The silence in the office had not yet dissipated, and Baelon was still digesting the absurd reality of “another world.”
Dumbledore’s fingertips tapped lightly on the desk, his gentle gaze falling upon him as if observing a spark from another world.
“Crossing worlds is never easy, child.
It was only because your mental strength resonated with the dragon blood that the invisible barrier was torn open.”
Just as he finished speaking, there was a soft knock on the office door.
Three knocks—steady, rhythmic, and filled with a polite insistence on not being disturbed.
“Come in,” Dumbledore said, his tone remaining calm.
The door hinge turned softly, and a Witch dressed in emerald green robes, with a serious but not cold expression, walked in.
Her silver hair was tied up, and her gaze was as sharp as an eagle’s; the moment she entered, her eyes fell on Baelon, scrutinizing him without malice.
Without waiting for Dumbledore to introduce her, the Witch spoke first, her voice crisp and efficient.
“Principal, I have an unusual situation to report.”
Dumbledore nodded slightly.
“Professor McGonagall, please speak.”
Minerva McGonagall’s gaze swept over Baelon once more, carrying a hint of disbelief.
“It is the the quill of acceptance and the the book of admittance.”
She paused, then said word by word.
“Just now, those two ancient artifacts operated on their own—on the the book of admittance, the the quill of acceptance wrote a name.”
Finally, a nearly imperceptible flicker of surprise passed through Dumbledore’s eyes.
“The name is?”
“Baelon Targaryen,” McGonagall replied in a deep voice.
“A name never recorded in Hogwarts, or even in the British Wizarding World.
The the quill of acceptance automatically traced a faint trail pointing directly to your office.
I came immediately.”
As soon as she finished speaking.
Baelon looked up sharply.
No one here knew his full name, let alone that he had long been marked for an early death by the conspiracies of The Red Keep.
Yet, the ancient artifacts in this strange Castle had recorded him first.
Dumbledore sighed softly and looked at Baelon, a deeper meaning appearing in his gaze.
“It seems, child.”
“That your arrival at Hogwarts was never an accident.”
Only then did McGonagall truly realize the uniqueness of the boy before her, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Principal, he is…”
“A guest from a very, very far away place,” Dumbledore interrupted gently.
“And also a visitor personally chosen by the the book of admittance.”
The air seemed to freeze for a moment.
The secrets of two worlds, two ancient artifacts, and a prince of the Dragon House who should have died young.
At this moment, the threads of fate were completely intertwined.
The silence in the office was gently smoothed over by a warm atmosphere.
Dumbledore asked no more questions, simply watching the boy from another world as if he had already seen through all the loneliness and panic within him.
Professor Minerva McGonagall’s gaze also gradually softened, no longer the serious scrutiny from before, replaced by a warmth filled with concern.
She stepped forward, her voice steady but not harsh, like a teacher who truly cared for her students.
“Child, you don’t need to be afraid,” she said softly.
“This is Hogwarts, a place that protects all students of magic.
If you are willing, you can tell us where you come from and what you have been through.”
Baelon’s fingers, hanging at his side, curled slightly.
In The Red Keep, he never had anyone he could confide in with peace of mind.
Conspiracies, cold stares, hidden poisons, and omnipresent testing…
had long ago made him accustomed to closing off his heart.
But the two people before him showed no malice, only pure concern and acceptance.
He took a deep breath and slowly recounted his origins in a low voice.
The son of Viserys I, a prince in The Red Keep, his stepmother’s wariness, poisoned pastries, a poisoned cat, out-of-control dragon blood and mental strength, and that frantic crossing that tore through worlds.
Professor McGonagall’s brow furrowed as she listened, a clear look of pity appearing in her eyes.
Even as someone who had seen much, she found it hard to imagine that an eleven-year-old child had to endure such profound conspiracy and pain.
After he finished speaking, the office was quiet for a moment.
Dumbledore sighed softly.
“Suffering is never something a child should have to bear.
But the fact that you made it here proves you are far stronger than you imagine.”
Professor McGonagall nodded, walked to a desk on one side, picked up a piece of exquisite parchment with gold-leaf edges, took a quill, and dipped it in ink.
“Baelon Targaryen,” she spoke his name softly, her tone solemn.
“No matter which world you come from, as long as you possess power and talent, Hogwarts is willing to accept you.”
The quill flowed across the paper, and lines of elegant, neat writing appeared.
It was an enrollment invitation for Hogwarts.
McGonagall personally blew the ink dry and solemnly handed it to him.
“Keep it safe.
With this letter, you can go to Diagon Alley to purchase everything you need for enrollment—robes, a wand, a cauldron, textbooks, and everything else you will use.”
She paused, her tone becoming even softer, carrying a thoughtful concern.
“I know you have just arrived in this world and perhaps…
do not yet have its currency.
If needed, the school can provide the necessary assistance.”
Baelon held the warm invitation, his fingertips trembling slightly.
In The Red Keep, he was a prince who could be erased at any time.
But here, someone gave him a place to stay, a new identity, and even cared about whether he had money or could survive.
He looked up at the two teachers before him, and for the first time, his tense shoulders truly relaxed.
“I…” his voice was slightly hoarse but exceptionally firm, “I will find a way.”
Dumbledore smiled slightly, his eyes sparkling with a gentle light that seemed to see through everything.
“There is no need to rush, child.”
“From today on, Hogwarts is your new home.”
Dumbledore looked at the bright sky outside the window and tapped his fingertips lightly on the desk.
“It’s still early, no need to rush,” he said gently.
“McGonagall, please take Baelon to Diagon Alley later.
As for money…
he should have something on him that can be exchanged.”
Professor McGonagall nodded slightly.
“I understand, Principal.”
Baelon reached into his collar and took off an inconspicuous gemstone necklace from around his neck.
It was a relic left by his biological mother, Aemma Arryn; although the gem was small, it was a natural sapphire set in valyrian steel.
It wasn’t particularly valuable in The Red Keep, but in this strange world, it would surely be worth a fortune.
As the twilight descended.
Professor McGonagall led him through the brick wall of the Leaky Cauldron, and the view suddenly opened up—winding cobblestone paths, rows of shops, and the scent of magic in the air; this was Diagon Alley.
Inside Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
After the Goblin appraised the sapphire, a hint of surprise flashed in its eyes, and it quickly pushed over a heavy bag of Galleons.
Holding the pouch of coins, Baelon felt for the first time that he had the confidence to establish himself in this world.
Accompanied by Professor McGonagall, he purchased robes, a cauldron, parchment, and textbooks, with only his own wand left to get.
As they passed the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, noisy laughter and chatter came from inside, and a few blurred words floated into his ears.
Baelon’s footsteps came to a sudden halt.
His innate mental strength far exceeded that of ordinary people, and his hearing and perception were naturally sharp; he easily caught the name being repeatedly mentioned.
“…Harry Potter…”
“Is it really him?
The Boy Who Lived…”
“I heard he’s coming to Hogwarts this year too…”
Harry Potter.
A completely unfamiliar name, yet at this moment, it inexplicably made his heart tremble.
Professor McGonagall noticed his pause and asked gently.
“What’s wrong, Baelon?”
The boy withdrew his gaze and shook his head slightly, but a hidden doubt had already appeared in his eyes.
“It’s nothing…
I just heard a name.”
A sudden storm of shock surged in his heart.
Harry Potter’s enrollment meant it was the first year after the fall of the Dark Lord, and that the plot of the Philosopher’s Stone was about to begin.
And this year was exactly—1991.