Ever since defeating Grindelwald all those years ago, Dumbledore had been widely regarded as the greatest, most powerful wizard alive. He'd never openly claimed the title himself, but deep down, he knew it was true.
Across the entire wizarding world, there probably wasn't — couldn't possibly be — another wizard who could genuinely rival him.
Then, of course, Voldemort had emerged, becoming the second Dark Lord.
Voldemort had always shown a deep wariness toward Dumbledore, and had come out on the losing end of nearly every direct confrontation between them.
But Dumbledore knew perfectly well that Voldemort's raw magical talent wasn't actually inferior to his own — the gap between them existed purely because Dumbledore had simply had decades more time to study magic. If Voldemort were given enough time, he might not surpass Dumbledore outright, but he'd very likely close the gap to something close to parity.
As for his old friend Grindelwald — his magical talent hadn't fallen short of Dumbledore's own either. The reason Dumbledore had beaten him, back then, came down to Grindelwald spending most of his time and energy on things outside of magic itself.
It was a bit like two students: one spends every waking hour studying and scores a 700 on his exams, while the other pours his time and energy into student council business and various other distractions, ending up with a 690.
Either way, the one who scored 700 wasn't exactly going to feel thrilled looking at the one who scored 690.
Beyond that, there truly wasn't a single person left in the entire wizarding world whose command of magic Dumbledore genuinely considered on his own level.
Until now.
The quiet sense of superiority Dumbledore had carried for so many years had just evaporated entirely. Sure, raw destructive power alone couldn't fully measure a wizard's true strength — but a gap this vast... did anything else even matter at that point?
Watching Dumbledore fall silent, Vincent continued, "The reason I want a Ministry position is that working there will let me further refine this magic of mine. Once that's done, I'll be leaving the Ministry as well."
"..."
Dumbledore still had no idea what studying magic could possibly have to do with taking a Ministry job.
But by this point, he'd already given up trying to make sense of why Charles had grown this powerful so suddenly and silently, focusing instead on what consequences this might bring.
If Charles remained the boy Dumbledore had always known him to be, there was nothing to worry about at all — he'd be delighted his own student had surpassed him, and genuinely look forward to studying magic alongside him.
But if he turned out to be another Tom...
No.
Charles wasn't the kind of person Tom was.
Dumbledore trusted his own judgment on that.
His mood lightened almost instantly. Tom, oh Tom — your hard times are just getting started.
Before long, the two of them were back in the headmaster's office — Vincent had used "Chaos" to compress the distance between the Forbidden Forest and the office down to a single step.
They stepped forward once, and instantly crossed several kilometers, arriving back at Hogwarts's front gates.
"Is that also the result of your 'magic research'?"
"Yep."
"..."
Dumbledore wasn't a fool. Moments ago, the sheer shock of it had briefly overridden his ability to think clearly — but now that he'd regained his composure, his sharp mind was back in full force.
He'd spent well over a hundred years studying and researching magic. Calling what he'd just witnessed "magic" — was that supposed to insult his aging eyes?
Sure, you could slap the label "ancient magic" on it, but ancient magic was still magic — it should still follow some basic principles of how magic worked, shouldn't it?
Dumbledore was nearly certain that whatever Charles had just used wasn't magic at all — or, at the very least, not purely magic.
The two men exchanged a glance, and, in the end, said nothing further.
Dumbledore figured that since Charles had chosen not to tell him the truth, pressing him for it would only leave them both in an awkward position.
As for why Vincent hadn't told Dumbledore the truth — the reason was simple enough: caution.
Sure, he figured that between his demigod strength and the Black Emperor card's power, he could probably steamroll the entire Harry Potter world if it came to it — but better safe than sorry. Who knew what "turtles" might still be lurking in this seemingly shallow pond of a world?
After all, Merlin genuinely existed in this world — and where there was Merlin, there might well be Avalon, the Lady of the Lake, various goddesses, and all the deities woven through Celtic mythology besides.
No one could guarantee some actual god wouldn't suddenly pop out of nowhere and wipe out a mere demigod like him with a wave of its hand.
And even if all of that turned out to be pure paranoia on his part — this world also had "Death" himself, as an actual character. Better to stay cautious, just in case.
...
Having said his goodbyes to Dumbledore, Vincent returned to his bedroom at Hogwarts.
The moment he pushed the door open, he was greeted by a lively burst of chiptune music — the little black cat sat perched in front of the television, deftly working the game controller with its two front paws, rapid-fire, playing the protagonist of Dragon Quest.
"..."
Well, damn.
He'd figured, from what Bernadette had said, that this cat was simply drawn to something as inherently fascinating and mobile as a video game screen — turned out it was genuinely, actually interested in the games themselves.
Not just interested — capable of playing them directly. With its paws.
No wonder Bernadette had suspected it might be someone else's Animagus form.
In the wizarding world, there were, in fact, two circumstances where a wizard turned into an animal permanently, unable to change back. One was during an Animagus transformation itself — on the very first night of the change, there was some risk of failure, and the result of that failure was total loss of one's human identity, becoming, permanently, a purely ordinary animal.
The other was a Blood-Cursed Shapeshifter — a hereditary family curse that let one shift between human and beast form almost from birth. The catch was, over time, a Blood-Cursed Shapeshifter would eventually transform fully into a beast, permanently, losing every trace of human memory in the process.
But if this cat fell into either category, it was clearly, suspiciously too intelligent — aside from not being able to speak, it acted, in every other way, exactly like a mischievous child.
Combined with the various special magical abilities it clearly possessed... the only real conclusion was that this was some previously undiscovered, extraordinary magical creature.
"Meow!"
Vincent grabbed its two front paws and lifted it up. It let out a startled cry, glaring at Vincent in confusion, its fluffy tail curling instinctively over its belly, covering itself.
Huh. Modest, are we?
Seeing Vincent just holding it up, saying nothing, it twisted its body, kicked him hard, wrenched itself free, and dropped straight back down in front of the controller, resuming its game.
Vincent sat down beside it. "Hey, little guy. Do you have a name?"
The little black cat glanced back at him, meowing in confusion: Didn't I already tell you that before? I forgot. Does this guy really have that bad a memory?
Vincent more or less caught the gist from its expression. He thought it over. "I know you forgot. I'm asking whether you've remembered anything, since then."
It shook its head, eyes fixed on the TV screen.
"How about I give you a name, then?"
No reaction.
"Well — since you're all black, how about... Blackie?"
Vincent rubbed his chin, smiling. "I used to know a cat named Luo Xiaohei — adorable little thing. How about you take my surname — Chen Xiaohei, 'Little Chen Black'?"
The moment the words left his mouth, the little black cat gave itself a shake, and in an instant transformed into a long-haired white Persian, glancing back at him with clear disdain: I'm not black.
"Whitey, then."
It turned into an orange tabby.
"Big Orange!"
It turned into a beautiful calico.
"Calico."
It turned into a cat that looked like it had been dipped in an entire palette of paint, every color imaginable splashed across its fur.
"..."
Vincent went silent.
"Meow!"
It gave a smug, satisfied cry, then shook itself once more, turning back into its original black form.
"Since you don't like Blackie, and you're all dark and mischievous like a little demon — how about... Lilith?"
To be continued…
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