It was a late autumn night in a dilapidated house in East London. Li Buyan slowly opened his eyes, rubbed them, and massaged his temples a few times, gradually digesting the memories that had just been synchronized within his mind.
To be fair, the system administrators were indeed reliable. With great supernatural power, they had successfully given dear Mr. Albus Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth Dumbledore, a son: Hector Dumbledore.
Perhaps due to a curse unique to the Dumbledore surname, unlike Aberforth's first son, this Dumbledore was a Squib—while Credence had been an Obscurial. One could only say that old Dumbledore's younger brother's genetics were truly nothing to write home about.
Coupled with old Dumbledore's inevitable choice of a childfree outlook on life, it was clear that such a powerful surname was destined to be difficult to pass down for long.
Because of the First Wizarding War, this Chris Dumbledore had been separated from Aberforth and ended up drifting to France. After gaining a foothold there, he married a Muggle woman. The two of them passed away shortly after giving birth to Hector Dumbledore. Afterward, Hector led a rather displaced and turbulent life, ultimately—through the system's clever arrangements—arriving safely in London.
Li Buyan's current identity was none other than this Hector Dumbledore.
Hector carefully reviewed his life so far and marveled at the system's power.
Just think: how many twists of fate and coincidences had it taken for Hector to survive until now, and to drift all the way across the sea from some obscure corner of France to London? It was simply unbelievable.
However, now was hardly the time for deep reflections. Hector looked around. This rundown shack, which shared an uncanny resemblance to a condemned building, seemed to be the original owner's refuge.
That didn't seem right. In his impression, although the house was old, it hadn't reached this level of ruin. Could it be that he had just experienced a burst of accidental magic? Judging by the looks of it, the commotion hadn't been small either.
Hector carefully sensed his body and felt a current of air darting around erratically within him. Although restless, it hadn't caused any major damage to his body. Hector moved his fingers, and that stream of air actually gathered at his fingertips, as if obeying some kind of command.
So this was the "Gold-tier Talent: Spell Mastery"? Come to think of it, Harry didn't make such a massive fuss back in the day. Feeling his fingertips grow increasingly scorching hot, Hector stopped suppressing himself and pointed straight up at the ceiling.
With a loud crash, the roof resisted the impact of the pillar of light for about a second before obediently turning to ashes. He watched as that increasingly thick beam of light shot straight into the clouds.
Hector's finger was practically acting like a high-powered flashlight. Not only were his own eyes unable to take the glare, but most of London could also feel the might of this towering pillar of light.
He truly was a man who nearly blinded himself to death; his very first spellcasting was certainly one of a kind.
Just as Hector was wondering whether he was about to make the list of most embarrassing time-travelers once again, the pillar of light gradually dimmed, and his nearly blinded eyes found considerable relief. Hector took a deep breath—at least he didn't have to worry about being blinded to death by his own spell—and then he felt an indescribable sense of emptiness.
It was the kind of emptiness where even moving an eyelid felt like an overload.
Hector simply passed out. This eleven-year-old body had thoroughly let off steam, even if the method of letting off steam had been a bit unusual.
Quite a few people woke up with a start from their dreams, cursed a few times about some little bastard playing with a high-powered flashlight in the middle of the night with no regard for public decency, and then went right back to sleep without taking it to heart. Meanwhile, sitting on his bed eating Cockroach Clusters and reading a book, Old Dumbledore lowered his book, stood up abruptly, waved his wand gently, and put on his traveling robes.
"Fawkes, I'm going to have to trouble you," Dumbledore said softly.
Fawkes nodded, its eyes filled with curiosity. It caught a whiff of something different—it seemed to be yet another Dumbledore.
In an alley in East London, within a patch of unnoticed darkness, a cluster of flames appeared out of thin air, out of which flashed Dumbledore and Fawkes.
"Oh, Merlin's beard!" Dumbledore exclaimed, taking a deep breath as he looked at the very obvious large hole in the roof before him and the quite active magic particles lingering in the air.
"I truly hope this isn't an Obscurial," Dumbledore muttered, drawing the Elder Wand. He vanished from the alley in a flash and directly Apparated inside the house. He looked around; apart from a wobbly little cot and a table that looked like it had been through who knows how many hands, there was no other furniture to speak of.
Dumbledore first glanced at the massive hole in the ceiling, then at the child lying unconscious on the small bed. Judging by his appearance, he looked to be only six or seven years old. His thin, frail body lying on that wooden plank bed actually made the bed look exceptionally spacious.
Dumbledore leaned down to sense the magic power within Hector's body. Fortunately, it hadn't reached an uncontrollable stage, and furthermore, it possessed a fullness completely mismatched with his age. At that moment, Dumbledore involuntarily looked at the child's face, feeling a lingering sense of familiarity and a rising sentiment of fondness.
This should be a good child.
Only then did Dumbledore straighten up, straighten his robes, and point his wand at Hector. "Ennervate."
Hector quickly regained consciousness, squinting his eyes, clearly not yet recovered from the blinding light just now.
Was his luck really this terrible, bro? He had almost checked out twice in a single day—was he rushing to meet a sales quota for the underworld?
Before Hector could finish complaining, he looked up to find an elderly man in purple robes with a silver beard and hair looking down at him with a smile through his half-moon spectacles.
It was Dumbledore. As a veteran fan of the series, he certainly wouldn't forget this soul-stirring figure, the undisputed number one in the magical world today, the mighty White Wizard, Albus Dumbledore.
Wasn't this just perfect? Having just arrived in this world without even experiencing the full measure of hardships a protagonist ought to endure, the organization had come straight to find him. From then on, smooth sailing with no obstacles in sight, enjoying carefree days in the magical world, was just around the corner!
The previous misery had completely been bypassed, and future happiness would not lack a single ounce. Hector was overjoyed in his heart. However, right now, figuring out how to logically and unquestioningly return to his ancestral roots was priority number one.
After all, directly exposing the identity of the person before him, weeping, hugging his thigh, and demanding to return to the organization—that whole routine was still a bit too abrupt. Just in case this old honeybee found any inconsistencies he couldn't talk his way out of, a full course of Veritaserum followed by Legilimency would mean his little secrets would be laid bare right under the nose of the greatest White Wizard. As for future days, little whips and chili sauce were fine, but the Cruciatus Curse was not something just anyone could endure. As for having the backbone of a tough guy, Hector didn't think he possessed it; the talent hadn't been doled out to him, so he couldn't completely blame Hector, could he?
"Child, what is your name?" Dumbledore spoke first, breaking the silence.
"Hector, Mr. Hector Dumbledore." Fortunately, the system was equipped with an automatic translation function, and Hector's rather worrisome communication problem was resolved.
"Dumbledore?" Dumbledore's already bright eyes shone even more brilliantly at that moment.
"Who is your father?" Dumbledore stepped forward, leaned down, stared straight into Hector's eyes, and asked with a smile.
"Chris Dumbledore, but he died a long time ago." Hector first unnaturally avoided Dumbledore's gaze, then stared back into those sky-blue eyes and asked, "Old sir, do you know my father?"
Dumbledore took a deep breath, waved his wand, and a piece of ceiling debris that had fallen to the floor first rapidly expanded and then turned into an exquisite and sturdy chair. He sat down slowly. At that moment, a large red bird appeared in the room, perched on Dumbledore's shoulder. Its curious eyes stared at Hector, who instinctively felt a sense of closeness without a shred of fear.
"Fawkes, I'm afraid I'll have to trouble you to make a trip to the Hog's Head and find Aberforth." He scrutinized Hector's face, the smile on his own unable to be contained. "Oh, and bring that book from my headmaster's office to the Hog's Head as well."
Fawkes nodded, glanced at Hector one more time, and then transformed into a ball of fire, vanishing instantly.
"Child, my name is Albus Dumbledore." Dumbledore was exceptionally gentle and kind at that moment. He gently patted Hector's head and said with paternal care, "If nothing unexpected has happened, I am your grandfather."
Perhaps under the influence of that natural affinity, Dumbledore easily believed Hector's identity. He let down his guard and did not use Legilimency. Dumbledore took Hector's small hand in his.
"Do you have any luggage? I'm going to take you to meet someone—someone who isn't very responsible."
Hector stood up, and his boots, which were clearly a few sizes too big, almost tripped him.
A flash of apology appeared in Dumbledore's eyes. With a gentle tap of his wand, the boots quickly shrank until they fit properly.
"Mr. Dumbledore, is this magic?" Hector asked.
"That's right, Hector. This is a clever and very useful piece of magic." Dumbledore looked into Hector's eyes—they were also sky-blue eyes, just like those passed down through the Dumbledore family line.
"You are a wizard, Hector."
Dumbledore straightened his posture.
"Time waits for no one, Hector. We are setting off." Dumbledore extended his arm.
Hector hugged Dumbledore's arm tightly. Seeing Hector's timid appearance, Dumbledore placed his other hand soothingly over Hector's.
Space twisted rapidly, and the two of them vanished from the spot in a single instant.