While he was still in school, Harry had asked Skyl to let him join his class.
"With your talent and abilities, given enough time, you're bound to become a great wizard on par with Dumbledore, perhaps even surpassing him. Why seek my guidance? I'm an irresponsible teacher. You'd hardly learn anything useful by studying under me."
Skyl's attempt to dissuade him did nothing to shake Harry's conviction. He firmly believed that he ought to become a disciple of the Tower of Tomes' most formidable member.
Perhaps Voldemort's soul fragment was influencing him, but Harry always experienced a strange mixture of admiration and fear whenever he faced Skyl. He couldn't help looking up to him, yet his presence also made him tremble.
As time passed, Harry grew increasingly mature and composed, but also increasingly lonely. Neither Ron, Hermione, Neville, nor even his resurrected parents, Lily and James, or his godfather Sirius could persuade him to open his heart.
Most teenagers admired strength, and Harry was no exception. He had simply caught sight of a towering mountain and wanted to climb it. Compared to that peak, every other mountain looked like a little hill.
After Skyl graduated, Harry began worrying that he might never see him again. Although they had added each other as friends, Harry didn't dare disturb him during his free time. Consequently, he spent the entire summer in a gloomy mood. At first, Lily and James's affection had him so overwhelmed with happiness that he could barely think straight, but before long, the sorrow of separation caught up with him.
Some people might be separated by thousands of miles and still have a chance to meet again within their lifetimes. Others were separated by entire universes, with an infinite gulf stretching between them.
Only after they parted did Harry realize that Skyl was actually someone far beyond his reach. The fact that their paths had crossed at all seemed more like a remarkable accident.
Perhaps another analogy would be more appropriate. Imagine a student at a small rural school discovering that one of his classmates was actually the president of a country. How could he possibly accept that? The other person's life was so dazzling, while he himself might spend his entire life struggling, only to find that he could never escape the poverty of his hometown.
To Harry, the planet he lived on, and even the universe surrounding it, was nothing more than an impoverished backwater that kept him trapped.
That was why, when he saw Skyl again, he could hardly believe his eyes.
Hermione, Ron, and the others immediately crowded around Skyl, bombarding him with questions and chatting about everything under the sun. They were curious about where he had gone during summer vacation and eagerly shared stories about their own holidays. Some even pulled out copies of The Spellcaster's Primer and asked Skyl to autograph them and write a few encouraging words.
Harry stood at the edge of the crowd, privately scoffing at his classmates. To him, they resembled medieval peasants eagerly describing black bread and clods of dirt to their king.
"Harry, come here."
Skyl beckoned, and the Boy Who Lived immediately hurried over.
"Mr. Skyl! It's... it's been a long time."
"Let me take a look at your Guide."
Skyl felt as though he were conducting a home visit to check on a student's progress. One glance at Harry was enough to tell him that Voldemort's soul fragment remained almost completely integrated with the boy.
Harry could practically be considered the Dark Lord reborn. He had inherited Voldemort's memories from the height of his power, along with a portion of his magical abilities. As long as his personality didn't undergo any drastic changes, there was no need to worry about him turning evil and causing trouble.
The Wizard's Practical Guide documented fragments of Harry's development. Every magical entry represented another step the boy had taken in his climb toward mastery. Although Voldemort's soul had undoubtedly helped him, assimilating that knowledge so quickly still required relentless effort.
Without the Guide protecting him against the mental corruption caused by the soul fragment, Harry might genuinely have become a bad kid. After all, the most effective way to assimilate a soul fragment was to play the role of its original owner.
"Not bad. Keep this up, and within three years, you'll be able to hold your own against Professor Dumbledore as he was back in the day. By 'back in the day,' I mean the beginning of this century, before the First World War. As for the Dumbledore of today? You still have a very long road ahead of you."
Harry's classmates gasped in collective amazement.
Comparable to Dumbledore!
They weren't talking about some ordinary wizard, but the greatest wizard in the entire magical world. Granted, Skyl was referring to Dumbledore from more than half a century ago, but even then, the headmaster had already been a formidable wizard who had defeated Grindelwald and earned worldwide fame.
Harry, however, remained dissatisfied. Skyl's assessment only intensified his desire to become his apprentice.
Later that day, Harry visited Skyl alone in his dormitory and formally asked to become his student.
The situation reminded Skyl of a graduate student searching for a thesis advisor, and he couldn't help chuckling.
If his special ability had been one of those systems that rewarded a master with ten thousand times whatever he invested in his disciples, he would have accepted...
Hermione, of course.
That girl was a genuine academic prodigy, outstanding in practically every subject except Divination. Harry was more of a specialist with exceptional talent in certain areas, so his overall value as a disciple was comparatively lower.
"Are you planning to participate in this year's Triwizard Tournament?" Skyl asked, changing the subject instead of giving Harry a direct answer.
Harry's eyes lit up.
"If I win the championship, will you let me join your class?"
"I'm not planning to take on any students for the time being. However, I'm preparing to establish an advanced school of magic, and its admission requirements will be rather demanding. If you can distinguish yourself in a competition like the Triwizard Tournament, which enjoys a certain degree of recognition in this world, it'll make your résumé more impressive. That way, admitting you won't raise too many eyebrows. What do you think? Interested?"
"Will you be teaching there?"
"I will."
"Then I'm definitely entering!"
Skyl smiled.
As if he'd actually established any admission requirements!
The school he intended to establish in Skylrael would primarily recruit students through recommendations from professors. Another admission method would involve distributing acceptance letters as rewards from instanced planes on the Silver Tree's network. Players who obtained these letters could pay a certain amount of Candle Coins to enroll as students.
The real reason Skyl wanted Harry to participate in the tournament was a bet he'd previously made with Grindelwald.
The first Dark Lord had rather complicated feelings toward his alma mater.
On the one hand, he considered its professors incompetent and its students a bunch of useless good-for-nothings.
On the other hand, he was, after all, an expelled former student of the institution. That connection meant he couldn't help feeling exasperated by Durmstrang's rather "impressive" record of failing to win a single championship in five centuries.
During a casual conversation, Grindelwald had remarked that this year's Triwizard Tournament champion might well come from Durmstrang.
Skyl, who happened to be nearby, casually replied, "Harry's going to win."
The Dark Lord fell silent for a moment.
"Harry is a good boy, but he's still too inexperienced."
"Wanna bet?"
"What are we betting on?" Dumbledore asked, immediately joining the conversation.
"Go away. This doesn't concern you."
Grindelwald shot him a glare, and the old headmaster reluctantly retreated to his office chair.
After thinking for a moment, the Dark Lord suggested, "Let's keep it a friendly wager. The loser has to eat an entire meal while hanging upside down in the Great Hall. How does that sound?"
"You're a vampire. That gives you an unfair advantage."
Skyl stroked his chin.
"How about this instead? The loser has to wear his underwear over his pants and deliver a speech to the students and faculty of all three schools at the banquet following the tournament."
"What would the speech be about?"
"How about Professor Dumbledore's romantic escapades?"
The old headmaster's eyes widened in outrage, and even his beard bristled with indignation.
"Absolutely not!" Grindelwald rejected the suggestion without hesitation.
Old Bumblebee smiled faintly, his expression speaking volumes.
"Then how about a comedy routine? The Muggles around here call it stand-up comedy. Basically, you'd have to entertain everyone and make them laugh. Whatever happens, the loser has to leave the audience with a lasting impression."
"Deal."
Dumbledore's eyes suddenly lit up.
"I'm quite good at telling jokes, you know! I could tell you one right now. So, a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun walk into a tavern..."
"STOP!"
Skyl and Grindelwald shouted in perfect unison.
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