Chapter 65: A System Apart
After Harry vanished with a soft pop from the Portkey, the Headmaster's office settled into a heavy, expectant quiet. Elian, feeling oddly full and calm, helped himself to another biscuit from the dwindling tray.
"These really are excellent, Headmaster," he remarked, sipping his now-lukewarm tea.
Dumbledore did not reply immediately. He stood by his desk, his gaze fixed on Elian with an intensity that had nothing to do with his usual twinkling benevolence. It was the look of a scholar confronted with an impossible equation.
"Elian," Dumbledore began, his voice measured. "I could not help but observe… you did not use a wand. Not when you separated our spirits. Not when you moved our bodies. There was no wand at all."
It was not an accusation. It was a statement of profound, world-shaking fact. In all his centuries of study, in all the arcane lore he had consumed, Dumbledore had never encountered a reliable account of sustained, controlled magic performed without a wand by a human witch or wizard. House-elves had their own brand of magic. But this… this was different.
Elian set his cup down. The time for casual deflection was over. This was the heart of the matter. He met Dumbledore's piercing stare.
"No," he said simply. "I did not."
To demonstrate, he flicked a finger. The teapot, across the room, levitated gracefully. It poured a fresh stream of amber tea into a clean cup, which then sailed through the air to hover before Dumbledore. All of it was done in utter silence, with no more than a thought and a subtle gesture.
"Your tea, Headmaster. While it's hot."
Dumbledore accepted the cup mechanically, his eyes never leaving Elian's hands. The confirmation was now physical, undeniable. He took a sip, the action automatic, his mind racing ahead.
"A new… system?" Dumbledore finally breathed, the concept both thrilling and terrifying. "A form of magic entirely separate from our own?"
Elian leaned back, his posture relaxed but his eyes serious. "Let's just say it's a different path to the same universal truths. One that doesn't require a wooden focus to channel will into reality."
Dumbledore's hand, resting on his desk, drifted unconsciously toward his own wand—the Elder Wand, the most powerful focus in existence. It was a gesture of habit, of deeply ingrained understanding. Elian's gaze flicked to the movement, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips.
"You needn't be concerned, Professor," Elian said gently. "If I served Voldemort or the Ministry, Harry's secret would remain just that—a secret. I am not your enemy. But I am not… of your world's magic, either."
He paused, choosing his words with care. "This power… it could reform the wizarding world. Or subvert it. Its time within these walls has not yet come, but it may. And when it does, forewarned is forearmed."
He was laying groundwork. The System's tasks were growing bolder. Teaching, spreading the knowledge of Kama-Taj—it felt like an inevitable future challenge. Better Dumbledore hear it now as a distant possibility than as a sudden, disruptive revolution.
Dumbledore absorbed this quietly, the weight of the revelation settling upon him. The hunger for knowledge, the urge to dissect and understand this new paradigm, warred with the wisdom of centuries. He saw the boundary Elian had drawn.
"I see," Dumbledore said at length, the tension leaving his shoulders. He withdrew his hand from his wand. "A mystery for another day, then. You have given me more than enough to ponder this night." He managed a tired, genuine smile. "And you have my deepest thanks, for Harry's sake."
He moved toward the door, his manner shifting back to that of a host. "Harry and the Weasleys are at the Order's headquarters. You are, of course, welcome to join them."
Elian stood. "Thank you, but I have other matters to attend to. It's late."
"Of course." Dumbledore nodded. As Elian reached the door, the Headmaster added, his tone lightly teasing but his eyes kind, "With Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley otherwise occupied, perhaps you might check on Miss Granger. I believe she may have… questions after today's lunch."
Elian froze for a split second, then chuckled despite himself. The old man missed nothing. "Goodnight, Headmaster."
"Goodnight, Mr. Thorne. And… tread carefully. The path you walk is uniquely your own."
Elian stepped out onto the revolving staircase, the gargoyle grinding shut behind him. In the dark, silent corridor, he let out a long breath. One crisis navigated. A terrifying truth revealed. A priceless reward secured.
And now, he had a different, arguably more dangerous, conversation to prepare for. Hermione Granger was waiting, and her questions would not be about wandless magic or fragmented souls. They would be far more personal, and just as complex.
(End of Chapter)
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