The next day.
Just as Harry was having a good time with Hedwig, and everyone was in high spirits.
A single letter arrived to shatter that good mood.
It was, without a doubt, the report on the Smith family that I had commissioned.
The contents of the report could be summarized in a single line.
'With the death of the last heir of the Smith family, Hepzibah Smith, the family line has been severed.'
For a moment, I felt my blood run cold.
To be honest, I was in a very bad mood.
It wasn't that I hadn't considered it.
Ninety years is a long time. For most Muggles, whose average lifespan is less than a hundred years, ninety years is longer than a lifetime.
But a wizard's clock ticks more slowly.
Ninety years, of course, is a long time for a wizard, too.
But for wizards, who have an average lifespan of 150 years and can easily live past 300, the weight of ninety years is surprisingly bearable.
In other words, there was a high probability that the faces I knew were still alive.
And yet, after ninety years had passed, I did not seek out the connections of my past.
At least, not until yesterday.
Let's just admit it. I was afraid of hearing this kind of news.
Because it would be impossible to feel good if I found out that bad things had happened to my old acquaintances during those ninety years.
I can destroy Gringotts, which is guarded by goblins.
If I set my mind to it, I can turn a city to ash.
I can heal a painful wound as if washing it away.
But I cannot reverse the deaths of friends who have already died.
And even if I could, I must not. It would be a defilement of death.
I trembled before this powerlessness, a feeling I hadn't experienced since becoming a wizard.
It is always difficult to look directly at the 'things I cannot do.'
In times like these, the best thing to do is to look at the things I can do.
I forced a smile onto my face and, feigning cheerfulness, called out to Ardeura.
"Ardeura! Sorry to bother you, but could you run an errand for me?"
Thanks to the news about the Malfoy family, Dumbledore was in a better mood than usual.
That is, until Fawkes suddenly started crying.
Scree! Scree! Scree!
Dumbledore was bewildered by the sight of Fawkes, who was suddenly crying several times louder than usual, puffing out his chest feathers and flaring his wings.
He had no idea why Fawkes, a phoenix with an intelligence higher than that of a human, was suddenly acting like this.
Tap, tap.
Dumbledore turned his head at the sound of tapping on the Headmaster's office window and finally understood Fawkes.
Because there, perched at the window, was a phoenix with a tail even longer and more beautiful than Fawkes's.
"Oh, dear."
And of course, Dumbledore knew who the owner of that phoenix was.
Dumbledore hurriedly opened the office window to let the unfamiliar phoenix in and was able to receive the letter it was carrying.
But just as he was about to open the letter, Dumbledore couldn't help but be captivated by the behavior of the two phoenixes as they met.
Scree! Scree! Scree!
His usual dignified demeanor was nowhere to be seen, as Fawkes acted cautiously, trying to get the other's attention.
Kee-rook! Chir-r-r-up!
Ardeura, on the other hand, was preening her feathers with her usual aloofness.
Seeing this, Dumbledore realized what was happening and burst out laughing.
"Hahaha, Fawkes, you rascal."
That's right. The phoenix raised by Aisen Knightly, Ardeura, was a female. And Fawkes was a male.
Phoenixes were so rare that it was extremely difficult for them to encounter their own kind.
Naturally, Fawkes was a complete novice with no experience with females.
Watching him cast aside his dignity as the guardian of the Dumbledore family and try to get Ardeura's attention, a smile wouldn't leave Dumbledore's lips.
"Ah, love."
With a smile on his face, Dumbledore opened Aisen's letter.
But as he read the letter, the smile vanished from his lips.
Hufflepuff's Cup, found in the Lestrange family vault, and the faint traces of dark magic emanating from it.
And the death of Hepzibah Smith, which, in hindsight, was full of suspicious circumstances.
Dumbledore inevitably had to think of the name of his former student.
"Tom, you actually made a Horcrux..."
After reading the letter with a serious expression, Dumbledore spoke to Ardeura, who still hadn't given Fawkes a single glance.
"It seems the situation is serious. Will you guide me to your master?"
With a glance that seemed to say, "Follow me," Ardeura vanished with the characteristic Apparition of a phoenix.
The faint traces left behind would clearly allow him to track the destination of the Apparition.
Dumbledore sighed and took his new wand—ebony, 15 inches, phoenix tail feather—to Apparate.
Just as he was about to follow Ardeura.
Feeling a glare from somewhere, Dumbledore smiled awkwardly and said.
"Ah, right. Fawkes, you come along too."
Screee!
Dumbledore blinked at the scene he arrived at after Apparating.
A spacious living room with modern decor; it was a rather beautiful house. What surprised Dumbledore more was that the house was surprisingly Muggle-like.
The splendid cityscape visible from the window, for one, was proof of that.
Scree! Scree!
Kee-rook!
Let's set aside Fawkes, who immediately ran to Ardeura and started a courtship dance as soon as he arrived.
Click.
Dumbledore turned his head at the sound of a door opening.
And the person who appeared there was a young child, not yet ten years old.
A slightly small build for his age, a mischievous smile, green eyes.
And the lightning-bolt scar carved into the side of his forehead.
Dumbledore knew the child all too well.
He had never expected to meet him so suddenly, and Dumbledore's mouth fell open.
"Um, are you Mr. Albus Dumbledore?"
Coming to his senses, Dumbledore put on his usual good-natured smile and said.
"Indeed I am. I am Albus Dumbledore. And you must be Harry Potter. Am I right?"
Harry looked surprised that he knew his name and said.
"Wow, how do you know my name? Did my master tell you about me?"
"Oh, no, Harry. You may not know it, but you are a very famous child in the wizarding world."
"What? I am?"
"Haha, indeed you are."
Wait. Something about what he said bothered him, and Dumbledore asked Harry again.
"Harry, did you just say 'master'? Could that master be..."
"That's right, Aisen Knightly is my master. Ah, speaking of which, my master told me to call him if Mr. Dumbledore arrived."
Merlin's beard. He knew he had taken Harry, but he never imagined his senior would have taken Harry as a disciple.
Dumbledore's forehead began to throb again.
"But Mr. Dumbledore, what do you mean I'm famous in the wizarding world?"
Just as Dumbledore, who was wondering how to answer the curious Harry, was about to open his mouth, the door opened again.
"Ah, Albus, you're here."
And the one who appeared, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, was the boy with the ash-blue hair, Aisen Knightly.
Startled by Aisen's tone, Harry said.
"Master! You can't speak to an elder like that!"
"Ah, it's fine, it's fine. He's my junior."
"What?"
The words were so unfitting for two boys who looked to be seven, no, barely eight years old, that Dumbledore couldn't help but burst out laughing.
"Anyway, Harry. Step outside for a bit. The adults have something to talk about."
"Uh, um, okay."
Harry left with a slightly unconvinced expression.
Dumbledore, flabbergasted, said to Aisen.
"Sir, when on earth did you take Harry as your disciple? And Harry still has reasons to stay at Privet Drive..."
"Albus, are you really trying to lecture me about ancient magic?"
Dumbledore flinched at his sharp gaze.
Regarding the ancient magic cast on Harry Potter, that senior probably understood it far better than he did. Just from a single glance.
Realizing that chilling fact anew, Dumbledore swallowed hard.
"Well, let's talk about that later. I didn't call you here because of Harry."
And Aisen took an object out from his cloak.
A golden cup with ornate, embossed patterns.
Dumbledore, who knew the identity of the object, sucked in a breath.
"By Merlin. Hufflepuff's Cup..."
He had roughly guessed it from the letter, but seeing the genuine artifact before his eyes was something else entirely.
But this Hufflepuff's Cup held something far more important than its value as an artifact.
"Well, have any guesses?"
"...Unfortunately, yes. I do."
Dumbledore, who understood the psychology of his former student all too well, was certain.
Tom Riddle, who was arrogant and yearned for the wizarding world, would have surely wanted to taint a meaningful artifact with his own color.
"This is, without a doubt, one of Voldemort's Horcruxes."
Hearing those shocking words, Aisen blinked.
"A what? A Horcrux?"
Is this matter shocking even to my senior? Well, Voldemort's evil deeds were beyond common sense. As Dumbledore silently nodded to himself, Aisen asked.
"No, I mean, what's a Horcrux?"
Ah. So that was the nature of his surprise.
Come to think of it, it would have been stranger if his senior knew about the extremely secretive dark magic of the Horcrux.
He was, surprisingly, a man who maintained a stance of 'I'll use it if it's there' when it came to the Dark Arts.
It's just that the memory of that terrifying green net was too strong.
After hearing Dumbledore's brief explanation of the Horcrux, Aisen's face twisted into a bizarre expression.
"...Does that even make sense?"
"I know. I also think it's truly terrible..."
"No, how does killing one person split your soul? Just how pathetically weak was this Voldemort guy's soul that it would tear from something like that?"
Aisen simply could not comprehend the basic concept that killing a person tears the soul.
Dumbledore just... gave up on thinking.