After Ryze departed, the delicate silver instruments in the Headmaster's office resumed their gentle whirring, filling the room with a soft, rhythmic hum.
Having personally seen Ryze out, Dumbledore returned to his chair and sat down slowly. In his hand, he held the Elder Wand, turning it thoughtfully between his fingers as though examining not just the wand itself, but everything it represented.
With more than a century of experience behind him, Dumbledore had long since developed a keen eye for subtlety. He could not help but recall the way Ryze had unconsciously looked at the wand during their conversation.
It was rare—exceptionally rare—for a first-year student to even sense the immense power contained within such an artifact, let alone recognize its deeper significance. Dumbledore had already made a conscious effort to overestimate the boy's potential, yet Ryze had exceeded even those expectations.
The young orphan from the House of Black possessed not only extraordinary perception but also a level of composure far beyond his years. He had clearly felt the wand's power—perhaps even understood the weight of its bloody legacy—yet there had been no trace of greed or longing in his expression.
Instead, there had been something else.
Confidence.
Dumbledore leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing in quiet contemplation. Was it because Ryze himself possessed an ancient and powerful wand, one that rendered the Elder Wand less impressive in his eyes? Or was it something deeper—something rooted in the boy's character rather than his possessions?
Dumbledore suspected it was the latter.
What lingered in his mind even more, however, was the way Ryze had responded toward the end of their conversation.
He had declined him—politely, but unmistakably.
Dumbledore was fully aware of the prophecy that loomed over Harry's life, and he had already begun using the trials surrounding the Philosopher's Stone to test the connection between Harry and Voldemort. Given Ryze's growing influence over Harry, Dumbledore had hoped the boy might be willing to guide him—perhaps even subtly shape the course of that uncertain destiny.
Such assistance could tip the balance in their favor.
Yet Ryze had done neither.
He had not agreed, nor had he refused outright. Instead, he had deftly redirected the topic, deflecting with a reference to Snape's evaluation. It was a calculated response—one that revealed more through what was unsaid than what was spoken.
This meant only one thing.
Ryze had already perceived something about Harry's destiny.
And still, he chose not to involve himself.
From beginning to end, the boy had remained on the periphery—offering insights and advice when necessary, but carefully avoiding any step that would draw him into the center of that dangerous vortex.
Dumbledore felt a faint trace of regret at this realization.
And yet… there was also relief.
He had, after all, just warned Ryze to exercise caution with his power. The boy's restraint suggested a clear understanding of the risks involved. Unlike Harry, who was already bound to his fate, Ryze remained free—for now.
Harry, Dumbledore knew, would inevitably face Voldemort one day. It was a confrontation written into the fabric of his life, unavoidable and absolute. That was why Dumbledore had been guiding him, even pushing him at times, to grow stronger and face that reality.
But for others…
He would not force their hand.
No one understood the true danger of Voldemort better than he did. Even in his weakened state—reduced to a fraction of his former power—he remained a threat of unparalleled magnitude. If Voldemort were to learn that a prodigy like Ryze stood on Harry's side, it could provoke actions that would place the boy in grave danger before he had the strength to defend himself.
Dumbledore exhaled softly.
"This may be for the best," he murmured to himself. "At the very least, with his temperament, he will not become another Dark Lord. And if we fail… there will still be someone capable of standing against Tom in the future."
With that thought, he made a quiet decision.
He would intervene personally, ensuring that Ryze remained shielded from unnecessary attention—for as long as possible.
Meanwhile, Ryze climbed the spiral staircase leading up to Ravenclaw Tower.
The chill of the morning air brushed against his face, clearing his thoughts as he walked. His mind replayed the conversation he had just had with Dumbledore, analyzing every detail with careful precision.
They had spoken about many things. Aside from the secret of his system, Ryze had not deliberately concealed his personality. Dumbledore, with his perceptive nature, would undoubtedly have formed an accurate judgment of his character.
As for the Elder Wand…
Yes, it was powerful—immensely so. But Ryze had no intention of pursuing it. Power, in his view, was not defined by a single artifact.
In the future, he would obtain equipment far superior.
When that time came, what significance would the so-called Deathly Hallows hold?
He imagined himself clad in a Starry Night Cloak, wearing the Sorting Hat, and wielding a Rod of Ages. Compared to such possibilities, the Elder Wand seemed almost… ordinary.
More importantly, Ryze had sensed a contradiction within Dumbledore.
The Headmaster wished to protect every student in Hogwarts, yet he was simultaneously pushing Harry toward a path filled with danger. He tested people, yet he was also remarkably tolerant.
It was a duality that intrigued Ryze.
He shook his head slightly.
The title "White Dark Lord" that some whispered about Dumbledore felt inaccurate—at least for the man he had just met. If anything, Dumbledore's tolerance worked in Ryze's favor.
Had he been sorted into Gryffindor instead, things might have turned out very differently.
If he had received some kind of house-related enhancement—something that rewarded daring adventures—he might have been tempted to join Harry, Ron, and Hermione in their escapades.
But he was a Ravenclaw.
And he had not forgotten Rowena Ravenclaw's guidance.
Wisdom, not recklessness, defined his path.
For now, offering advice from the sidelines was sufficient. He could help them avoid unnecessary mistakes without entangling himself in the deeper currents of destiny.
At least until he was strong enough.
The next morning, Ryze sat in the Great Hall, calmly eating breakfast when an owl swooped down and dropped a small package in front of him.
It was not particularly heavy. Inside, he found several sets of ingredients for the Elixir of Euphoria, along with a letter.
The sender was Andromeda.
Opening the letter, Ryze read through it quickly. Her tone was warm and concerned, asking about his health and expressing full support for his potion research. Due to the owl's limited carrying capacity, she explained, she had only sent five sets of ingredients for now.
Ryze considered this for a moment.
Then he took out a piece of parchment and began writing a reply.
Rather than sending everything directly to Hogwarts, he suggested that she leave the remaining materials at his small cottage in Hogsmeade. The distance between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade was short—only a few kilometers in a straight line.
If necessary, Ailey could make a couple of discreet trips at night to retrieve the supplies.
After sealing the letter, Ryze made his way toward the Owlery.
Along the way, he spotted two familiar figures in the distance.
Harry and Neville.
Both of them looked exhausted, with sweat clinging to their foreheads and steam practically rising from their heads, as though they had just finished an intense training session.
Ryze raised a hand in greeting and approached them. With a simple wave of his wand, he cast a small cleaning charm, removing the sweat from their clothes and skin.
The effect was immediate.
Neville let out a relieved sigh and quickly thanked him, his expression full of gratitude.
Harry, on the other hand, seemed more curious than anything else. His gaze drifted toward the package in Ryze's hand.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Potion ingredients," Ryze replied casually. "For practice."
At the mention of potions, Neville's eyes lit up.
Encouraged by Harry and Ron's frequent praise of Ryze, many younger students had already begun to see him as something of a prodigy. It was widely known that he had passed Snape's test in his first year—an achievement that granted him the right to compete in the upcoming Potions Tournament.
Now, he was contending with fourth- and fifth-year students for one of the final three spots.
Hermione, ever the researcher, had even explained the tournament's history and difficulty to them in detail. According to her findings, Ryze might well be the youngest participant in over five hundred years.
Such information had only amplified his reputation.
Neville hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice slightly nervous.
"My potions grades… they're the worst," he admitted. "Do you think there's any way I could improve? I just… don't want Professor Snape to keep yelling at me."
Ryze looked at him thoughtfully, then reached out and patted his shoulder.
"To be honest," he said, "first-year potions aren't that difficult. You're just being affected by Snape's attitude."
Neville blinked, surprised.
Ryze continued, "Give me some time. I'll organize my first-year notes and share them with you. I'll also write up a set of basic lab safety rules—adapted from the Muggle world. If you follow them properly, getting at least an 'Exceeds Expectations' by the end of the year shouldn't be a problem."
For a moment, Neville simply stared at him.
Then his face lit up with genuine excitement.
"Really? Thank you so much, Ryze!"
Harry, standing beside him, also looked pleased. While Hermione's help had been invaluable, having Ryze's structured notes would undoubtedly make things more stable—and perhaps even give them an edge.
Ryze gave a small nod.
For him, this was a simple matter.
For them, however, it might change everything.
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