On the border road of Chelmsford, Dumbledore gently waved his wand, pointing at the clear blue sky.
"Poof—!"
Accompanied by a shrill screech of brakes and the smell of burning rubber on the road, a three-story purple bus appeared out of thin air, stopping abruptly in front of him!
The bus swayed violently, as if it could fall apart at any moment.
A tall, thin young man stood at the back of the bus, holding a crumpled piece of paper, and read in a flat voice,
"Welcome to the Knight Bus, an emergency transport service for stranded Wizards! I am the conductor, Stan Shunpike, at your service—Headmaster Dumbledore?!"
Shunpike's voice instantly shot from professional flatness to a cracking shriek! The paper in his hand was also thrown out.
"Dumbledore?!"
This exclamation was like ice thrown into boiling water, instantly igniting the bus!
Passengers sprang from their seats, rushing to the narrow door.
Even the driver, Ernie Prang, abandoned the steering wheel and squeezed into the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the greatest Wizard of the age.
In the chaos, only Shunpike's face was pale, desperately trying to shrink into the shadows of the bus.
Dumbledore used to be a frequent passenger on the Knight Bus in his youth; he enjoyed the feeling of speed.
But ever since he defeated Grindelwald and became famous, such free time was gone forever.
Looking at the familiar yet chaotic scene before him, he smiled helplessly, gently and patiently shaking hands and nodding with every excited passenger, responding to their incoherent greetings.
"Alright, alright, my friends."
Dumbledore's voice was not loud, but it carried a strange penetrative power, instantly quieting the noisy bus.
"The duty of the Knight Bus is to escort passengers, not to linger. It's not very gentlemanly to delay others' journeys, is it?"
His clear blue eyes swept over the crowd, with an undeniable gentleness.
The passengers awoke as if from a dream, returning to their seats with awe and reluctance, but their eyes still eagerly followed him.
The crowd dispersed, finally revealing Shunpike in the corner, trying to make himself invisible.
Dumbledore walked forward, his gaze gently falling on the face of the young man, who looked noticeably more weathered than his peers.
"Mr. Shunpike, how is your mother doing recently? The recovery from Dragon Pox requires careful care."
Just one sentence made Shunpike's forced facade instantly collapse.
Tears streamed down, and he choked, almost unable to speak.
This sixteen-year-old Hufflepuff, due to a reckless Potion experiment, blew up half a classroom, and was therefore ordered to suspend classes by Professor Snape.
His mother, suffering from Dragon Pox, lost her ability to work, and the burden of a single-parent family instantly fell on his tender shoulders. He could only drop out of school to work, drifting on the Knight Bus, barely making a living.
Dumbledore gently patted his trembling shoulder.
"Be strong, child. Remember, the doors of Hogwarts are always open for you."
This sentence was full of meaning, but both knew that Shunpike's path had already deviated from the direction of the Castle.
Dumbledore silently watched the young man working hard in the bumpy bus, his clumsy but serious demeanor as if he had found his new direction.
The Knight Bus sharply swerved and stopped near Charing Cross Road in London, almost throwing out several unbelted passengers.
Dumbledore politely declined the enthusiastic farewells of the crowd who again rushed to the door, merely smiling and waving through the window, then turned and pushed open the creaking wooden door of the Leaky Cauldron.
The scene inside the pub was almost a replica of the Knight Bus.
Recognizing him, the patrons all stood up, and the clamor almost lifted the roof.
It wasn't until the old Tom, the owner, loudly slapped the bar with a rag, making a loud "slap, slap" sound, that the scene was barely controlled.
Dumbledore exchanged pleasantries with old Tom for a moment, politely declined a butterbeer, and walked straight to the fireplace.
He pinched a pinch of Floo powder, shimmering with strange gold dust, from a small silver pot inlaid with Phoenix feathers. This was a special product mixed with Fawkes's tears, ensuring that the user could precisely locate the Principal's office under Hogwarts's powerful spatial protection.
"Hogwarts Principal's Office!"
The emerald green flames instantly turned into a strange blue-green, and Dumbledore's figure rotated and disappeared into the fireplace.
Hogwarts Principal's Office
Professor McGonagall paced in the Principal's office; the blue-green flames rising from the fireplace suddenly relaxed her tense nerves.
"Albus!"
She quickly stepped forward.
"That child… how is he?"
She noticed a hint of elusive fatigue in Dumbledore's brows.
"A… gifted child, Minerva."
Dumbledore walked behind the desk, signaling Professor McGonagall to sit down.
"The direction of his talent is a bit… unique, and may require our extra careful guidance."
He walked around the table and sat in his high-backed chair.
"Can he really resist the curse of Chelmsford?"
Professor McGonagall's voice was full of disbelief.
"For four hundred years, St. Mungo's 'Curse Damage to Strange Areas' department has been helpless against it!"
"He found a… unconventional method."
Dumbledore carefully chose his words, his fingers unconsciously stroking the edge of Fawkes's perch.
"A powerful contract magic that transferred the burden of the curse."
He temporarily omitted the details of "demon contract" and "permanent term."
There was still some time before the new semester, and the Professors needed to enjoy their holidays.
And… thinking of Harry Potter, who was about to enroll, a deep light flashed in Dumbledore's eyes.
Perhaps, this "Alchemist" from the cursed land would become an unexpected variable?
"No need to worry too much."
Dumbledore finally said, his voice returning to its usual composure.
"I believe that Hogwarts's inclusiveness and our teaching can help him find the right path."
At the same time, inside the Chelmsford Mayor's Office.
Nios was comfortably sunken in the Mayor's leather swivel chair, his legs propped on the polished mahogany desk, next to which were two empty pizza boxes he and Azazel had just finished.
Opposite him, the fat Mayor Peter Griffin's face was pale, and he was constantly wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.
"…So, Mr. Mayor."
Nios's voice was as flat as if discussing the weather.
"You wouldn't want your… hmm, special friendships with sheepdogs and farm bulls, and your late-night interviews in the alley behind the gentlemen's club, to be the front-page headline of tomorrow's 'The Sun,' would you?"
Azazel floated nearby, biting a licorice twist he'd found somewhere, muttering indistinctly.
"Hiss… I feel like I've seen this plot somewhere before…"
Peter Griffin's fat body trembled all over.
He owed his position entirely to his wife Louise's prominent family.
This political marriage gave him power but also took away his masculine virility.
Family problems, political pressure, unvented desires… ultimately pushed him into a more twisted abyss.
Now, this boy who broke into the office knew all his secrets, like a Damocles' sword hanging over his head.
Once exposed, he would be ruined and lose everything.
"Sir… sir."
Peter's voice was tearful.
"What… what do you need me to do? Anything!"
He almost pleaded.
"Two things."
Nios put his legs down and leaned forward, the cartoon eyes on his eye patch seeming to penetrate Peter's soul.
"A legal identity. And a property."
A glimmer of hope had just ignited in Peter's eyes; identity and property were easy for a Mayor.
But his hope was extinguished by Nios's next words.
"I want Branded Manor."
"Complete, irrevocable ownership."
Peter's face instantly wrinkled into a bitter gourd.
Branded Manor? That cursed, historically significant ruin?
Let alone selling it, even renovation proposals had caused huge arguments in the council! How could he have that authority?
Seeing Peter's desperate expression, Nios stood up, and Azazel tacitly floated to his side.
Nios walked straight to the door, and only when his hand was on the doorknob did he slightly turn his head.
"You won't be busy for nothing. Go home tonight, there's a surprise. I'll come again at the same time tomorrow." With that, he pushed the door open and left.
The busy secretaries and staff at the door seemed to be pushed away by an invisible force, unconsciously making a path for Nios, but their gazes vaguely avoided him, as if he were just a wisp of air.
Peter watched this scene, and a chill ran from his tailbone straight to the top of his head.
That night, Peter didn't know how he got home.
But, when his wife Louise appeared in the living room wearing a bathrobe, a long-lost, even unprecedented, fervent impulse suddenly swept over him!
The ED that had plagued him for years not only disappeared but was also strengthened by an indescribable power!
His gaze towards his wife was filled with a long-lost, even somewhat horrifying, desire…
The next day at noon, when Nios again stepped into the Mayor's office, the fear on Peter's face had been replaced by a nearly fanatical devotion.
He eagerly handed Nios the identification documents.
"Sir, your ID now only needs a photo to be used."
His tone was fawning. "As for the Manor… Sir, this really isn't something I alone can decide, it requires the council…"
Nios examined the documents without looking up.
"You just need to propose the motion. They will agree."
Before leaving, Nios also left a photo of himself for it to be entered into the system.
Over the next seven days, the Chelmsford City Council fell into a bizarre cycle.
Mayor Peter insisted every day, against all opposition, on selling Branded Manor to a "mysterious overseas rich businessman."
Initially, the opposition was immense.
But strangely, every day, the voices supporting Peter quietly increased.
Opponents either suddenly changed their minds or "happened" to be absent for the vote.
By the seventh day, this originally impossible proposal miraculously passed by a narrow margin!
Peter was so excited that all his fat jiggled; he held the freshly printed ownership documents and handed them to Nios.
The high purchase price? He had already paid it with his "secret funds"!
He felt it was incredibly worth it! Nios had not only cured his chronic illness but also made him the core of a "united and efficient" council!
Holding this cohesive power, Peter seemed to see the cabinet minister's seat beckoning to him…
If there was further support from this mysterious "Sir," it would simply be…
He fantasized intoxicatedly, his smile almost obsessive