Isaac’s real destination was the little candy shop right next to Ollivander’s.
A kid sneaking off to buy sweets while his parents weren’t looking?
That sounded way more believable than standing around looking suspicious.
Magic candy was genuinely weird.
Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, Cauldron Cakes, Chocolate Frogs—and tucked in the corner like a personal joke, Cockroach Clusters.
Isaac had always suspected those things only had one customer on the entire planet: Dumbledore.
The shop probably kept making them just for him.
Because who else would eat them?
The shelves were packed tight.
Isaac slipped inside and headed straight for the back corner.
Dumbledore was already there, waiting like he’d been standing in that exact spot for hours.
The greatest wizard alive.
The only man Voldemort feared.
The one who defeated Grindelwald.
Nicolas Flamel’s old friend.
Just quietly standing among the sweets like it was the most normal thing in the world.
When he saw Isaac, Dumbledore took off his half-moon glasses and polished them slowly.
“Isaac.
I got your letter.
You said someone is planning to attack you?” “Yes, Professor,” Isaac nodded.
That was exactly why he’d emergency-summoned the man.
Right outside the Leaky Cauldron he’d felt the danger spike.
One quick prophecy later and the picture was crystal clear: the driver old Anthony had sent was already under someone’s control.
The second Isaac got in that car he was getting kidnapped—or worse.
The attackers clearly hadn’t done their homework on prophets.
Prophets were walking danger sensors.
Isaac had sensed the trap, prophesied the details, and walked away before they could spring it.
Some prophets were reckless enough to step right into the trap on purpose just to smash whoever set it.
Grindelwald had that same energy.
Isaac wasn’t built like that.
Not yet.
In other worlds, eleven-year-old wizards were already slinging Crucio, turning Fiendfyre into art, or chaining Avada Kedavra like it was nothing.
Compared to those kids, Isaac wasn’t just dragging the transmigrator name through the mud—he was actively embarrassing the entire profession.
Problem was, his cheat wasn’t that broken.
So he did the only smart thing left.
He became a human summoning beacon and called in the one guy who could actually handle this.
I can’t cast Avada chains yet, but I can sure as hell summon someone who can.
Was his entire magic career secretly a summoning build?
Honestly?
As a prophet he was actually pretty damn good at it.
He could literally see the success rate of every “legendary summon” or “epic summon” before he even tried.
Hogwarts didn’t just have Dumbledore.
It had four Heads of House and a whole army of professors.
Once Isaac got there and made friends, the next time some creep tried to snatch him he could summon the entire luxury tour group to watch the show.
Watching a pervert try to kidnap a first-year totally counted as sightseeing, right?
Dumbledore probably never expected Isaac’s brain to be running this fast.
After a careful scan of the area he finally spoke.
“Do you know who the attacker is?” “Yeah.
One of Voldemort’s lackeys,” Isaac said, dropping the name like it was nothing.
He really wasn’t scared of Voldemort.
The guy still felt like a story character to him.
Even living inside Harry Potter’s world, Voldemort mostly registered as “that noseless dude from the books.” All the horror stories about him were just words.
No personal experience.
And the first real wizard Isaac had ever met in this life was Grindelwald.
If he was going to be afraid of anyone, Grindelwald was the obvious choice.
The man had nearly burned Paris to the ground with Fiendfyre before Nicolas Flamel stopped him.
A noseless stray dog and his bootlicking Death Eaters didn’t even register on the same scale.
This was what strategic contempt for the enemy looked like.
“Tom…” Dumbledore’s face finally shifted.
Not into grim seriousness.
More like quiet confusion mixed with careful calculation.
He was probably wondering why a Death Eater would target Isaac in the first place.
“Tch!
Professor, Tom Riddle is just bullying you because you’re a gentleman who thinks too much!” Isaac’s voice cut straight through the silence.
“You don’t need to overthink it.
Just grab the guy and interrogate him!
Hit him with Legilimency.
Or better—Veritaserum.
Snape definitely keeps some in stock!” The wild suggestion snapped Dumbledore out of his thoughts.
He opened his mouth to correct the boy’s dangerous ideas… then remembered who Isaac was talking about.
And who Snape was.
Crap.
The kid wasn’t wrong.
Snape absolutely had Veritaserum.
“All right.
You’re right.
We should move first.
Do you know the attacker’s identity?” Isaac shrugged.
“I can point him out for you.
But his name?
Not without watching someone competent interrogate him through prophecy.
If I’d summoned Professor Snape instead, I probably could’ve seen the whole interrogation already.” Unfortunately he’d summoned Dumbledore—the British wizarding world’s number-one riddle machine.
The ultimate enigma.
“In that case, Isaac… I may need a small favor from you.” Dumbledore suddenly looked at him with the exact face of a man who had just had “a brilliant idea.” Isaac’s stomach dropped.
People said you should never fear a villain who plans too hard—fear the idiot who gets a sudden flash of inspiration.
That saying definitely didn’t apply to Dumbledore.
Sometimes a genius having a “great idea” was way more terrifying.
Isaac was already opening his mouth to politely refuse when Dumbledore spoke again, voice soft and almost gentle.
“Isaac… do you want to become stronger?” Isaac stared at him like the man had grown a second head.
Holy shit.
Was this some trash mobile-game transmigrator who’d taken over Dumbledore’s body?
Because that line reeked of pay-to-win scam energy and Isaac wanted no part of it.