The Evil Thoughts of Hogwarts and the Genie

The staircase to the principal's office was long, far longer than Edmund had anticipated. But his goal remained steadfast, and he didn't even stop as he passed the trophy room.

When he finally reached the top floor, he was completely out of breath, feeling as if he had only climbed a small mountain. He couldn't help but mentally criticize the past principals—these old men and women either all possessed athlete-level stamina or could Apparate within the castle!

Atop the tower stood a colossal stone beast statue with a gargoyle spout. Sculpted in a ferocious and terrifying manner, its voice, however, was languid: "Password?"

Edmund's eyes lit up, and he immediately guessed what the password was.

"Coconut ice cream."

"Correct answer."

The dripping stone beast jumped aside, and the wall split open, revealing a long spiral staircase.

Edmund stared at the damned staircase, feeling an unprecedented urge to regain his strength—with the few living batteries he currently kept, let alone flying, he couldn't even grow wings.

Fortunately, no further mishaps occurred. Once Edmund had caught his breath, the headmaster's office door opened automatically. Edmund pushed it open and entered, his eyes falling on a circular staircase stacked like a cake, and some mysterious instruments emitting steam and a pleasant fragrance. In addition, the room was filled with many strange trinkets arranged in a compact yet orderly fashion, and the walls were covered with countless portraits of wizards and witches.

Dumbledore might have a hoarding habit. Edmund thought to himself that it wasn't surprising for an old man his age.

Interestingly, Edmund spotted a familiar object on the wooden table in the center of the room: the incredibly lively Sorting Hat! It was dozing off on its hat rack, seemingly unaware of his arrival.

Edmund wanted to catch up with the hat. He had only taken two steps forward when he heard a melodious cry. Looking in the direction of the sound, he saw a magnificent, crimson bird that seemed to be wrapped in flames—a phoenix, or rather, a phoenix—flying towards him.

The expensive and rare mythical creature cried out, circled Edmund twice, but did not land directly. It returned the way it came, flapped its wings, and landed on its master's shoulder.

Dumbledore, who strolled out from the inner room, smiled faintly and nodded to Edmund.

Before this, Edmund had actually thought of quite a few opening lines. Some were polite and obedient, while others were full of provocation.

But clearly, Dumbledore was superior. Edmund had never encountered a phoenix before; such creatures were too noble and too useless. Therefore, this was Edmund's first time experiencing the feeling of being "chosen by a phoenix" up close, but the large bird quickly withdrew its favor, and he really wanted to know what was going on and what it meant.

"It doesn't like me," Edmund asserted. "Like master, like pet. You don't like me, so it doesn't like me either, is that right?"

Dumbledore was clearly taken aback by his words. The old wizard shook his head.

"Not at all. Fox is very close to you, I guess it's because we're related by blood. But for some reason, you seem to have it all figured out, which is very unusual."

Edmund blinked, realizing what was happening. Phoenixes are very perceptive and usually only favor those of upright character and unwavering will. And he, without a doubt, was no match for that type.

Most importantly, Edmund is actually dead. Will the ever-reborn phoenix be able to realize this?

Edmund suddenly realized that this was an opportunity!

"Do you speak bird language, sir?" He vaguely remembered someone telling him that Dumbledore was learned and fluent in many languages. "Can you understand it?"

The phoenix let out another long cry, as if expressing its displeasure. Dumbledore's expression was somewhat strange.

"I do speak a little bit of bird language," Dumbledore winked mischievously. "But, son... Fawkes isn't a bird!"

After Dumbledore finished speaking, he laughed as if he was amused by himself, which displeased Fawkes. The old wizard had to reach out and scratch the phoenix's belly to appease him.

After he finished laughing, he waved his wand. A silver mist slid into the air, and everything enveloped in it came to life.

That was truly a brilliant move. The old man hadn't even chanted an incantation, yet he had effortlessly altered the layout of most of the principal's office. The intricate magical artifacts seemed to shake their legs playfully, then quietly moved aside, making room for the two of them. Then, something transformed into two comfortable fabric sofas and a small, antique-style square table.

Dumbledore even asked Edmund whether he preferred cream or dark green—and out of a strange psychology, Edmund said he preferred pink.

He sat on the pink sofa, and Dumbledore, as if entertaining a relative's child, brought him some sweets and poured him a glass of pumpkin juice. Edmund sighed as he observed Dumbledore's gesture.

It must be said that Edmund was somewhat frustrated.

He had been hoping that the Phoenix would tell Dumbledore that he wasn't entirely Edmund Soman, thus enraging Dumbledore and causing him to harm him, which would then trigger the "Whoever kills Cain will be punished sevenfold" curse, directly taking Dumbledore's soul.

As a result, Dumbledore couldn't speak Phoenix Language.

Tsk.

Furthermore, Edmund's previous conclusion was once again confirmed. When facing a truly powerful wizard with talent far exceeding that of ordinary people, even if Edmund only had a dozen or so magic batteries left, he would still likely still be unable to defeat them, let alone increase that number to a hundred.

...This industry is so dependent on talent!

Edmund at this stage is completely helpless against this wizard who has no ill intentions towards him, yet is stronger than all of his batteries combined... This is terrible!

"How boring," Edmund muttered involuntarily. Then, he perked up and got straight to the point. "Did you call me here for something?"

He didn't mention the 400 Galleons. For both the Demon God himself and the Soman family, who possessed the "Demon God's Treasury," money could hardly be considered money anymore.

Moreover, Edmund knew very well that Dumbledore hadn't summoned him just to return those few coins.

Edmund had assumed Dumbledore would talk to him about Avery and the Malays, and that he should at least steer the conversation in that direction as a warning.

Instead, the revered old wizard pulled a huge blue leather box from his sleeve, decorated with a picture of several mischievous little pigs playing around. Edmund recognized the brand; it was a famous magical dessert shop, and importantly, it was located in Germany.

"This was sent to me by your mother," Dumbledore said softly. "Very much, and very sweet. As an old man, I don't think I should be so ungrateful as to keep it all to myself."

what?

Edmund was stunned. He gave the old man a strange look, unable to understand his expression, and felt completely bewildered.

"...Thank you? Uh?" He paused. "But it's kind of embarrassing—my mother is always like this. She's very delicate, always insecure. Don't be intimidated by her attempts to please her; it's just how she is."

"I had no choice but to curry favor with a relative I didn't like for the sake of my son, that's all."

Edmund finished speaking and smiled helplessly.

"Even knowing it's completely unnecessary, she'll still do it, and she'll continue doing it. She loves me so much, more than she loves her own life."

The son proudly flaunted his mother's love. Dumbledore looked at the boy with an unreadable expression. Just yesterday, this young boy had sent a classmate to the school hospital with a curse and was spouting Grindelwald's ideas all the time.

But he can sense love and seems willing to cherish his mother's love... In any case, this is good news.

When he spoke again, the old wizard uttered another strange remark.

"Does she consider us relatives?"

Edmund paused, then his smile turned mocking.

"Don't you think so? If that's what you think, I can understand. I've heard my father say that our kinship is actually very, very distant. Apart from the fact that you and my mother's family both have the surname Dumbledore, we haven't had any contact for centuries."

“That’s not what I meant,” Dumbledore interrupted him. “I’m just amazed by Elena’s compassion and magnanimity. Edmund, your mother is more forgiving than I thought. That surprises me greatly, and I admire her greatly.”

Edmund couldn't help but blink upon hearing this.

"...You know what you're saying is very vague. If I didn't understand anything, I'd just think you're old and crazy, talking nonsense. You know that, yet you still say it. Am I right?"

Dumbledore wasn't angry at all; instead, he laughed.

"Oh, please forgive me." The old wizard chuckled softly for a moment. "I am indeed old and senile, and prone to cryptic remarks."

"But you're not completely ignorant, Edmund. You're intelligent and brave, aren't you?"