Isaac woke up early the next morning.
He’d crashed hard the night before and slept like the dead, so he felt sharp and ready.
Kreacher had left breakfast at the door, same as dinner.
Isaac ate, then the house-elf delivered Dumbledore’s message: head to the headmaster’s office.
Following Kreacher’s directions, Isaac stopped in front of a massive, hideously ugly gargoyle.
He gave the password.
The stone beast sprang to life, leaped aside, and the wall behind it split open.
A spiral stone staircase rose like an escalator.
Isaac stepped on.
The door sealed behind him and the stairs carried him upward in smooth circles.
At the top he knocked on a pair of heavy oak doors.
They swung open without a sound.
Dumbledore’s office was a wide, beautiful circular room filled with odd little noises.
Slender-legged tables held dozens of strange silver instruments that spun and puffed thin streams of smoke.
Portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses lined the walls, all gently snoring in their frames.
A huge desk with claw feet dominated the center.
The Sorting Hat sat on a shelf behind it.
Isaac’s eyes skipped past the Hat and landed on the golden perch near the door.
Fawkes the phoenix perched there—Dumbledore’s “companion” familiar.
According to the stories, a phoenix would appear to help any member of the Dumbledore family in real danger.
Isaac stared.
The bird looked nothing like what he’d expected.
Then again, this was a Western phoenix, not the fiery Eastern kind he’d grown up with.
It was… wrinkly.
And kind of ugly.
Finally he turned to the two men waiting for him.
Dumbledore.
And Gawain Robards from the Auror Office—the same guy from last night.
“Morning, Professor Dumbledore.
Morning, Mr.
Robards.” Gawain nodded with a smile.
Dumbledore spoke first.
“Isaac, Gawain brought the Ministry’s full interrogation report and sentencing on the Death Eater.” “Mr.
Robards?
So the guy who attacked me really was a Death Eater?” “Yes, Isaac.” Gawain nodded again, face perfectly straight.
“But don’t worry.
The Ministry has been cleaning out Death Eaters for years.
There aren’t many left on the streets these days.
The one you took down might’ve been the last one.” Isaac kept his expression polite while his brain screamed bullshit.
The hardcore loyalists were rotting in Azkaban.
The real core members were the heads of the old pure-blood families.
If Voldemort ever called, every last one of them would be dragged back into service whether they wanted it or not.
“Last Death Eater” was pure Ministry PR.
“So why did he come after me?” Isaac asked.
Gawain’s face did something complicated.
“Actually… it had a lot to do with Professor Dumbledore.” He glanced at Dumbledore, then at Isaac.
Then back at Dumbledore.
Then Isaac again.
The longer he looked, the more obvious the confusion in his eyes became.
The kid didn’t even look like Dumbledore.
So why was the headmaster going this far for him?
The Death Eater had been one of the lower-tier guys—too weak to make it into Voldemort’s inner circle, but vicious enough that the Dark Lord had taught him the Unforgivable Curses anyway.
After Voldemort’s fall the guy had gone underground and kept studying the curses until his brain turned to mush.
Then Dumbledore took Isaac to Diagon Alley and announced that every purchase Isaac made would go straight to the headmaster’s tab.
The whole Alley started buzzing with rumors.
“Dumbledore’s secret son” was the favorite.
The brain-fried Death Eater decided kidnapping “Dumbledore’s kid” would be his big comeback.
Instead he got soloed by an eleven-year-old.
The Aurors had also cleared a bunch of old unsolved dark-magic cases thanks to him.
Real piece of work.
“Anyway, Isaac—get ready.
You’re about to be famous.
In a few days Minister Fudge is going to invite you to the Ministry.
They’ve got a surprise waiting for you.” Gawain winked.
Isaac gave him the exact amount of excited-kid smile the moment required.
After a couple more polite exchanges Gawain stepped into the fireplace and vanished in a swirl of green flame, muttering about digging deeper into the Death Eater’s crimes.
The second he was gone, Isaac dropped the polite mask and rubbed his face hard.
“Professor… you don’t actually believe the Ministry’s story, do you?
Even a brain-fried Death Eater wouldn’t be that stupid.” Dumbledore’s half-moon glasses caught the light and flashed white.
“Fudge would bury anything real the moment it surfaced.
That’s just how he operates.” Isaac was the second true seer Dumbledore had ever met.
The headmaster didn’t treat him like a normal child—and Isaac had never acted like one.
“So it really is Voldemort?
He’s supposed to be hiding and plotting to use the Philosopher’s Stone.
Why the hell is he sending people after me?
Because you paid my bill at the bookstore?
You pay for Grindelwald too—why doesn’t he just march into Nurmengard?
Voldemort doesn’t dare move while you’re still alive?
What, he’s bullying the honest guy now?” Isaac didn’t wait for an answer.
“Professor, how about we form a party and speedrun this?
You and me go drag Tom’s lingering soul out into the open.
You can ask him yourself why he tried to snatch me.” Dumbledore’s expression froze.
The amount of information packed into those few sentences was nuclear.
An eleven-year-old seer knew exactly where Voldemort had been hiding for the last eleven years.
And he was casually inviting the one man Voldemort feared most to a speedrun raid on the Dark Lord’s residual soul.
Isaac’s prophecy… suddenly felt a lot more reliable than anything Grindelwald had ever shown him.