Hogwarts - Headmaster's office
The Office felt unusually heavy after Ambrose left, as though the very air had thickened with memory and unspoken questions. Dumbledore remained seated for a long time, hands folded atop the polished desk, his blue eyes staring into the space where the boy had stood only moments before.
He tried to let his mind rest, but it refused.
"The Emrys… alive. Not story, not whisper, but flesh and voice and gaze. I have seen many things, endured more than I wished to, but this-"
His eyes lowered to the insignia burned into the parchment Ambrose had left with him. The coiled dragon and the great tree. A symbol older than Hogwarts, older than even most wizarding lore dared to trace. He remembered seeing it in forbidden books from the Department of Mysteries, in fragments of half-decayed scrolls. Always a riddle. Always beyond reach.
Until now.
With a sigh, Dumbledore drew a fresh piece of parchment, dipped his quill, and began to write. He chose his words carefully, each one balanced between wonder and caution.
---
My dear friend Nicholas,
I write to you tonight with a heart both heavy and stirred. I have encountered something - someone - I had thought lost to history. A boy has appeared at Hogwarts bearing the name Ambrose Emrys. He carries not only the name, but the mark of that lineage, his snow white, his eyes glowing golden-red like that of shimmering melting gold, he wore the insignia I only saw in legends, an ancient tree intertwined with a large dragon.
He spoke of many things, two merlins, languages both noble and awe-inspiring and even linked his family to hogwarts itself,
I know the weight of what I write. You, perhaps more than any living soul, will understand. I had thought the Emrys gone, their line broken with time, preserved only in rumor and the fading ink of old tomes. And yet, Nicholas, I have spoken with him. He is no pretender. His presence alone bears the quiet majesty of that legacy.
He is young, still gentle, even humble - but there is an undeniable certainty in him, as though centuries whisper at his shoulder. I find myself torn between awe and concern. Awe, because the age of the Emrys has returned to our midst. Concern, because I know too well how the world treats those who stand apart.
Tell me, Nicholas, what do you remember? What do you feel at this name's return? I trust your wisdom - and that of Perenelle - more than I trust my own in this matter.
With deepest regard,
Albus
---
The letter from Dumbledore lay open on Nicholas's desk, its ink barely dry, yet his eyes lingered on it as though it were a relic unearthed from the depths of history. His fingers trembled faintly, not with fear, but with awe.
"Ambrose Emrys…" he whispered, letting the syllables roll on his tongue. They carried the echo of ages, the taste of something that did not belong to ordinary time.
He rose, slowly, as though the very weight of the name pressed upon his shoulders, and walked across the room toward the tall windows that looked out upon the gardens of their quiet estate.
"All these centuries… and I doubted. I thought the line had ended, that the world had swallowed its legends whole. And yet here he is, a child in Albus's office, speaking the languages of power as though they were lullabies."
A soft rustle stirred behind him. Perenelle, graceful despite the centuries, approached, her shawl drawn tight around her shoulders. She glanced at the parchment still glowing in the candlelight.
"Albus again?" she asked with a knowing smile.
Nicholas nodded, his gaze distant. "Yes. But not as before. Not philosophy, not politics. He writes of the Emrys."
Her eyes opened in surprise. "The Emrys?"
He turned to her, and for a moment the centuries fell away from his face, replaced by the boyish awe of the young alchemist he had once been. "Perenelle, do you understand? Albus has seen one. A child - Ambrose Emrys, heir of the line. In Hogwarts itself!"
She sank into the chair by the fire, eyes still wide but calmer, hands clasped neatly in her lap. "So history stirs again."
Nicholas crossed the room in quick strides, speaking more rapidly now, unable to hold back the torrent. "I met one, long ago. Do you remember Paris, that winter when the snows buried the streets? He came to me then - tall, white-haired, golden-eyed. He spoke of bonds hidden beneath the stone of Hogwarts, of histories both silenced and hidden, not only forgotten. And then… he vanished. For years I wondered if it had been some spirit, some trick of time. But no - it was an Emrys. And now, Albus has seen their heir."
Perenelle's lips curved in a faint, serene smile. "Then history has chosen its hour. It always does."
Nicholas sat beside her, lowering his voice. "Do you not feel it, my love? The excitement of it? For all our years, for all the knowledge we have gleaned, the world still keeps mysteries older than we. To see an Emrys step forward once more… it means change. Great change. Perhaps even hope."
She laid a gentle hand over his. "Be cautious, Nicholas. Excitement blinds as swiftly as fear. Respect them, yes - but remember, their presence always heralds turning tides. You know this as well as I."
He chuckled softly, pressing her hand. "Ah, my Perenelle. You always temper the flame. But even you cannot deny what this means. The Emrys line lives. And the boy is at Hogwarts, under Albus's watch. History itself walks the halls again."
Her gaze softened. "Then let us pray Albus has the wisdom to carry the weight - and that the boy's steps do not stir storms too soon."
He kissed her hand reverently, whispering almost to himself: "Ambrose Emrys. May we prove worthy of the age you bring."
---
Back in Dumbledore's Office
The reply from Nicholas came swiftly, as if the old alchemist had been waiting his entire life for such a letter. Dumbledore unfolded it by lamplight, his eyes skimming Nicholas's words, catching the unmistakable tone of awe threaded through them.
"
My dear Albus,
I read your letter thrice before trusting what it said. You have met an Emrys, and for that, you have stepped into currents far older than either of us.
I, too, once crossed paths with such a figure, long ago, when I was young. He bore the same insignia, and had the same white hair and glowing Golden-red eyes you describe. His words were filled with knowledge that unsettled me then and still unsettle me now. He spoke of forgotten bonds, of histories hidden by silence and ignorance. And then, as swiftly as he appeared, he was gone.
I have long suspected that the Emerys line is not bound by the laws of time or power as we know them. They emerge when the world shifts, when tides are about to turn. Their presence is never without purpose.
Guard your heart, Albus. Do not treat this boy with fear, nor with blind trust. Watch him. Learn from him, yes - but more importantly, let him reveal himself. For if history is stirring, then Ambrose Emrys may be both herald and judge of what is to come.
When we next meet, I will tell you more of the traveler I once knew. For now, take comfort in this: if the boy has come to you, it is not by chance.
Ever your friend,
Nicholas
"
Nicholas, so rarely shaken, was shaken now. His respect for the Emrys was clear, his excitement barely contained. Perenelle's caution lingered in the phrasing, but even she had not denied the gravity.
Dumbledore set the parchment down and leaned back, closing his eyes.
"So it is true. Even Nicholas, who has seen centuries unspool before him, bows before the weight of this name. How heavy, then, for a boy to carry it on such young shoulders?"
His gaze lifted to the perch. Fawkes regarded him in silence, golden eyes luminous in the firelight.
"You liked him," Dumbledore murmured.
Fawkes trilled, warm and resonant, a note that filled the chamber with comfort.
"I did as well," Dumbledore confessed softly. "There was no malice in him. No ambition for power. Only… presence. And yet, that may be the heaviest burden of all. For the world will see him and demand he be more than boy, more than student. And what right has the world to ask that?"
Fawkes ruffled his feathers, another soft note escaping, like reassurance.
Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Ah, my friend. Perhaps my task is not to guide him, nor to protect him. Perhaps it is simply to walk alongside, to shield him from the cruelties I know too well. I cannot let him burn as others have burned."
The phoenix spread his wings, releasing a pure, clear cry that shimmered against the stone walls. Dumbledore closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him.
"Whatever path Ambrose Emrys takes," he whispered, "Hogwarts will never be the same. Nor, I think… will I."