Chapter 79: A New Mission and a Proposal
[The dignity of the Supreme Mage is not to be challenged. None may threaten the Supreme Mage's peace.]
[Bonus Mission Issued: To prevent host idleness during the holiday period, eliminate or capture as many Death Eaters as possible.]
[Reward: Variable, based on number of Death Eaters neutralized. (Current Count: 0)]
Elian let out a soft, exasperated sigh into the darkness of his four-poster bed. A holiday. He was finally going to get a break from Umbridge's decrees and the constant tension. And now the System decided he needed a part-time job as a Death Eater hunter? It was almost comical in its relentlessness.
But complaining was pointless. The Supreme Mage System did not negotiate. It presented its objective with cold, immutable clarity. Do it, or face the unstated consequences of ignoring a direct mission.
Due to the unusual age gap, Elian had little in common with his first-year Gryffindor dorm-mates. While they excitedly discussed Chocolate Frog cards or whispered about magical toys after lights-out, Elian's mind was occupied with astral projection, mystic shields, and systemic prompts about lethal threats. He was a quiet outsider in his own dorm, viewed with a mixture of awe, fear, and childish suspicion by the eleven-year-olds. He didn't mind the solitude. In fact, it had one significant advantage: they fell asleep early and slept deeply, their young bodies needing the rest.
Now, as the deep, even breathing of his roommates filled the dark room, Elian knew the common rooms and corridors would still have a few students lingering. But here, he had perfect privacy. He hadn't changed into pyjamas. Sitting up silently, he slipped the sling ring onto his finger. With a practiced, deliberate motion of his hand, he traced a circle in the air before him. Sparks of shimmering, golden-red light erupted from his fingertips, weaving together to form a perfect, vertical ring—a portal. Through it, he could see a familiar, cluttered office lit by lamplight.
On the other side, Albus Dumbledore, who had been poring over a stack of old parchments, suddenly went still. His head snapped up, his bright blue eyes sharp behind his half-moon spectacles. In an instant, his wand was in his hand, and he was on his feet, every inch the powerful wizard, his gaze locked on the space where the golden light was now coalescing.
What manner of magic was this? No alarm had sounded. No wards had been triggered in the usual way. There was only a silent, spatial tear forming in the heart of his office.
Then, the portal solidified. And through it, stepping as casually as one might step through a doorway, came Elian Throne, still in his school robes. Dumbledore's eyes flickered past the boy to the scene visible within the portal—the unmistakable interior of a Gryffindor first-year dormitory. His mind, usually so orderly, raced.
A portal. A stable, instantly-created gateway between two defined points. It wasn't Apparition—there was no crack, no discomfort. It wasn't a Portkey—no object was involved. It was clean, precise, and utterly revolutionary. For the second time this term, the foundations of Dumbledore's vast magical understanding were gently, profoundly shaken. He stood, wand half-raised, momentarily speechless.
"I apologise for the late visit, Headmaster Dumbledore," Elian said, the portal dissolving into sparks behind him. "I hope I didn't startle you."
Dumbledore lowered his wand slowly, a chuckle finally escaping him as he removed his spectacles to polish them, a familiar gesture that masked his sheer astonishment. "My dear boy, you possess a singular talent for the dramatic and the awe-inspiring. A late-night visit via a… spatial aperture… suggests a matter of some urgency. Please, sit." He gestured to a comfortable chair opposite his desk, his mind still whirring. The implications of such magic for communication, for mobility, for strategy…
Elian took the offered seat. Dumbledore settled back into his own, his twinkling eyes fixed on Elian with intense curiosity. "That was quite an entrance. Another facet of your… distinct magical arts, I presume?"
Elian nodded. "A tool for convenience. But you're right, Professor. I am here about an urgent matter. The holidays are approaching."
"Ah," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers. "A time for rest, for family. Though I suspect for you, as for Harry, the concept of a peaceful holiday is somewhat elusive."
"More than somewhat," Elian agreed, his expression turning serious. "I've been made aware that my status—as an anomaly, a 'new prophecy' as some are calling it—makes me a priority target, especially with so many Death Eaters now at large."
Dumbledore's face grew solemn. "A valid and grave concern. The offer to join the Order of the Phoenix, and the sanctuary that comes with it, remains open, Elian. Grimmauld Place, while not cheerful, is protected by Fidelius Charm. You would be safe there."
"That is one option," Elian said, leaning forward slightly. "But, Professor, I have a different proposal. A collaborative one." He met Dumbledore's gaze directly. "Instead of merely seeking sanctuary… what if I could be of active use? You and the Order are gathering intelligence, tracking Death Eater movements. I am asking you to share that information with me."
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. "Share intelligence? For what purpose, Elian?"
"To reduce their numbers," Elian stated, his voice calm but utterly devoid of boastfulness. It was a simple statement of fact. "I cannot sit idle in a safe house while they plot. My… path… requires proactive defence. You have the network, the eyes and ears. I have a specific set of skills that are uniquely suited to dealing with isolated, mobile threats. Give me locations, patterns, names of those who are most vulnerable away from their master's side. Let me handle them."
The office was silent save for the gentle snoring of a portrait. Dumbledore studied Elian, seeing not a reckless teenager, but the same determined, frighteningly capable young man who had outmanoeuvred six Death Eaters and revealed a Horcrux. He saw the weight of a different kind of magic, one with its own rules and demands.
"You are asking me to sanction a campaign," Dumbledore said softly.
"I am asking you to cooperate in weakening the enemy," Elian corrected. "Surgically. Quietly. Without risking your Order members in open skirmishes. Think of it as… freelance pest control for the wizarding world."
A faint, grim smile touched Dumbledore's lips. The metaphor was darkly apt. "And what would you do with these Death Eaters, should you find them? Bring them to the Ministry? They are corrupt and useless."
"The Ministry's cells clearly cannot hold them," Elian said. "Azkaban has proven porous. My objective would be permanent neutralisation. By any means necessary."
The phrase hung in the air. Dumbledore closed his eyes for a long moment. He saw the faces of those he had tried to save, and those he had lost. He saw the utter pragmatism in Elian's plan, a pragmatism born of a power that operated outside the conventional moral framework of their world. It was a tempting, dangerous solution.
"Your power is great, Elian," Dumbledore said finally, opening his eyes. "But power requires guidance. Wisdom. Are you prepared for the consequences of such actions? Not just the physical danger, but the weight on your soul?"
Elian thought of the System's mission, of the cold calculus it represented. "My path has its own wisdom, Professor. And my soul is already committed to this fight. The consequences of inaction, I believe, are far heavier."
Dumbledore leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking. He looked old, then, burdened by centuries of magical warfare. But in his eyes, a spark of desperate hope warred with deep concern.
"Very well," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I will not give you a list and send you out like an assassin. But… I will consult with certain members of the Order. If credible, actionable intelligence comes to us about a Death Eater acting alone, in a way that threatens the innocent… I will consider passing it to you. This is not an endorsement, Elian. It is a grim acknowledgement of a grim war, and of your unique position within it. You must promise me absolute discretion, and that you will take no reckless, unplanned action."
Elian nodded. "That is all I ask. A cooperative arrangement. Thank you, Professor."
As Elian stood to leave, preparing to summon another portal, Dumbledore spoke again. "And Elian? Do consider spending some of the holiday at Grimmauld Place. If not for safety, then for… camaraderie. Miss Granger will be there, as will the Weasleys. And Sirius would be delighted to meet the young man who is causing so much stir."
Elian paused, a different kind of warmth touching his heart at the mention of Hermione. "I'll consider that too. Goodnight, Professor."
With another circular motion, the gateway opened back to his silent dormitory. He stepped through, and the light vanished, leaving Dumbledore alone in his office, staring at the empty space, contemplating the terrifying, promising weapon he had just agreed to partially unleash upon the darkness.
(End of Chapter)
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