Harry was no longer the clueless boy who knew nothing about the magical world. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry might sound like just a school, but it held significant social and historical prestige. It not only owned its own land and forests but was also led by a highly respected headmaster.
As the headmaster, Dumbledore was essentially the lord of Hogwarts, wielding the highest authority. Harry, on the other hand, was well aware that he was merely a student who would spend seven years here. There was no need for him to overstep his bounds and handle matters that should be dealt with by the school's lord—especially since the lord hadn’t even assigned any tasks yet.
A professor whose body was healthy but whose soul was on the verge of decay had cast an unknown spell on a student. Such a matter concerning student safety should be handled by the professors, like Professor McGonagall, who took such issues very seriously.
In the library, Harry found records about the spell Legilimency. This spell could essentially be understood as the magical equivalent of mind-reading in the Muggle world. As Neville had mentioned, it also caused the target to relive past memories while the caster was viewing them.
Under the current laws of the Ministry of Magic, casting Legilimency on someone without their consent was a crime punishable by a sentence in Azkaban—by the way, Harry noticed that many magical laws seemed to punish offenders by sending them to Azkaban, with only the length of the sentence varying.
Petty theft might land you in Azkaban for a month or two, more serious crimes for a year or two, and murder would get you a decade or more. Azkaban was like a giant trash bin, where all sorts of criminals were dumped.
The headmaster's office was on the eighth floor of Hogwarts. Harry had gotten the latest password from Professor McGonagall and, under her piercing gaze, left her office—no matter how much she pressed him, Harry insisted on reporting directly to the headmaster.
Harry had a feeling his next Transfiguration homework assignment might be a bit heavier.
"Password."
"Uh... Cockroach Clusters?" Harry said, looking at the stone gargoyle in front of him.
The gargoyle jumped aside, revealing a door behind it, and a spiral staircase gracefully descended.
Harry's expression was a bit odd. He knew what Cockroach Clusters were—a type of magical candy that scuttled around like real cockroaches. Out of curiosity about magical food, Harry had once mustered the courage to try one. The sensation of it squirming and bursting in his mouth like a real cockroach was... unsettling, to say the least.
Did Headmaster Dumbledore really enjoy these?
To be honest, Harry had always mentally grouped Dumbledore with Jaina's mentor, Antonidas. Both were elderly, white-bearded wizards. But now, it seemed he needed to separate the two in his mind. Antonidas, though kind and gentle in demeanor, wasn’t as whimsical or open to new experiences as Dumbledore. The idea of Antonidas eating Cockroach Clusters was about as likely as him willingly walking to his death.
Ascending the spiral staircase, Harry knocked and entered the headmaster's office. It was a circular room with walls lined with moving portraits, likely former headmasters of Hogwarts. At the moment, they were all snoring—or pretending to snore. Harry could feel their eyes on him, as if they were silently judging him.
On either side of the room were slender-legged tables cluttered with strange silver instruments of unknown purpose. A silver incense burner emitted a steady stream of smoke. Dumbledore sat behind a desk in the center of the room, dressed in a silver robe adorned with blue stars.
"Harry?" Dumbledore sounded surprised. "I didn’t expect to see you. Are you facing any difficulties?"
"Oh, if it’s about your godfather, I’m afraid we still need more time. There’s no definitive evidence yet," Dumbledore added, as if suddenly remembering something. "I understand your longing for family, but please be patient, my boy."
He seemed to have misunderstood.
It took Harry a moment to realize who Dumbledore was referring to—in this world, he had a godfather currently imprisoned in Azkaban. But truthfully, Harry didn’t feel much about it. If Dumbledore hadn’t brought it up, he would have forgotten the man even existed.
"No, Headmaster," Harry shook his head. "It’s about Professor Quirrell."
"Professor Quirrell," Dumbledore straightened up.
"You seem to have expected this?" Harry keenly noticed this—Dumbledore's expression turned serious in an instant.
"Have a seat, Harry. Would you like some candy?" Dumbledore didn’t answer Harry’s question directly. Instead, he gestured for Harry to sit across from him and pushed a box of Cockroach Clusters toward him.
"No, thank you," Harry declined firmly. "Cockroach Clusters are a bit too sweet for my taste."
"It seems you’ve already tried them. That’s quite adventurous of you," Dumbledore said, looking at Harry with a hint of surprise. He seemed pleased that he didn’t have to share his candy. "Now, what have you discovered?"
The old man had deftly sidestepped Harry’s question, but Harry didn’t mind. He was pondering how much to tell Dumbledore and how to phrase it. In the end, Harry decided to be honest. If he wanted to achieve anything at Hogwarts, he couldn’t bypass Dumbledore—in fact, he might even need the headmaster’s cooperation and approval.
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Honesty was always the best policy.
"Do you know about shamans, Headmaster? Shaman priests," Harry asked.
"Of course," Dumbledore nodded. "They’re primarily found in Africa and South America. Many wizards have tried to expel Uagadou from the ranks of magical schools because their students don’t rely on wands for magic. Instead, they use hand gestures, fingers, or various ritual dances. If that’s the kind of shaman you’re referring to, then yes, we’re talking about the same thing."
Uagadou was a magical school in Africa with a thousand-year history and a strong international reputation. Their students found it easy to bypass the International Statute of Secrecy, as they could simply claim they had accidentally waved a finger and cast a spell, often escaping punishment.
"It’s a bit different, Headmaster," Harry scratched his head in frustration. "The shamans I’m talking about aren’t just distinguished from wizards by their methods of casting spells. In my view, shamans are the balancers of the world’s elements, ensuring that earth, wind, water, and fire remain in harmony, creating an environment suitable for human life."
"At the same time, shamans are servants of the spirit, masters of soul power. They can communicate with the departed, listen to the wisdom of ancestors, and draw strength from them. We believe that all things have a spirit."
"Clearly, Harry, we’re not talking about the same shamans," Dumbledore said humorously. "In my experience, shamans are usually dancing around a fire amidst the smoke of burning herbs, not dealing with the... four elements you mentioned."
"Generally, the term 'four elements' appears in alchemy, but the common understanding isn’t earth, wind, water, and fire—it’s earth, air, water, and fire. My apologies, I seem to have digressed."
Dumbledore seemed quite cheerful, his tone light and airy.
"And soul power," his voice suddenly dropped. Gazing into Harry’s eyes, Dumbledore said softly, "You must understand, Harry, matters related to the soul are often taboo—a word that easily evokes caution and aversion."
"Soul magic, I dare say, is instinctively perceived as inherently evil by most people. It’s a forbidden art among the living."
Dumbledore was very, very serious.
"I know, Headmaster," Harry replied calmly, unfazed by Dumbledore’s stern demeanor. "The path of the soul is indeed perilous. It’s easy to be led astray, and that’s an undeniable fact."
Too many shamans had been lured down dark paths by the voices they heard—voices that masqueraded as the spirits of departed loved ones or the whispers of the elements.
"At the same time, I regret that the true path of the shaman hasn’t been spread in this world. The elemental forces here have lain dormant for too long, and people are always filled with fear of the unknown."
"Neither elemental power nor soul power is inherently evil in my eyes. Even fel magic—yes, even fel magic—can be used to protect one’s world," Harry said, thinking of the warlocks he knew who lived in the sewers. "The consequences of power depend solely on the user. If the user harbors malice, even the Holy Light can be twisted into something evil."
"Oh, Harry, you must forgive an old man of a hundred years," Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily. "You’ve mentioned so many things I’ve never heard of. You must consider an old man’s capacity to absorb new information—but I must say, I’m quite pleased."
"It seems I’ve been granted access to your secrets, haven’t I?" Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled mischievously, like a playful child. "The rock giant? And the souls of Lily and James?"
Dumbledore was genuinely happy.
"I’ve never believed these things needed to be kept secret, Headmaster," Harry said frankly. "I’m not a naive child who hoards every good thing I find, afraid someone might take it away."
"One person’s strength is limited. To go further, we must work together with like-minded individuals."
Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap.
Applause erupted in the headmaster’s office. Not just from Dumbledore, but from the portraits of former headmasters lining the walls, who had stopped pretending to sleep and were now clapping enthusiastically.
"Well said, my boy!" a female headmaster exclaimed.
Harry noticed a headmaster dressed in dark green robes, with sharp features and neatly combed hair—clearly a Slytherin—who seemed about to say something. But before he could, several other headmasters leaped into his portrait, covering his mouth and pinning him to the ground.
Huh, these deceased headmasters were more lively than Harry had imagined.
"Pay no mind, my boy," a headmaster wearing a black hat appeared in the foreground of the portrait, blocking the scuffle behind him. He chuckled, "It’s rare for a child—no, even for many adults—to possess such thoughts. You have a bright future ahead of you."
"Indeed, we look forward to the day you join us on these walls," the female headmaster added with a smile. "We’ll have much to discuss."
"Now, now, Dilys, it’s a bit early for such talk," Dumbledore complained. "I still feel young. I could easily go on for another ten years—maybe even twenty."
"Come now, Albus," another headmaster in a portrait said bluntly. "Look at yourself. If you really have another ten or twenty years, you should focus on finding a way to have a grandchild. At least don’t leave any regrets behind."
Dumbledore pretended not to hear.
"Alright, everyone, let’s settle down. Harry still has much to say," Dumbledore said, looking left and right but avoiding the gaze of the critical headmaster. Sometimes, it was best not to engage in a losing battle.
"While your heart is remarkably open, Harry, I wouldn’t ask you to reveal all your secrets. Everyone is entitled to their privacy, after all," Dumbledore said gently. "You only need to share what you’re comfortable with. So, you’ve become a... shaman, distinct from the traditional kind?"
"Yes, Headmaster," Harry nodded. "I will dedicate my life to maintaining the balance of the elements, reviving the dormant elemental spirits of this world. At the same time, I will serve the spirits of the departed, guiding those who are lost."
"It sounds like you’ve already decided your future," Dumbledore remarked.
"It will be a difficult journey, but I believe I have the perseverance to see it through," Harry said resolutely.
"I must admit, everything you’ve said today is entirely new to me, Harry," Dumbledore said after a moment of thought. "I’m inclined to believe you, but if the elemental spirits were to awaken, what would happen to this world?"
"Wizards would gain access to more powers," Harry mused. "Elemental magic would become more active, and wizards’ abilities would strengthen. The variety of spells would increase, and the overall concentration of magical energy in the world would rise, making it easier for wizards to cast spells. Oh, and in a high-magic environment, the number of young wizards born would likely increase..."
Dumbledore fell silent, his gaze distant. Though he was looking at Harry, it seemed as if he were seeing someone else.
"Headmaster? Professor Dumbledore?" Harry called out twice.
"Ah, my apologies. Old age makes one prone to wandering thoughts," Dumbledore rubbed his eyes and continued. "It all sounds quite remarkable, very remarkable indeed... Did your teacher tell you all this?"
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