Harry Potter: Prince of Shadows

It was the kind of statement that could leave even the most seasoned wizard utterly speechless.

Kraft's eyes widened in sheer disbelief.

"What... what did you just say!?"

For a moment, he genuinely wondered if his aging ears had deceived him, conjuring some absurd hallucination.

"He said he wants to become the Dark Lord," Aurora recounted matter-of-factly, her voice devoid of any emotion.

After a brief pause, she added, as if merely commenting on the weather, "Oh, and he mentioned wanting to visit Nurmengard to study under my grandfather. Said it would help him graduate."

She considered her summary efficient and to the point.

With that, Aurora returned her attention to her notes, completely unbothered by the magnitude of what she had just conveyed.

Kraft, however, was anything but composed.

"???"

The elderly wizard was utterly stunned.

Though he was not intimately familiar with Hogwarts, he highly doubted its graduation requirements were so demanding that a student needed to seek personal tutelage from Grindelwald himself.

And seriously—what's this about wanting to become the next Dark Lord!?

Are all young wizards this bold these days!?

"Another ambitious prodigy emerging from Dumbledore's school! Hahaha! The world's 'greatest' white wizard? How utterly laughable and ironic!"

Once the shock settled, Kraft erupted into a fit of delighted laughter.

He didn't doubt Aurora's words—not even for a second.

After all, this was precisely the kind of scenario he and his fellow Saints had longed for—proof of Dumbledore's hypocrisy. First, his school birthed Voldemort. And now, another student openly aspired to take up the mantle of a Dark Lord.

Could there be anything more satisfying?

Absolutely not.

To the Saints, this was irrefutable evidence of Dumbledore's double standards. If he was truly the beacon of righteousness, then why did his beloved school continue to produce so-called "monsters"?

"Excellent, excellent! I underestimated the boy's audacity, but this isn't a bad thing for us. You should consider drawing him to our side with small gestures of goodwill."

Kraft's grin widened as he leaned back in his chair. "From what I've observed, his magical talent is quite promising."

He barely managed to suppress his chuckles, his voice hoarse from laughter.

Settling into his creaky rocking chair, his cloudy eyes shimmered with anticipation. Anything that could stain Dumbledore's reputation was worth nurturing.

"Winning hearts, is it? Grandfather taught me about that. That's why I gave him a book," Aurora stated simply.

Then, as if realizing a possible misunderstanding, she clarified, "My own book."

To her, this distinction was crucial.

Not that it mattered much to Kraft.

What mattered was that Aurora had already taken the initiative to earn Ian's goodwill.

"Splendid! To see you putting theory into practice—that is true growth!" Kraft clapped his hands in delight.

"For someone your age, winning the loyalty of a peer shouldn't be too difficult. I'm certain you've already secured your first follower."

He had great faith in Aurora—not only due to her lineage but because her striking beauty gave her a kind of "white moonlight" allure that most boys her age would find irresistible.

That, too, was an advantage to be wielded.

Kraft gazed at the girl before him, his pride evident.

Aurora, however, simply shook her head.

"I don't think a single book is enough to earn someone's allegiance," she said, calmly closing the notebook in her lap and placing it into a drawer.

"Of course, of course! It's just the beginning," Kraft reassured her, still grinning.

"Perhaps such tactics work on most young wizards, but Ian Prince is different. He stands apart from the rest," Aurora stated.

Her young yet refined face bore an air of seriousness.

"Perhaps he's your first friend, and that makes him special to you?" Kraft's expression turned cautious.

In his eagerness to focus on Aurora's potential, he had almost overlooked Ian's own ability to wield influence.

"I know what you're thinking, but it's not that," Aurora sighed, shaking her head.

"True, he's the first person who dared to call me a friend. I'm curious about him, but that's not why I find Ian Prince unique," she continued, her mismatched eyes glinting with something beyond mere intrigue.

"Oh?" Kraft's curiosity deepened.

"You've taught me well. So, even with limited interaction, I can make an assessment. Ian Prince isn't someone who places his faith in others," Aurora explained.

"He won't become one of you."

Her tone was definitive.

Kraft, however, disagreed.

"That's because you haven't yet planted the seeds of faith in his heart. Miss, don't overestimate the resilience of others. Bold claims like wanting to become the Dark Lord or learning from Grindelwald—these are just the naive fantasies of a child, blinded by arrogance and self-importance."

"But as he grows older, as he confronts his own mediocrity and frailty, he'll realize the value of aligning with strength," Kraft said, his voice laced with conviction.

Aurora, however, remained steadfast. She shook her head once more.

"You're wrong."

Closing her eyes momentarily, she added, "He won't acknowledge mediocrity, nor will he seek refuge in the shadow of the strong, because… he might truly become the Dark Lord."

She opened her eyes, gazing toward the shop's door as if reliving a moment from earlier that day.

"I've seen him before."

"Huh?" Kraft frowned.

"Not today—back in Diagon Alley. Before I entered the wand shop… I saw something."

Her voice was soft, almost ethereal.

Kraft's expression shifted.

"You mean… you foresaw something?" His voice trembled with uncertainty.

Aurora nodded.

"My gift isn't as strong as Grandfather's, but occasionally, I glimpse fragments of the future… I saw him. I saw glimpses of what's to come," she said, her voice steady yet grave.

"Did you see him become the Dark Lord?" Kraft asked, eyes narrowing.

"No." Aurora shook her head.

Kraft's expression twisted in confusion.

"Riddles are an annoying habit. Don't mimic your grandfather or that cursed Dumbledore," he muttered.

Aurora had no intention of being puzzling.

Her gaze sharpened as she recalled the vision, her voice unwavering.

"I saw him standing before a tower, raising his wand, casting a spell."

Kraft listened intently, his breath caught in his throat.

"Mist concealed much of the scene, but one detail was unmistakable…"

Aurora's mismatched eyes locked onto his, and she delivered the final blow.

"Dumbledore was kneeling at his feet—Crying."