Hogwarts: Bloodline Legend

Chapter 856 - 242: Simply Unbelievable

Inside the Headmaster’s Office.

Under the dim yellow light.

The splendidly plumed Phoenix Fox was curled up, dozing lightly on the perch by the window. Its gorgeous tail feathers occasionally quivered, shedding a warm and mysterious glow.

In the air, white steam was curling lazily up from the fireplace, coiling slowly in a spiral, adding a touch of dreamlike color to this ancient and solemn room.

Ian stood before the desk, head lowered as he stared at the book Dumbledore had handed him. The deep brown leather cover gleamed faintly where the title was stamped in gold.

"Dark Power: Spell Transformation"

— by Tom Riddle.

This was absolutely a development Ian had never seen coming.

To be honest.

The moment he took the book, a fierce curiosity surged up in Ian’s heart. Countless guesses flashed rapidly through his mind—who could the author of this book on Dark Power and Spell Transformation be?

He’d guessed it might be Grindelwald, that powerful and mysterious Dark Wizard whose research into Dark Magic was second to none; he’d also wondered if it could be Merlin, the ancient and rather capable Legendary Wizard who might well have left behind such a forbidden and unconventional magical work. The Little Wizard had even wondered if it might be his own teacher, Morgan.

After all.

Fate always seemed to tie him and Morgan together through all sorts of coincidences—any of these people could have studied, and achieved cutting‑edge results, in the realm of Dark Power.

Of course, meticulous Ian hadn’t even overlooked the old headmaster standing before him. This great White Wizard, Dumbledore, also had formidable, top‑tier mastery over Dark Power.

However.

Even if you gave Ian a hundred more chances, he would never have thought he’d see, on the book Dumbledore handed him, the name of Voldemort—the man who ought to be treated as absolute taboo.

"This..."

Ian’s voice stuck in his throat. He lifted his head and looked at Dumbledore in disbelief. "Professor... this really isn’t a joke? You didn’t, say, slap Riddle’s name on top of your own work, did you?"

It was, of course, an unreasonable suspicion—yet when you put it next to the absurd possibility that Dumbledore would be keeping a Voldemort‑penned book in his collection, it suddenly seemed a lot more reasonable.

"An amusing thought, but after all, April Fools’ Day isn’t here yet." Dumbledore smiled faintly, the blue eyes behind his half‑moon spectacles glinting with a mischievous light.

"..."

Ian’s mood was clearly the complete opposite of Dumbledore’s; he was still sunk in the reality of how ridiculous this all was. "So... Riddle’s doing pretty well back in the past?"

Ian wasn’t even sure whether Dumbledore had found time to go back yet; he still remembered Dumbledore saying he would deal with the Riddle stranded in the past timeline.

This morning and at noon.

He had taken a spare moment to sense the connection he’d established with Riddle, and, finding no trace of Riddle still living in this world, had assumed Dumbledore had either killed him or imprisoned him in the past to let him slowly die of old age. He’d even been thinking of checking again next time he went to the Misty Illusion Realm.

Who could have guessed.

Riddle had actually managed to write a book back in the past!

"I suppose he finally accepted the name he once despised. Of course, he still didn’t write in his middle name. Perhaps his ideas about pure‑blood and glory have changed."

Dumbledore did not respond directly. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the book in the Little Wizard’s hands, those somewhat unreadable eyes of his fixed on the author’s name.

"So Riddle’s figured out that honor is something you have to earn yourself?" Ian hadn’t expected that the lecture he’d given earlier would really sink into the heart of a young Black Demon King.

His gaze drifted back to the book again, carefully examining the texture of the paper and the oxidization of the ink—the book had clearly weathered a very long stretch of years.

It was definitely not an item brought directly from the past.

"Perhaps."

Dumbledore’s tone was noncommittal.

He still spoke in that calm, even voice.

"I did find time to go back once. I discovered that he was hiding very well, keeping a very low profile... I suppose he was affected by some stimulus during your journey together that changed his personality."

"I observed his situation a little, and after I returned to our own era, I dug this dusty old book out of Hogwarts’ storage."

"I imagine... every one of our time crossings speeds up the arrival, into our time, of certain influences from the past." Dumbledore described what he had done earlier that morning and at noon.

And the conclusions he’d drawn.

Of course.

This was not what Ian cared about.

"You didn’t capture him, or, well... off him?" Ian pulled an exaggerated face to match his words and drew a finger across his own throat in a slitting motion.

Seeing this display from the Little Wizard.

Dumbledore couldn’t help but give a small, amused shake of his head.

"Regrettably, I did not."

His answer was blunt.

Then.

He looked at the Little Wizard again, eyes faintly complicated, faintly apologetic.

"Child, forgive me my small selfishness. Riddle’s situation is far too unusual... As long as the impact remains within a controllable range, I want to take the risk and observe."

Dumbledore did not dare meet the Little Wizard’s eyes.

It was truly rare to see evasiveness in the gaze of this old headmaster.

And whenever that happened.

Ian knew very clearly what the reason was—for Dumbledore, there was only one kind of situation that would drive this great leader to make such a not‑so‑righteous choice.