Simultaneously traversing: the pinnacle of all realms

Dumbledore chuckled, seemingly in a very good mood.

"Kid, would you like a lemon-flavored candy?"

"A piece of what?" Xavier's expression was hard to contain.

This is a black magic item, like finding an unexploded shell in the ground and taking it directly to the local police station. Shouldn't we show it some respect?

"A lemon shambles candy. It's a Muggle dessert. I like it."

He pushed the candy box toward Xavier, picked up a lemon Olaf, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth, gesturing for Xavier to have one too.

Seeing this, Xavier also hesitated before taking one and popping it into his mouth. The two of them both winced at the sourness.

"Haha~ Doesn't it taste good?"

Like a mischievous old man, Dumbledore had recommended this candy to Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape, but none of them wanted to eat it.

This flavor, which is sour at first and then sweet, is truly captivating.

"This is the dark magic item you mentioned in your letter." Dumbledore's gaze fell on the box on the table.

"Yes, Professor," Xavier said.

Dumbledore didn't say anything like, "Why didn't you return it to Lucius Malfoy?"

He simply nodded, then reached out and began peeling back the layers of linen. His movements were slow and meticulous, as if he were approaching an animal that might bite at any moment.

After revealing the box, Dumbledore waved his hand, and the lock on the box came off by itself, the lid was lifted, revealing the old diary with a black cover.

The cover is quite old, and the edges are worn white.

Dumbledore's hand stopped at the top of the cover and did not touch it again.

He stared at the diary for a few seconds, glanced up at Xavier, then drew his wand from his pocket and moved it slowly and steadily above the diary. A silver mist of light shot from the tip of the wand, enveloping the entire notebook and causing it to emit a faint glow.

"Very interesting," he said softly with a smile, his tone relaxed.

"An interesting black magic reaction; it definitely feels like a curse, and it's very subtle. Can you tell me how you discovered it?"

"My bloodline ability."

Xavier unleashed his power, and his appearance changed accordingly—antlers, hair color, eyes, and a faint halo emanating from around his antlers like ripples.

Seeing Xavier's change, Fox flew over happily and circled around him before landing on Xavier's shoulder, appearing very affectionate.

"When I touched it, it felt dangerous—a cold, damp feeling, like putting your hand into stagnant water—turbid, cold, and sticky."

Dumbledore looked up at him through his half-moon spectacles, his gaze earnest.

"This is a very special ability, and also a very useful one." He paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully, "I hope you can make good use of it."

The wizarding world is vast and mysterious. Dumbledore believed that Xavier's abilities were simply special, and perhaps Hogwarts would have another outstanding graduate.

Xavier nodded.

In Xavier's presence, Dumbledore continued his investigation. He was confident—confident in his own abilities—that he could ensure no dark magic object could harm his student.

"Mr. Xavier, you did a good job. When you discover potentially cursed items, always trust your professors and don't put yourself in danger."

As Dumbledore watched Xavier's focused observation, his wand moved incessantly, releasing one spell after another, some familiar and some unfamiliar to Xavier.

Universal anti-curse spells, anti-curse spells specific to various curses, and spells that have a certain purifying effect...

Fortunately, Dumbledore was providing explanations throughout, which allowed Xavier to understand, albeit partially—the choice of spells, the order in which spells were cast…

He smiled and winked at him, saying, "You may have heard of the profession of unraveler."

"It is a rather dangerous and serious profession—they are experts at dealing with curses, but wizards who do this job may also be killed by ancient curses, poisons, or curses."

After a while, Dumbledore picked up a quill from the table and opened the cover of the diary.

The first page is a blank parchment with nothing written on it.

He explained to Xavier, "Some black magic items contain curses, and you have to use them to discover the trigger. That's what makes black wizards so cunning."

Dumbledore thought for a moment, then placed the tip of his pen on the blank space.

"September 1, 1992, cloudy."

He then wrote some unimportant diary entries, making it look like a diary entry.

After finishing writing, Dumbledore picked up his wand, thought for a moment, and then cast a layer of 'armor' on the two of them. He then gestured for Xavier to observe the diary's reaction closely—the ink spread on the paper and then disappeared.

After a few seconds, the ink reappeared, forming a new line of text:

"Hello? Is there anything you want to tell me? You seem to have a boring day."

The Voldemort fragment in the diary surprised him. He hadn't expected that fifty years had passed since he was used, and it seemed that his Horcrux had fallen into the hands of someone else—had his original self not kept it properly? Such an important thing couldn't be kept safe.

The young Voldemort was very confident. He never thought that his original self would fail. He just thought that his original self was too careless and had actually left him behind.

"Who are you? And why are you in the notebook?" Dumbledore wrote.

"Oh, I was the previous owner of this diary. It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. Who are you? Could you introduce yourself?"

The font is neat and beautiful, and it also exudes an elegance.

It's as if you can see someone bowing gracefully to greet you.

(You must write neatly. Although the saying "handwriting reflects one's character" is somewhat biased, good handwriting can play a significant role in both studies and society. This is truly based on my experience (x_x).)

Dumbledore's expression froze, his smile vanished, and a subtle change emerged—anger, shock, and gravity. Xavier noticed that his fingers, gripping the quill, tightened, his knuckles turning slightly white.

Something extremely complex flashed across the old man's eyes, like a door that hadn't been opened for a long time being suddenly pushed open.

"I am Dumbledore."

Dumbledore didn't use the quill again. He waved his wand, and a line appeared on the diary. The diary then fell silent, showing no further reaction.

The fragments of soul within the diary emitted a sharp, explosive cry: "How could this be?! How could it be Dumbledore?! Why is it in his hands?!"

It's like skipping class to sleep, only to find out it's the homeroom teacher when you knock on the door.

The young Voldemort had a guess: No—could it be that I have already failed? That great cause? Was my true form also dead? That's why I fell into Dumbledore's hands?

If Xavier could see Tom's reaction in the diary, he would definitely ask: Hello, Mr. Voldemort, who's had a good sleep, are you surprised? Unexpected?

Regardless of the reaction inside the diary, Dumbledore broke the silence outside.

"Tom Marvolo Riddell," he repeated the name softly, looking up at Xavier.

Do you know this name?

"I don't know," Xavier said. He truly didn't know Voldemort's full name, just as he couldn't remember that Dumbledore's full name was Albus Percival Woolflick Bryan Dumbledore.