oak bookshelves reached from floor to ceiling, and the air was filled with the unique mingled scent of aged parchment and leather.
The bookshelves were crammed with various ancient, heavy, gold-embossed or jewel-encrusted religious texts.
Dumbledore's sharp gaze swept over the spines, his pupils suddenly contracting; he even saw unique emblems and binding styles on several open, thick tomes that should never appear in a private residence, but only be enshrined deep within the Vatican Relic Church!
'So that's it…' Dumbledore's mind suddenly cleared.
This child's bizarre worldview was formed.
He wasn't exposed to mainstream magic education, but rather to Muggle history, mythology, religion, and various superstitious products.
The two sat down in large leather armchairs by the fireplace.
The fire burned quietly, radiating warmth, and the atmosphere was so peaceful that it was as if the tension and bloodshed in the courtyard just now had never happened.
"Principal Dumbledore."
Nios went straight to the point, gently tapping the armrest of the chair with his finger.
"I am happy to accept your invitation to study at Hogwarts. But as you have seen with your own eyes, I seem to be… wand-proof."
His tone carried a hint of appropriate distress.
"But, my dear child."
Dumbledore playfully winked.
"Didn't you just skillfully use a… well, quite 'distinctive' spell to 'manage' Mr. Azazel? That's enough to prove that you are not incapable of casting spells."
Nios fell silent, the eye pattern on his cartoon eye patch seeming to fall into contemplation as well.
Dumbledore waited patiently, picking up a cup of hot tea that Nios had 'conjured' out of thin air, gently blowing on the steam.
A moment later, Nios looked up, his eye patch precisely directed towards Dumbledore.
"Then, Professor, could you please teach me a… most basic magic?"
"With pleasure." Dumbledore readily agreed.
He chose the most harmless, most basic, and the starting point of every young Wizard's dream: Lumos.
He explained in detail the pronunciation of the spell, the subtle guidance of emotions, and the key points of imagining light points condensing.
Dumbledore's explanation was profound yet easy to understand, truly befitting the greatest Wizard of his time. After listening, Nios felt completely confident.
He extended his index finger towards the air in front of him and clearly enunciated: "Lumos."
A soft, stable, cold white light, like a awakened firefly, steadily floated at his fingertip!
It worked!
Nios's heart stirred.
He slowly placed the demon book, which he had been tightly clutching in his other hand, on the low table between them.
The moment his finger left the book's cover.
Poof.
The white light at his fingertip, like a snuffed candle, silently vanished.
Nios placed his hand on the demon book's cover again.
He once again chanted the spell: "Lumos."
The white light lit up again!
Seeing this clear and unambiguous correlation experiment, combined with the scene in the courtyard where the lengthy spell and the demon book appeared simultaneously.
The last piece of the puzzle fell into place in Dumbledore's mind.
Everything made sense.
Nios was not without magic; his magical outburst likely occurred a long time ago, it was just that his understanding of his own power had been distorted by those texts!
The bizarre book he created was a powerful magical medium he had unconsciously shaped, much like the artifacts or staves used by some ancient Wizards.
And Azazel… was a magical creature unexpectedly born from his distorted perception, at least Dumbledore was currently more inclined to understand it that way.
Modern Wizards generally use wands precisely because they achieve a perfect balance in stability and universality; Nios could be considered a throwback.
"It seems."
A relieved smile bloomed on Dumbledore's face, his blue eyes behind his spectacles warm as spring.
"The doors of Hogwarts are open for you, Mr. Chaos."
The subsequent conversation became much more relaxed.
The two finalized the arrangements for the admission reply and Diagon Alley purchases.
After completing the main task, Dumbledore began to fulfill another purpose of his visit: to investigate this cursed land.
"Nios."
Dumbledore's tone became serious.
"Did you grow up in this city?"
"Sort of."
Nios leaned back in his chair, his eye patch looking out the window.
"This place… is my starting point."
He indeed held an indescribable complex emotion for this manor, which had witnessed his birth and research.
"Then, regarding the history of this city, and… its unique 'atmosphere', you should have some understanding?"
Dumbledore's gaze sharpened.
"The birthplace of the witch hunts."
Nios's voice also deepened.
"And… this land's malice and curse towards Wizards?"
Seeing that Nios not only knew but could accurately use the word "curse," a hint of surprise flashed in Dumbledore's eyes, but he quickly relaxed.
For a genius who could conjure Azazel with his bare hands, knowing these things seemed not so surprising.
Nios picked up the demon book from the low table again, skillfully flipping to the last page where the contract was located, and showed Dumbledore the twisted, blasphemous, yet powerfully binding text.
"This is the contract that binds Azazel," he explained, "As long as the contract is in effect, his existence will shield me from all curses."
He deliberately omitted the contract's despairingly endless term.
Although Dumbledore could not understand the bizarre text, his powerful magical perception instantly grasped the core binding force and efficacy of the contract.
When his gaze swept over the line of symbols representing the term below the contract, the corner of his mouth couldn't help but twitch again.
He finally understood where Azazel's "heartfelt" remark, "Why didn't you kill Nios?" came from!
And when his eyes fell on the contract's signing date, the last trace of doubt in his mind vanished: June 6, 1991.
This date perfectly explained why the Book of Admittance didn't record Nios's name until July; perhaps before that, the curse had been suppressing him, until Azazel, this 'curse shield,' came online!
Time passed quietly. The sunlight outside the window had risen to its zenith, bright and warm.
"I think I should take my leave."
Dumbledore put down his teacup and stood up.
There was a kind driver waiting for him outside, and he also didn't want Professor McGonagall to worry.
"Won't you stay for a simple meal?"
Nios also stood up, making a polite gesture to retain him.
"Next time," Dumbledore smiled and politely declined, "I have a prior engagement with a friend."
The two walked out of the study side by side.
As soon as they reached the corridor, a figure stumbled towards them.
It was Azazel.
He had fully recovered, but his appearance was quite disheveled.
He was wearing a white chef's uniform with several charred holes, his fur was missing patches here and bald tufts there, and his face was smeared with black marks, presumably soot.
He hung his head, muttering weakly.
"Dinner… is ready…"
Looking at the disheveled demon, Nios and Dumbledore exchanged glances, both seeing an uncontrollable hint of amusement in each other's eyes.
"Professor Dumbledore has important matters to attend to."
Nios said seriously, barely suppressing his laughter.
"We'll just order takeout later."
With that, the two tacitly ignored the fuming Azazel behind them and walked towards the manor gate, chatting and laughing.
Nios even enthusiastically introduced his superficial future home appliances to Dumbledore.
Outside the manor gate.
Nios escorted Dumbledore to the black carved iron gate.
Almost simultaneously, the familiar taxi slowly drove along the road, stopping precisely at the entrance.
The driver rolled down the window, his face pale, his eyes filled with undisguised terror.
He stared intently at the drastic changes within the manor: the magnificent main house, the tidy lawn, the solemn statues… This was completely different from the gloomy, dilapidated haunted house in his memory!
"Oh… oh my God! Sir! What… what happened here?!"
The driver had been chattering endlessly to Dumbledore about the centuries-old horror legends of Branded Manor, trying to use these stories to explain the supernatural sight before him.
He did not connect all of this with the gentle-mannered, kindly smiling old man beside him, who felt like the warm spring sun piercing through thick clouds.
Conversely, the pale-skinned boy standing at the door, wearing a bizarre cartoon eye patch, sent shivers down his spine, as if he were seeing not a living person, but something that had just crawled out of a coffin.
Dumbledore gently reassured the driver, skillfully guiding the conversation back to travel anecdotes.
Once the car smoothly drove out of the manor's vicinity and reached the original pick-up location.
Dumbledore, while paying, naturally pointed the tip of his wand subtly at the driver and whispered, "Obliviate."
The driver's eyes instantly became blank for a moment, then cleared.
In his memory, the manor was still desolate and dilapidated, shrouded in gloom.
On the way back, he and this learned and interesting old man had a pleasant chat about customs and traditions from around the world, and nothing more.
Dumbledore opened the door and got out, watching the taxi drive away.
He wasn't worried that the changes in the manor would attract Muggle attention.
He believed that the mature child would find a way to handle everything.