That was precisely why he was the manager of the bookstore.
Dumbledore’s sudden announcement caught even Isaac off guard, but the bookstore manager reacted instantly.
He repeated respectfully, “Very well, Professor Dumbledore, I understand completely.
All bills for Mr.
Isaac Valdore’s purchases at this establishment for the next seven years will be forwarded directly to the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts.”
“Wonderful.
Thank you for your trouble,” Dumbledore said with a kindly nod to the manager.
With that, Dumbledore led Isaac out of Flourish and Blotts.
Not long after they left the bookstore, Dumbledore paused, casting a look of mild bewilderment at the boy.
As previously mentioned, very few secrets in the wizarding world could escape Dumbledore’s notice.
At this moment, Isaac had thoroughly piqued the Headmaster’s curiosity.
Perhaps because Isaac was a Seer, he had always conducted himself with a maturity far beyond his years.
Though the shifting hormones of his adolescent body occasionally influenced his behavior, making him act somewhat juvenile, Isaac was fundamentally a mature soul who had transmigrated from a previous life.
Dumbledore had initially wondered if the boy might be too proud to comfortably accept his charity.
Yet, the Isaac standing before him now looked brimming with anticipation, scanning their surroundings as if actively searching for something.
“Isaac, what exactly are you looking for?” Dumbledore finally couldn’t help but ask.
“I am looking for a phoenix, Professor,” Isaac answered with utmost seriousness.
Dumbledore stared at him.
“???”
For once, the great wizard was utterly stumped.
The youth of today simply thought too fast; an old man like him truly couldn’t keep up with their train of thought.
He certainly hadn’t brought Fawkes along on this trip, so where on earth did Isaac expect to find a phoenix?
“I am looking for my own phoenix,” Isaac explained to Dumbledore in a thoroughly matter-of-fact tone.
“Isn’t it said that whenever a member of the Dumbledore family is in dire need of aid, a phoenix will appear to assist them?
I feel like I am in desperate need of help right now.
Besides, I think the name ‘Isaac Dumbledore’ has a rather marvelous ring to it.”
Dumbledore lost count of how many times Isaac had managed to amuse him today.
Reflecting on it, escorting Isaac to buy his school supplies was the absolute polar opposition of his experience picking up Tom Riddle all those years ago.
The profound dread and solemnity he had felt with Tom was matched only by the sheer warmth and joy he felt while accompanying Isaac today.
Was there simply a fundamental, intrinsic difference between Tom and Isaac?
Quite possibly.
As the greatest wizard of the modern era, Dumbledore was certainly not so superficial as to judge a person entirely by their appearance.
However, when it came to Isaac, those three specific physical traits undoubtedly exerted a massive subconscious influence.
To put it bluntly, if Tom Riddle had possessed even just heterochromatic eyes or platinum-blonde hair—he wouldn’t even have needed both—Dumbledore might not have treated him with such rigid wariness back then.
Human beings, after all, are bound to have their own emotional biases, and even Albus Dumbledore was no exception to the rule.
“No, Isaac.
Compared to Dumbledore, I think Gr—” Dumbledore began, intending to utter that other surname with a smile.
But the moment the first syllable left his lips, he caught himself and abruptly fell silent.
He then looked down at Isaac, his expression turning deeply earnest.
“Child, do not strive to become the next Grindelwald, nor should you seek to become the next Dumbledore.
Simply follow your own heart.
Life itself is a great adventure, and the unknown is always the finest challenge.”
Following that conversation, Dumbledore escorted Isaac to Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, Potage’s Cauldron Shop, and the Apothecary to procure the rest of his school requirements.
True to his word, Dumbledore informed every merchant that all of Isaac Valdore’s expenses for the next seven years were to be billed to his personal account.
They also stopped by Eeylops Owl Emporium, where they purchased a powerful, resilient, and remarkably gentle owl for Isaac.
Isaac promptly named the bird “Cuckoo.”
The origin of the name followed a somewhat convoluted chain of thought.
Mentioning the wizarding world naturally brought Harry Potter to mind, and thinking of Harry led to the noseless Dark Lord, Voldemort.
Voldemort’s true name was Tom, and whenever Isaac thought of a character named Tom, his mind instinctively jumped to Jerry.
Cuckoo was the name of the clever little yellow bird from the Tom and Jerry cartoons that Isaac remembered from his previous life.
Thus, his owl became Cuckoo—a bird that, in the cartoons, was entirely capable of outsmarting Tom.
Just because this particular Tom could wield magic, did that mean he wasn’t a Tom?
By the time Isaac and Dumbledore were weighed down with a small mountain of shopping bags and parcels, they finally arrived at the absolute final stop of their excursion.
Ollivanders.
The peeling gold lettering over the door read: Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC.
Isaac mused that while comparing a bookstore to an arms dealer felt slightly exaggerated, this shop was the true, authentic weapons merchant of the wizarding world.
If the wands were the firearms, then perhaps the bookstore merely supplied the ammunition?
When one thought about it, the wizarding world did an exceptional job of keeping the weapons and the ammunition strictly segregated.
Stepping into the shop, Isaac observed that the interior was small, cramped, and stripped of any luxury, defined entirely by the thousands of narrow boxes stacked neatly from the floor to the ceiling.
The air was thick with the scent of dust and a subtle, ancient magic.
To be perfectly honest, out of all the storefronts in Diagon Alley, Isaac felt that Ollivanders looked the most genuinely magical.
Accompanying the soft chime of the bell above the door, Mr.
Ollivander materialized from the shadows behind the counter, greeting them in a quiet, reedy voice.
“Good evening.” Ollivander blinked, his pale eyes resting on the Headmaster.
“How extraordinarily rare, Dumbledore.
Are you truly responsible for guiding a young student to school yourself once more?”
Powerful witches and wizards lived exceptionally long lives, yet the British wizarding community remained remarkably insular.
Furthermore, given that Dumbledore was an absolute, towering celebrity, it was inevitable that he served as the largest source of public gossip in the magical world.
Despite this, Dumbledore, who had effectively confined himself to Hogwarts, maintained an incredibly gentle and passive temperament in his daily life.
Even when fabricated rumors were brazenly splashed across the front page of the newspapers, he rarely offered a reaction.
The public did not attribute this silence to magnanimity; rather, they simply assumed the old wizard was an easy target who could be pushed around without consequence—the classic exploitation of an honest man.
This resulted in a ceaseless torrent of rumors surrounding Dumbledore, though a discerning few could easily separate the truth from the fiction.
Ollivander possessed that rare discernment; he knew perfectly well that during the summer holidays, Dumbledore preferred to stay hidden away in the Headmaster’s office, happily slacking off.
Only Professor McGonagall would ever tolerate such behavior from him.
Consequently, seeing Dumbledore suddenly walk into his shop, Ollivander’s very first thought was that an impostor had used Polyjuice Potion to assume the Headmaster’s appearance.
“This particular occasion is rather special,” Dumbledore replied with an easy, pleasant smile.
They were old acquaintances, after all, and it was a rare luxury to share a few casual words during a busy day.
In truth, today was proving to be the most relaxing day Dumbledore had enjoyed in a very long time.
“Very well, we can certainly catch up later,” Ollivander said, stepping forward.
“Let me attend to our young customer first.
This young gentleman…”
The moment Ollivander’s eyes locked onto Isaac, the words died instantly in his throat.
He froze, looking precisely like a goose that had been suddenly choked, entirely struck dumb.