Late at night, inside the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, a quiet but constant motion filled the room.
Strange silver instruments scattered across the desk spun tirelessly, emitting soft clicking sounds. From time to time, they released faint puffs of smoke, adding to the already mysterious atmosphere.
Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on a lengthy letter spread open before him.
It had to be said—the young wizards of this year were unusually bold. By this point in the term, four or five students had already taken the initiative to write directly to him.
Dumbledore did not find this troublesome. On the contrary, at his age, he found such interactions rather enjoyable. Engaging with young minds gave him a sense of lightness, a brief reprieve from the weight of time.
He was particularly amused by one suggestion from earlier—a proposal to convert Hogwarts' moving staircases into escalators. For a brief moment, he had genuinely considered it. After all, climbing endless staircases was hardly a pleasure for someone of his years.
Unfortunately, the Hogwarts Board of Governors would never approve such a radical change. Even the portraits of former headmasters had voiced strong objections. In the end, the idea had to be abandoned.
The letter before him today came from a first-year student—Hermione Granger.
Dumbledore was already familiar with her name. Professor McGonagall had mentioned several promising students from this year more than once, and Hermione was among the most notable.
Her handwriting was neat and compact, reflecting a meticulous and disciplined personality. The content of the letter was just as striking.
With remarkable boldness, the young witch had outlined a series of suspicious incidents involving Professor Snape.
She mentioned his cryptic remarks about the Elixir of Life during their first class, his injury from a bite by Fluffy on the forbidden third-floor corridor following the Halloween troll incident, and even his suspected attempt to sabotage Harry's broom during a Quidditch match.
What impressed Dumbledore most was her honesty. She openly admitted to breaking several school rules in the course of her investigation. However, she justified her actions by stating that protecting the Philosopher's Stone from falling into the wrong hands was worth any penalty—even the loss of house points.
Dumbledore's eyes moved steadily across the page, but he did not dwell long on her suspicions about Snape.
Instead, his attention shifted to a name mentioned toward the end of the letter.
"…Ryze White believed we should report this matter to you to confirm whether it is part of your arrangements, so as to avoid disrupting your plans. Therefore, I have written to you and have not informed anyone else besides Hagrid."
"Ryze White…" Dumbledore murmured softly.
Compared to Hermione Granger, this was a name he had heard far more frequently.
Professor McGonagall had spoken of him on several occasions. But she was not the only one.
Filius Flitwick had praised the boy's extraordinary talent in Charms, describing his abilities as exceptional even among gifted students. According to him, Ryze had already demonstrated enough skill to defeat a troll with ease—a feat unheard of for a first-year.
Flitwick had even speculated that Ryze might pass the first round of the Junior Division in next year's Dueling Tournament. By his third year, he could potentially contend for top rankings—perhaps even win.
Bathsheda Babbling had also brought up his name during discussions about ancient runes, particularly regarding the mysterious symbol associated with Ailey. The magical community itself had begun to take interest in this unusual familiar and its connection to the boy.
As for Hagrid, his admiration was unmistakable. Despite their age difference, he had quickly grown fond of Ryze, often describing him as a "reliable and sensible lad" who never caused trouble.
It had been many years since Hogwarts had seen a student of such remarkable natural talent.
Even Severus Snape had mentioned him once—a rare occurrence.
Of course, Snape's evaluation was far less favorable.
He had described the boy as deeply calculating, opportunistic, and highly skilled at concealing his true emotions.
Dumbledore was well aware of Snape's tendencies. His opinions of students—particularly Harry—were often harsh and biased. Still, he did not dismiss the remark entirely.
It was enough to give him pause.
Dumbledore removed his glasses and gently rubbed the corners of his eyes.
Though he was reluctant to harbor suspicion toward a student who appeared both morally upright and academically brilliant, there was something about Ryze that unsettled him.
The boy seemed to carry echoes of two familiar figures from his past.
Ryze's exceptional aptitude in ancient magic and divination reminded him of an old friend—one now imprisoned in Nurmengard.
Gellert Grindelwald.
Dumbledore did not know how much Ryze had seen through his studies, nor did he understand the boy's attitude toward fate.
Would he choose to remain silent, like many seers who avoided entanglement in destiny's web?
Or would he, like Grindelwald in his youth, use prophetic insight as a means to gather followers—championing a cause under the banner of "the greater good," and attempting to reshape the world?
Then there was another shadow.
Ryze's upbringing in an orphanage, combined with his nearly flawless social skills, reminded Dumbledore of Tom Riddle.
Before revealing his true nature, Tom had presented himself as the model student—polished, intelligent, and universally admired.
If judged solely by his academic achievements, Tom Riddle had been one of the most outstanding graduates Hogwarts had ever produced.
Every professor had admired him.
Every professor—except Dumbledore.
From the very beginning, Dumbledore had sensed something amiss. Yet at the time, he had failed to act.
He had not paid enough attention.
More importantly, he had not been a particularly good teacher then.
By the time he fully understood what Tom had become, it was already too late. The boy had grown powerful, gathering influence and laying the foundations of something far darker.
However, Ryze was not Tom.
There were clear differences.
Reports from the orphanage indicated that Ryze was capable of genuine affection. He could form meaningful connections—a trait Tom had lacked.
Furthermore, Andromeda's involvement in his life had provided him with a sense of family, softening his temperament.
These factors suggested that Ryze's path might not mirror Tom's descent.
And yet…
There was one detail that continued to trouble Dumbledore.
Before awakening his magical abilities, Ryze had been frail—his body weakened by what seemed to be an unknown curse. Over the years, he had hovered dangerously close to death on multiple occasions.
Only after his magic manifested—and after forming a contract with Ailey—had his condition begun to stabilize.
This raised an unsettling question.
What kind of perspective would a child like that have on life and death?
Someone who had struggled so fiercely just to survive—who had faced mortality again and again—might develop a very different understanding of existence.
Would such a person come to accept death as a natural boundary?
Or would they seek to overcome it at any cost?
Dumbledore's expression grew more serious.
There was a possibility—however small—that Ryze might pursue a path even more dangerous than those taken by Tom Riddle or Grindelwald.
A path driven not by ambition or ideology, but by a deeply personal desire to conquer death itself.
Slowly, Dumbledore opened his eyes.
Whatever the boy's potential might be, one fact remained unchanged.
He was, above all else, an educator.
If he ever saw signs that Ryze was straying down the wrong path, it would be his responsibility to guide him back.
For now, however, speculation would have to wait.
Dumbledore picked up the letter once more.
There was a more immediate matter to address.
He needed to decide how to respond to Hermione Granger.
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