By the time Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape realized that the name Ivy originally intended for his magical book was not actually The Doom Spell Tome, it was already far too late.
There was simply no changing the boy’s rock-solid mindset anymore.
After all, the greatest white wizard of the twentieth century and the youngest Head of Slytherin House were currently dealing with a teenager whose body—and apparently part of his mentality as well—had regressed due to an Ancient Magic accident.
For children with overly strong self-awareness like this, it was difficult to find any word more accurate than stubborn.
Especially when it came to wasting absurd amounts of energy on things they considered cool.
Particularly things they personally considered cool.
Thankfully, an unexpected noise echoing through the Headmaster’s Office interrupted the situation before it could worsen further.
Click-clack.
Click-clack.
It sounded vaguely like fingernails tapping against wood—or perhaps someone repeatedly knocking a hardbound book against a desk.
“What’s making that noise?” Ivy Doom glanced around suspiciously, half-convinced one of the headmaster portraits was responsible.
“Perhaps one of my collections?” Dumbledore himself looked uncertain.
“Or maybe Fawkes is pecking at the door.”
The moment he finished speaking, Fawkes immediately let out an indignant cry and spread his wings, stirring up a wave of scorching air as though personally protesting the accusation.
Unfortunately, Dumbledore never got the chance to calm the offended phoenix before another visitor entered the already crowded office.
The door swung open to reveal a middle-aged witch with her hair tied into a high bun, dressed in dark green robes.
Her expression was stern and confident.
Ivy immediately matched her to the image in his memory.
Minerva McGonagall.
“Oh?” Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow.
“I assumed you’d slipped off to Honeydukes again, Albus.
It’s good to actually find you here for once.
And good afternoon to the other gentlemen as well.”
But when her gaze landed on Ivy, she paused.
“And this young gentleman is…?” she asked thoughtfully.
“I don’t recall any current Slytherin students looking quite this young, Severus.”
“I’m Ivy Doom.
Pleasure to meet you…” Ivy greeted politely before turning toward Dumbledore with a questioning look.
“Minerva McGonagall,” Dumbledore introduced proudly, “Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts and my most capable assistant.”
Then he gestured toward Ivy.
“And this is Ivy Doom, formerly a fifth-year Hogwarts student.”
“Formerly?” McGonagall repeated suspiciously.
“I certainly don’t remember approving the expulsion of such a young fifth-year Slytherin student…”
Her sharp gaze swept across every face in the room before she gave Ivy a nearly imperceptible nod.
“Well then, Albus, whatever strange game the three of you are playing, kindly move aside.
I need to confirm the names within the Book of Admittance.
Apparently Mister Harry Potter still hasn’t received his acceptance letter, and I believe he deserves to learn he’s a wizard on his birthday.”
Snape silently stepped aside to let her pass as McGonagall climbed a narrow staircase hidden in the corner of the office without another word.
According to Ivy’s memories from wandering through the Headmaster’s Office more than a century ago, that staircase led to a dusty hidden tower containing only two objects:
The Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance.
Those magical artifacts determined who was permitted to attend Hogwarts.
Once the Quill recorded a child’s name into the Book of Admittance, it signified that some mysterious contract had been formed between the young wizard and the castle itself.
And once the student wore the Sorting Hat during the Sorting Ceremony, Hogwarts would fully acknowledge them.
The staircases and portraits within the castle would aid—or occasionally prank—them.
The house-elves serving Hogwarts would also recognize them as masters of the castle, providing necessary services such as carrying luggage, cleaning rooms, and preparing meals.
Thus, for every child dreaming of attending Hogwarts, the Book and Quill were incredibly important magical objects.
Yet no wizard had ever succeeded in altering their judgment or forcing them to record a name that did not belong.
More than a century ago, Ivy himself had once picked up the Quill of Acceptance.
But he had been unable to write anything inside the Book.
The faded feather quill, crafted from an Augurey feather, refused to absorb even a single drop of ink.
The ink bottle beside the book had also been completely empty.
At the time, Ivy hadn’t possessed enough free time to properly study the artifacts, and therefore never discovered exactly how they functioned.
Still, according to certain restricted books from the library’s forbidden section, the ink flowing from the Quill of Acceptance was supposedly a mysterious silver liquid.
As for what that liquid truly was—nobody knew.
McGonagall disappeared up the staircase, and silence once again returned to the office.
Ivy wasn’t sure whether he should continue discussing the previous topics—Ancient Magic, the Doom Spell Tome, or anything else entirely.
And Dumbledore’s expression revealed absolutely nothing.
Suddenly, Dumbledore tore a slip of paper from a nearby sheet and rapidly scribbled several lines onto it.
Then he summoned Fawkes, whispered several instructions beside the phoenix’s head, and released the magnificent red-and-gold bird out the window.
“Perhaps we should continue today’s discussion another time.
Since you were once a Slytherin student, Severus can escort you to—”
Dumbledore was interrupted midway by McGonagall’s furious voice echoing from upstairs.
“I can hardly believe my eyes, Dumbledore!”
For some reason, she sounded genuinely angry.
“There are three students who still haven’t received their acceptance letters!”
“Mister Ivy Doom?”
McGonagall hurried down the stairs while calling his name loudly.
After Ivy hesitantly answered “Yes?”, she continued:
“This is your acceptance letter.
Once you’ve completed the Sorting Ceremony, you may wear that glowing Slytherin robe of yours as much as you like.”
By the time she finished speaking, she had already reached him and pressed a sealed envelope into his hands.
A wax seal decorated the front.
Beneath it rested a shield-shaped crest surrounding a large letter H, encircled by a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a serpent.
“I’ve solved one-third of the problem for you,” McGonagall declared before turning sharply toward Dumbledore.
“Perhaps you should think about how to handle the remaining two-thirds?”
Dumbledore looked both surprised and faintly amused.
“Hagrid has already been sent to deal with Mister Harry Potter’s situation,” he replied calmly.
“As for the final student who hasn’t received their letter…
Severus, I must trouble you to make the trip.”
Snape let out a deeply unwilling breath through his nose before reluctantly accepting the second envelope from McGonagall’s hand.
(End of Chapter)