Ever since Dumbledore became Headmaster, he hadn’t personally escorted a single new student through enrollment.
The reason was simple.
Before he took the job, walking Muggle-born families through the process made perfect sense.
Once he was Headmaster, doing it himself would’ve made the whole title feel pointless.
Hogwarts kept graduating class after class while Dumbledore stayed in the chair year after year.
Watching the man now—beloved, respected, almost worshipped by the crowd—Isaac finally understood why Minister Cornelius Fudge was so terrified of him in the books.
Dumbledore didn’t need some dramatic “the heavens are dead, the yellow sky rises” speech.
If he stepped onto any street in wizarding Britain and said, “I want to be Minister,” the Ministry would start drafting Fudge’s resignation letter before lunch.
The vote would pass with overwhelming support.
The only people who might object were Fudge’s two or three closest cronies.
Under that kind of pressure, the Ministry and Hogwarts could stay out of each other’s way—as long as nothing major happened.
But the moment a real crisis hit, every witch and wizard, including those inside the Ministry, would turn to Dumbledore.
Fudge was basically a newborn baby.
He kept testing his “parents” with the clumsiest little power plays.
Right now Dumbledore was playing the role of the indulgent mother—patient, forgiving, endlessly tolerant.
Since the old man was being the kind parent, Isaac figured he could supply the strict father Fudge clearly needed.
Gellert Grindelwald would make one hell of a disciplinarian.
It all fit together a little too neatly.
Isaac snapped back to the present just as they reached the entrance of Flourish and Blotts.
Dumbledore hadn’t brushed off a single person who greeted him the entire walk.
The witches and wizards had been respectful too—quick hellos, warm smiles, then they simply stood there watching him go like they were seeing something rare and wonderful.
The moment they stepped inside, the store manager rushed forward.
“Professor Dumbledore!
Welcome!” “Prepare a full set of first-year textbooks for this young man,” Dumbledore said, nodding toward Isaac.
“No problem at all!” The manager flicked his wand.
A neatly wrapped stack of books floated off a nearby shelf, followed by a matching bundle of quills, parchment, and ink.
“These are the standard first-year texts, Professor, plus the complimentary parchment, quills, and ink the store provides.” Isaac recognized the “stationery set.” Hogwarts homework starter kit.
The manager was thoughtful—clearly didn’t want any new student showing up without the tools to actually do the work.
Dumbledore accepted the packages and turned to Isaac.
“Flourish and Blotts is one of the largest bookstores in Diagon Alley.
Their collection is impressive.
If you ever need something rare or hard to find, they can source it for you.” The manager jumped in immediately.
“Absolutely.
We locate books for clients at no extra markup—just a small handling fee.” Isaac had already noticed the gap between Britain and the world he’d come from.
Here, books were genuine luxury items.
In the wizarding world, knowledge wasn’t abstract—it was literal power.
Dumbledore was living proof.
The man with the most knowledge was also one of the most powerful.
The fact that Flourish and Blotts openly offered to hunt down rare texts for a reasonable fee was actually pretty generous.
Some books you couldn’t buy at any price, no matter how much you offered.
Isaac nodded and accepted the manager’s contact card with both hands.
Hogwarts had a huge library, but there was no guarantee it would have everything he needed.
With his prophetic gift, he could locate rare volumes the school didn’t own, then have the professionals at Flourish and Blotts handle the rest.
Pay a handling fee and let experts do expert work.
He knew this level of service was only being offered because of Dumbledore.
In a world where knowledge equaled power, a bookstore like this was basically the magical equivalent of a gun shop.
“Would you like to browse and see if anything catches your eye?” Dumbledore asked.
“No—thank you, Professor.
I don’t have anything specific in mind right now.” Isaac shook his head and lied through his teeth.
He’d just stepped into a literal treasure vault of magical knowledge and he was supposed to walk out empty-handed?
Harry Potter might not have been a big reader, which was why bookstores and libraries felt thin in the original story.
But in reality this place was an ocean of information waiting to be claimed.
His gift could filter out the useless stuff in seconds.
The beautiful knowledge was right there, practically begging to be taken by the young prophet.
And he was forcing himself to walk away.
He could see exactly what Dumbledore was doing—quietly offering to cover every expense on this trip.
An orphan with no parents didn’t turn down that kind of generosity.
Grindelwald had already extended the same hand.
Dumbledore was doing it again.
Maybe the old man’s “love the house, love the crow” feeling toward anything connected to Grindelwald was at work here.
But Isaac wasn’t about to take advantage.
Throughout history, people who knew how to be grateful got respect.
Nobody liked a greedy little ingrate who pushed for more the second someone offered help.
Dumbledore could offer.
Isaac wasn’t going to start demanding.
His lie had been smooth.
Unfortunately, he was standing in front of a man who had been reading people for over a hundred years.
Dumbledore didn’t push.
He simply turned to the manager and spoke in that calm, final tone that brooked no argument.
“From this day until Mr.
Isaac Waldore graduates from Hogwarts, every purchase he makes at Flourish and Blotts will be charged to my account.” A wizard of Dumbledore’s caliber came with certain privileges.
And when the wizard in question was also the most powerful man in Britain, those privileges tended to be very generous indeed.