What in the world is the 20th century?
It's been almost a year since I was suddenly dropped ninety years into the future, but at times, this world still feels alien to me.
Now was one of those times. My goodness.
To think that the 'Dark Lord' who supposedly shook the entire British wizarding world was such a soft-hearted person that his soul would tear from a single murder.
Latte-neun, even a mid-level gang boss would be running around spamming Avada Kedavra.
[T/N: Latte-neun:- means back in my day.]
As if he had roughly guessed what I was thinking, Albus sighed and said.
"Sir... the times have... ah, never mind."
On the other hand, I could now roughly understand the way that Voldemort fellow thinks.
Right, that would make sense. If he was a wizard with a heart so soft that his soul would tear every time he killed someone, how terrified must he have been of his own death?
Most Dark Wizards tend to be pathetic in some corner of their minds.
And since he had a certain amount of talent, he must have struggled desperately to avoid death. Come to think of it, his organization is called the Death Eaters.
But if he hated dying so much, why did he become a Dark Wizard in the first place? Dark Wizards usually die young.
Anyway, setting aside Voldemort's personality.
I turned back to Albus with a frown and asked.
"So, you're saying that weak-willed Dark Lord is connected to the Smith family's affairs?"
"...Yes, that is most likely the case."
"Tell me everything about Voldemort. And no hiding things this time."
The story that Albus proceeded to tell was quite the spectacle.
The Horcruxes, the Death Eaters, and even Harry's story.
As he listened to the tales of Voldemort's evil deeds, Aisen's face grew colder and colder.
Meanwhile, Harry, who had been kicked out of the room so Aisen and Dumbledore could talk.
He just couldn't understand the situation.
Of course, he knew that his master, Knightly, was a truly great wizard, but to think that the old, grandfatherly wizard was his master's junior!
In that case, just how old was Knightly?
After briefly letting his imagination run wild with reasonable, yet wrongful, speculations that would have made Aisen feel quite aggrieved, Harry soon became curious about the conversation the two wizards were having.
Though he was a wizard's disciple, Harry had learned magic but didn't have much knowledge about the wizarding world itself.
This was, without a doubt, because his master was constantly touring the Muggle world.
So Harry, who had never even been to Diagon Alley in London, let alone Hogsmeade, couldn't help but be curious about the conversation these two 'real wizards' were having.
Harry glanced around.
Deek was humming a tune, seemingly happy to be preparing dessert for their first guest in a long time.
Ardeura was watching with interest the ridiculous dance that the nameless phoenix was performing.
So, it was clear what Harry had to do.
He carefully pressed his ear to the crack in the door and focused on the voices coming from inside.
And that Harry was able to hear the ensuing conversation was entirely due to Knightly's and Dumbledore's lax sense of security.
The surprisingly lax security awareness of wizards meant they didn't even think to cast a simple soundproofing charm.
Therefore, Harry could only listen to the voices coming from inside and freeze on the spot.
"—And so, Voldemort had the Death Eaters find Harry. And he brutally murdered his father, James Potter..."
'What.'
Harry's legs gave out from under him.
His parents... hadn't died in a car crash?
His heart pounded wildly at this story he had never heard before. He barely managed to keep himself upright on his trembling legs.
The only reason Harry didn't collapse, stumbling like a newborn calf, was because he had to hear the rest of the conversation.
—Then, what happened next?
—His mother, Lily Potter, cast an ancient magic on Harry. The one you know well, Sir. 'Love.'
—Ah. Dear me. So it was Harry's mother who cast the spell.
—In the end, Voldemort, who could not comprehend that great love, was struck by the reflection of his own Killing Curse, and his soul and body were separated.
He didn't remember much of what followed.
Harry pressed a hand against his wildly beating chest and thought.
'My parents died fighting Voldemort!'
Emotions too heavy for a child to bear swept over him.
A longing for his parents. A pride in what they had done. A shame for having resented them.
And, a rage towards Voldemort.
Unable to control the emotions that had hit him all at once, Harry pulled his ear away from the crack in the door.
And then, steadying his trembling legs, he headed for the room with the bed.
As Harry walked towards the bed, Knightly's words drifted faintly behind him.
—As I thought, even Azkaban is too good for them.
Harry thought so too.
Dumbledore spoke.
"Sir, what are you going to do with this object?"
Hufflepuff's Cup. An artifact of priceless historical and archaeological value, but now, it was nothing more than a Horcrux containing a fragment of Voldemort's soul.
Therefore, its destruction was a matter of course.
But how could one destroy this Horcrux, protected by an absolute durability?
Dumbledore looked at Aisen with that question in his eyes.
Aisen smiled his usual mischievous smile, but unlike usual, it was a cold smile as he answered.
"Well, first, shouldn't we show it to the object's original owner?"
Original owner? What did he mean? Voldemort was now less than a wandering ghost, so by what method...
After a moment of thought, Dumbledore came up with the name of another person who could be called the owner of that object.
"Surely, you don't mean the Lestranges? But they are in Azkaban now, and they wouldn't even accept a visitor... ah."
Dumbledore momentarily cursed his own brilliant mind for having understood the meaning of Aisen's words.
It would have been better if he hadn't understood.
With a sliver of hope, Dumbledore asked Aisen.
"...Sir, that's not it, right? You just mean you're going for a visit, right?"
Aisen's smile grew wider.
Ah, by Merlin.
The wrinkles on Dumbledore's forehead deepened yet again today.
After sending Albus back to Hogwarts, and also sending Fawkes, who was clinging to Ardeura like glue and refusing to leave, back with Albus.
Finally, in the quiet of the hotel room, I fell into a silent contemplation.
Azkaban.
It was a place I had no connection with. No, to say I had no connection at all would be a bit of a stretch.
After all, I had sent one of my friends to Azkaban myself.
In any case, I had never had to go to Azkaban myself, so I suppose you could say I had no connection with it.
A remote island floating alone somewhere in the North Sea. The Ministry of Magic's strongest prison, boasting an absolute defense by Dementors... or so they say, but I'm not so sure.
At least, from what I had heard through the grapevine, Azkaban wasn't that impressive a place.
Isn't it just a prison where they take your wand and have some Dementors around?
If you've reached a level like me, where you can use all sorts of magic without a wand, Azkaban isn't really scary.
Ah, of course, that doesn't mean wands aren't important.
Out of habit, I took out the Elder Wand and began to wipe it with a cloth infused with high-quality scented oil. I could feel the wand tremble, as if it liked it.
That's right, that's right.
Anyway, the only reason Azkaban was called an inescapable prison despite its poor security was for one reason.
The Dementors.
These magical creatures, which are said to feed on the darkest human emotions, steal the vitality of the inmates and wear down their minds.
Though I was an expert on all sorts of magical creatures, I had never met the Dementors that lived in Azkaban.
I even felt a little excited at the prospect of meeting them soon.
Knock, knock.
Just then, there was a knock on my door.
Among the living beings in this hotel, there was only one who would knock.
"Come in, Harry."
At my words, Harry opened the door and entered. But for some reason, he was looking down, and seemed to be in low spirits.
He looked just like he did when I first saw him at the Dursleys', and I asked in surprise.
"What is it, what's wrong? Why are you so down?"
"Sir, I overheard what you two were talking about."
His mind must have been a mess, as Harry spoke without his usual preamble. Nevertheless, I immediately understood what he meant and slapped my forehead.
Come to think of it, I think I did hear something at the door while I was talking with Albus.
As I was blaming my own lax security, Harry continued.
"I found out why I'm famous in the wizarding world. And I found out that my parents died fighting Voldemort."
Harry paused for a breath.
"Master, you're going to that place called 'Azkaban' to find the Death Eaters, aren't you?"
At Harry's bold question, I tilted an eyebrow in a silent affirmation.
"In that case, please take me to Azkaban, too."
"What?"
"I want to see those people, the Death Eaters, too."
I frowned at Harry's words and asked back.
"Do you think Azkaban is some kind of amusement park? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?"
Harry, who would be unfamiliar with the wizarding world, couldn't possibly know. Nevertheless, Harry said.
"No, of course I don't know. But I'm Master Knightly's disciple, aren't I? You said that settling my own grudges is my duty!"
I closed my mouth at Harry's shout, fist clenched, and fell into thought.
This was the cry of a child who had just learned of his parents' death today.
Probably, Albus would have rejected Harry's request without a second thought. He wouldn't have even hesitated.
Both his educator's personality that cherished students, and his cynical personality that viewed people as pawns on his board, would lead him to the same conclusion.
And that was, from a common-sense perspective, the right thing to do.
To take a child, not yet ten years old, to Azkaban, a place crawling with all sorts of dangerous Dark Wizards and Dementors.
Not fifteen, not thirteen, not ten, but eight years old.
The common-sense thing to do would be to dismiss it as the angry tantrum of a child and soothe him over it.
And yet, I hesitated.
And that was solely because I am Aisen Knightly, and this child is Harry Potter.
As long as he lives as my disciple, and as long as he lives as The Boy Who Lived, Harry, who bears two titles when one would have been more than enough, is destined to live an extraordinary life.
If so, shouldn't he be raised properly from a young age?
With the heart of a lion that pushes its cub off a cliff.
Having made up my mind, I smiled and said.
"Alright, Harry. If you can prove that you have the ability to protect yourself, I'll take you on my business trip to Azkaban."
"Really?!"
Harry's face broke out in surprise, as if he himself had never thought such an unreasonable request would be granted.
"Only if you can prove your ability, that is."
"I will! Thank you!"
Seeing the overjoyed Harry, I thought with a hint of concern.
There are so many Dark Wizards there. I'll feel more at ease if I at least teach him the basics of the Unforgivable Curses, right?
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Thank you for the review. "Loskutok"
I published extra chapters for it. And honestly, I got a bit carried away in translating this novel. It is so damn fun to read, and I keep laughing at his antics.
Acciopower stones. (pulls all your power stones to my story.)