Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Kane nodded: "Where?"

"Right here." Dumbledore waved the Elder Wand, creating a semi-transparent golden barrier around the two of them, "to prevent magic from leaking out and harming the creatures in the lake."

Kane also wanted to test his current level!

How far am I from becoming this legendary figure in the magical world!

The two stood facing each other, five steps apart.

"Gather your magic in your palm and make contact with my magic."

Dumbledore said, "Extend your right hand, palm up."

There was no light, but the surrounding air began to distort slightly—a physical phenomenon naturally caused by powerful magic.

Kane extended his left hand.

Silvery-blue starlight swirled in my palm, like a miniature galaxy.

The two hands slowly approached each other.

When they were still an inch apart, the anomaly occurred.

Dumbledore's magic—that deep, ocean-like, sun-warm golden magic—did not merge with Kane's starlight magic, nor did it repel him; instead, it formed a strange "layering."

Gold is below, silver and blue are above, separated by an almost invisible but real boundary.

"Continue," Dumbledore said softly.

Kane increased his magic output.

The silvery-blue light became blinding, and the stardust spun faster, trying to penetrate downwards.

three minutes.

five minutes.

For the first time, Dumbledore's breathing became heavy.

It wasn't fatigue, but focus—he hadn't needed to concentrate so much in a simple magical battle in a long time.

Kane's situation is even worse.

Sweat slid down his cheeks and dripped onto the grass by the Black Lake, instantly evaporating into white vapor.

His body was trembling slightly, not from weakness, but from overload—the Starshine Infusion had greatly increased his magical capacity, but his body was still in the adaptation period to its limits.

But he didn't stop.

A kind of almost obsessive light burned in his gray-blue eyes.

He was testing, testing his own limits, testing the true nature of Starlight Magic, and also testing... the depth of the legendary wizard before him.

The old headmaster suddenly said softly, "That's enough."

Kane staggered back three steps, then knelt on one knee, using his right hand to brace himself against the ground to keep from falling.

On the palm of his left hand, the newly formed starlight rune was slowly dissipating, but the residual magical fluctuations coated the surrounding grass with a layer of silver.

Dumbledore also took a step back.

Although it's just one step.

Although the old principal's breathing returned to normal after three cycles.

"Impressive," Dumbledore finally said. "By second-year standards, your total magical power surpasses that of most adults. And..."

He paused, his blue eyes deep and unfathomable, like an ancient well.

"Moreover, the 'quality' of your magic is higher than any wizard I've ever seen. Not in terms of intensity, but in terms of its inherent purity. It's like... the difference between mithril refined a thousand times and ordinary steel."

Kane adjusted his breathing: "But it's not enough."

He just withdrew his power, only using about 80% of his magic!

I just don't know how much of the magic the old man in front of me used.

"Of course not," Dumbledore said gently. "Total magical power is only one part of magical strength. Spell mastery, combat experience, mental fortitude... these all require time to accumulate. But your starting point..."

He smiled, a smile that contained admiration, but also a complex emotion that Kane couldn't decipher:

"Your starting point is already so high that many people can never reach it in their entire lives."

"One last question, Kane," the old headmaster's voice was soft, but every word was clear, "The centaurs gave you this gift, what do they want in return?"

Kane remained silent for a long time.

So long that Dumbledore thought he wouldn't answer anymore.

"A promise," Kane finally said, "that in the future, when I am able, I will fight for the centaurs' right to a legitimate habitat at the Ministry of Magic."

Kane and Dumbledore left the Black Lake.

Dumbledore returned to the castle at this moment.

He stood by the window in the principal's office.

The entire view of Hogwarts is laid out before you.

He gazed toward the centaur tribe deep within the Forbidden Forest, his long, silvery eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"Habitat rights..." he repeated the word softly, a deep light flashing in his blue eyes.

The centaurs don't want money, magical items, or even political asylum.

What they want is a legal piece of land—what does that mean?

This means that the centaur tribe foresaw that their existing forbidden forest habitat would no longer be safe.

This means they knew that some changes were coming, and that those changes would threaten the homeland they had lived in for generations.

"Voldemort's return!" Dumbledore murmured to himself, the answer unsettlingly clear.

Only the Dark Lord's return would make the traditionally neutral centaurs so eager to find a new sanctuary.

Only a dark resurgence of that scale could force them to break with millennia of tradition and make such a profound deal with a human wizard.

But the fact that the Martians chose Kane instead of going directly to him, the principal, is even more intriguing.

Is it because they saw from the stars that Kane is the one who can truly keep his promise?

Or was it because...they foresaw that when the storm came, Hogwarts itself might no longer be a safe haven?

Dumbledore's fingers unconsciously traced the texture of the Elder Wand.

A warm pulse emanated from the staff, as if responding to his worries.

He has always believed in prophecies!

"You're worried about the child." A voice came from the air.

In the portrait in the headmaster's office, Armando Dippet—Dumbledore's predecessor—is looking at him through the frame.

"I'm worried he's moving too fast," Dumbledore didn't deny, "I'm worried this power is coming too soon, I'm worried... the centaurs' investment will burden him with responsibilities he's not ready for."

"But the centaurs never make mistakes in astrology," Dippet said. "If they chose him, it means he can handle it."

“To bear and to deserve are two different things,” Dumbledore sighed. “He’s only thirteen, Armando. A child his age should be worried about exams and Quidditch, not the political games of the Ministry of Magic or the threat of the Dark Lord.”

The old headmaster in the portrait paused for a moment: "He was indeed very different from ordinary children."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to avoid." Dumbledore's voice suddenly turned stern. "My choice back then... came at a great cost. I don't want any child, especially one like Kane, to repeat my mistakes."

Bridal removed his fingers from the Elder Wand, his gaze shifting from the Forbidden Forest. The worry had been replaced by decisiveness—not that the anxiety had vanished, but rather that he understood how to proceed.

"The centaurs saw the storm, so they sought a new haven," he murmured to himself, as if to organize his thoughts. "They chose Kane because they saw in the stars that only he could carve a safe passage through that storm."

The portrait of Dippert sighed softly: "So you intend to..."