Anduin stared at the radiant faces of Lily and James Potter. They were a portrait of doomed, oblivious happiness, completely unaware of the monstrous destiny hurtling toward them.
The simple, vague knowledge he possessed—a future where Voldemort burst into their home, killed them, and was somehow destroyed by their infant son, Harry—was a heavy weight of ethical responsibility.
Should I warn them? Should I break their perfect, fragile joy?
He knew the answer instantly: No.
Telling them the bare facts would not save them; it would likely result in him being labeled delusional, or worse, an agent of the Dark Arts sent to sow fear. They were already Voldemort's primary targets; they were likely under heavy protection and prepared for conflict.
His fragmented knowledge was useless, lacking the crucial details of the prophecy or the exact mechanism of the Dark Lord's defeat. Interference would only accelerate their timeline without offering a solution.
Lily, ever the empathetic one, noticed the intensity in his gaze. "What's wrong, Anduin? Are you feeling nervous about September? I was terrified when I got my letter, losing sleep for nights! But trust me, once you step onto the Hogwarts grounds, you will never regret it."
"Don't listen to her, Anduin," James interjected with a booming laugh, his chest swelling with house pride. "The Sorting Hat is easy. Ask for Gryffindor—the house of the brave! Best house, no contest. Though the others aren't terrible, mind you, except Slytherin, of course." He wrinkled his nose in dramatic disdain for the Snake House.
Lily gently swatted his arm. "Don't be ridiculous, James. Trust your own judgment, Anduin. Every House instills unique qualities. No matter where you land, as long as you study diligently and define your own path, you will achieve greatness. Your House is a guide, not a cage."
"Thank you, Mrs. Potter. Both of you," Anduin replied, his tone warm and deferential. He appreciated Lily's kindness and James's fierce loyalty. As an adult soul, nervousness was an alien concept, but he allowed Lily to finish her story, valuing the shared experience.
He knew he couldn't directly interfere, but his respect for Lily's genuine nature demanded some gesture.
"It is late, and the hour calls for caution," Professor McGonagall said, rising firmly. "Anduin, we must go. James, Lily, you both must be careful as well. Tonight is not the night for lingering."
Anduin and McGonagall stood, preparing to leave. Anduin turned back to the mother, his gaze lingering on her face.
"Mrs. Potter, if I may offer a final, simple prayer," he said, pitching his voice sincerely. "Please be exceedingly careful. May the divine protect you and your husband. Your child, Harry, will be a source of immense pride for you both, I am certain."
Because your child, Mrs. Potter, is the one destined to be the central pillar around which the rest of our lives will revolve. He could not speak the prophecy, but he could offer the strongest encouragement he could muster.
Lily's eyes softened, a profound warmth washing over her expression. "Thank you, Anduin. That is very kind of you to say."
She reached into her small embroidered bag and pulled out a small, circular item. "This is a tiny trinket I made, a little piece of charm work. Consider it a late-enrollment gift. It's a talisman of protection, if you will. Perhaps you can write to me sometime; I'd love to hear about your first few weeks at school."
Anduin accepted the gift. It was a smooth, coin-sized copper disc etched with the perfect image of a Doe, rendered with such delicate realism it seemed ready to leap away. He recognized the effort and the symbolic significance of the charm.
"I will treasure it, Mrs. Potter. Thank you." Anduin carefully tucked the doe talisman into the inner pocket of his coat, offered his final goodbye to the Potters, and followed Professor McGonagall out.
The return journey was another violent, dizzying Apparition. Anduin, prepared this time, focused entirely on the metallic core of his consciousness, utilizing the internal discipline honed over years. He still felt the crushing force, but the resulting nausea was fleeting. He surfaced in the muggle alleyway, rubbing the color back into his face, his balance restored instantly.
He nodded his final farewell to Professor McGonagall, assuring her of his safety, and made his way back to the quiet, oblivious confines of the Ellens Church Welfare House.
Back in the solitude of his room, the euphoria of the magical world vanished, replaced by cold, methodical analysis. He sat on his bed, the Ebony Wand resting on his palm. The Wizarding World was magnificent, yes, but it was also a warzone.
Reliance on others is weakness. Self-sufficiency is the only path to survival.
He could not simply trust his fate to Dumbledore's protection, especially as a Muggle-born who would be a prime target for the Dark Lord's followers. He needed a rapid power increase before September 1st.
He systematically reviewed the key intelligence gathered from Professor McGonagall:
The Threat Level: The Ministry of Magic is effectively operating under a state of martial law, evidenced by the Auror patrols and the early activation of The Trace for new wand owners. The war is currently hot.
The Constraint (The Trace): The Ministry's monitoring spell is range-based. It tracks magical signatures in Muggle areas but cannot pinpoint an individual caster within a dense magical environment like Diagon Alley.
The Sanctuary: Diagon Alley, due to Dumbledore's influence and the Aurors' presence, is the safest civilian zone outside of Hogwarts.
His decision was instantaneous and absolute: He could not remain in the orphanage.
To maximize his self-defense training, he needed a place where he could practice wand magic without triggering the Ministry's security apparatus. The only viable option was the concentrated magical environment of Diagon Alley. He had to abandon the orphanage and secure residence in the Wizarding World immediately.
He reached for the Ebony Wand, his fingers tracing the cold, lightning-struck grain. He sighed softly, a moment of profound commitment.
"From this moment forward, you and I are partners, Dark Picture," he whispered, giving the wand a name that reflected his path toward power and his deep familiarity with the shadows. "I will trust you completely. Are you prepared to show this world the kind of devastating power a disciplined mind can achieve?"
As if in assent, a faint electric hum resonated up his arm, and a tiny, cold arc of blue-white electricity jumped between his palm and the matte-black wood, harmlessly reinforcing their bond.
Having settled his purpose, Anduin went to bed with the disciplined efficiency of a man preparing for a critical, high-risk mission.
Meanwhile, far away, within the towering stone walls of Hogwarts, the castle was a sleeping behemoth, its quiet halls holding a tangible sense of ancient, unyielding power.
Professor McGonagall climbed the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office, the gargoyle guardian having reluctantly yielded passage.
She found Albus Dumbledore sitting behind his magnificent, claw-footed desk. He was casually stroking his magnificent scarlet and gold phoenix, Fawkes, whose eyes glowed warmly in the lamplight.
"Albus, your interview tonight—how did it go?" McGonagall asked, dispensing with greetings. Her skepticism regarding the proposed appointment was evident. "You know my thoughts on Divination. Most practitioners in our world are little more than theatrical charlatans."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, reflecting the glow of his phoenix. He adjusted his half-moon spectacles, the startling intensity of his gaze focusing entirely on her. He had, in fact, just heard the staggering, world-changing prophecy in Hogsmeade minutes before, a secret that sat heavy and cold in his heart.
"I am saddened to think, Minerva, that you may soon find yourself teaching alongside Hogwarts' first genuine Divination instructor." He paused, allowing the weight of that statement to sink in before smoothly shifting the subject. "But let us speak of more uplifting things. Tell me of the new Muggle-born. His name was Ann—Andrew?"
"Anduin—Anduin Wilson, Albus," McGonagall corrected, her face softening instantly as she spoke of the new student. "He is exceptional. Impeccably polite, disciplined, and possessing a phenomenal, self-taught raw ability. He is precisely the kind of talent we desperately need."
She relayed the day's events, her praise genuine. "We also encountered James and Lily Potter. The baby is due very soon, and they seemed quite taken with Anduin. He made a most favorable impression on them."
Dumbledore's smile faded, replaced by a deep, weary melancholy that only his phoenix seemed to notice.