A child who had only just learned he was a wizard really ought not to know ancient words that carried magic.
And yet, Iain was not flustered in the slightest.
"These came from my dreams. They should be... part of my warlock..."
He stopped halfway through, abruptly swallowing the rest of the sentence and smoothing over his expression.
His bloodline.
His talent.
His own private business.
Not just anyone was allowed to know the details of Iain's gifts. If he ever ran into some dark wizard who wanted to steal his body and seize that talent for himself, that would end very badly.
"??????"
Dumbledore could understand every word Iain said.
What he could not understand was what, exactly, the boy was talking about.
None of it matched any wizarding knowledge he had ever known.
"With an imagination like that, I suspect your studies in magic will go rather smoothly."
In the end, that was the most tactful response Dumbledore could manage.
He had no interest in succubi or any such thing. It was clearly the colorful imagination of a child. Still, whether a legendary bloodline might carry some form of inherited knowledge was not entirely impossible.
Dumbledore decided that once he returned to Hogwarts, he would go and consult a few books.
He did not press the matter further.
He merely looked at the boy in front of him for a long moment with a gaze too complicated to read.
"I can tell you what these words mean."
Dumbledore's finger fell once more upon the notebook page, tapping the recorded line of ancient writing.
His voice was calm, as though explaining some academic question entirely unrelated to either of them.
"It is a declaration. Its meaning is this:
All things shall bow beneath my feet, hear my will, and accept this law beyond magic."
Dumbledore looked at Iain with those deep, unreadable eyes.
The boy sucked in a sharp breath.
A very sharp breath. Sharp enough that he felt his lungs had never worked so fully in his life. At that moment, Iain felt nothing but admiration for himself.
As expected of my subconscious.
The scale.
The presence.
The sheer style of it.
Honestly...
"Professor, you really are astonishingly learned!"
Iain lifted a thumb in approval. The praise was partly for Dumbledore's scholarship and partly for the towering level of grandeur his own subconscious had apparently reached.
A win-win.
"I am an old man. When one lives long enough, one tends to collect a good deal of useless knowledge, and remember a few things that history would rather leave buried."
Dumbledore's eyes trembled ever so slightly, touched by memories and sorrow no one could see through. The feeling vanished as quickly as it came.
"To prevent your magic from going out of control again, you ought to leave here with me for a while. I will find somewhere quiet and help you learn how to control your abilities."
The familiar smile returned to Dumbledore's face.
"Now?"
"Now."
Getting such a definite answer, Iain immediately dashed toward his wardrobe.
For a little boy faced with the bright and many-colored world of magic, the chance to step into it early was naturally irresistible.
And reaching it sooner rather than later could only be a good thing.
"This, this, and this all need to come."
He dragged out a very large suitcase and began stuffing it full of all the clothes he personally considered handsome.
Dumbledore stood a short distance away, but his gaze lingered less on the clothes and more on the wardrobe itself, especially the scorch marks burned into the wood, as though it reminded him of something in the past.
"My toothpaste, my mug..."
Iain noticed none of this. He just kept packing single-mindedly, moving with the efficiency of a seasoned travel clerk.
At first, the things he packed were fairly normal.
Then they grew steadily more bizarre.
At one point there were mousetraps.
Then two hatchets.
Dumbledore's brows twitched.
In the end, he could not restrain himself.
While Iain had his back turned and was packing something else, Dumbledore crossed the room in two long steps and promptly removed several cats and dogs that Iain had managed to stuff into the suitcase.
"Perhaps you might entrust the other children to look after them. Sometimes, knowing when to seek help from companions is far better for one's peace of mind."
Dumbledore did his best to maintain the proper dignity of an elder while deftly rescuing a few hamsters Iain had somehow placed inside a teacup.
Iain fell silent for a beat.
"So Hogwarts doesn't allow pets?"
There was disappointment and confusion in his voice. He was quite sure Hogwarts allowed pets. He distinctly remembered that much from what he knew of the setting.
No way I'm wrong about that detail.
"Of course it does, but there are limits."
For the briefest moment, Dumbledore's expression became deeply interesting. The corners of his mouth twitched, as if he wanted to laugh but did not.
"You may bring a cat, or an owl, or a toad."
The Headmaster of Hogwarts put particular emphasis on the singular form.
"An owl is the most loyal of messengers. A cat may offer you companionship, while a toad can be of some use in the study of potions and practical learning."
Dumbledore patiently began what amounted to pre-term orientation.
Iain hesitated.
His gaze swept across the room: the old cat on the radiator, the stool by his feet, the ginger kittens in the cage, the hamsters on the desk.
In the end, this newcomer to the magical world made his choice.
Handsome Tabby.
"You're the one! Big Cat!"
Iain knew that as long as he had one handsome tomcat, all the lady cats at school would surely be willing to have kittens for him.
A future titan of the pet business could remain a titan of the pet business anywhere.
He stuffed Handsome Tabby into his clothes.
"Mrrrow."
The tomcat poked his head out from the collar, whiskers brushing against Iain's chin, his face clearly wearing the expression: I am not pleased, but I will tolerate this for now.
Highly personified.
Dumbledore's gaze lingered on Handsome Tabby for a moment, and the cat, unafraid in the slightest, stared right back at the most powerful wizard in the world.
"Mrrrow."
He even flashed a paw.
"Interesting. I rather suspect this cat has some unusually magical blood in him. Iain, are you finished?"
Dumbledore, naturally, was not about to quarrel with a cat.
"One moment."
Iain turned and walked toward his bed.
He crouched and reached underneath.
Dumbledore remained where he was, waiting quietly.
Then, under Dumbledore's watchful eyes, Iain pulled a few grenades from under the bed and stuffed them into the suitcase.
"?"
One of Dumbledore's eyelids jumped.
Then he watched Iain rummage further beneath the bed and pull out a very rough-looking handgun, several bottles of highly suspicious chemical compounds, and even something the size of a dinner plate that looked alarmingly like a landmine.
"?????"
Now both of Dumbledore's eyelids seemed intent on dancing wildly across his face.
And then Iain pulled out a half-finished Gatling gun.
At last, the Headmaster of Hogwarts could bear no more.
"I rather think you will not need such dangerous items in the course of learning magic... How, exactly, were you able to pull all of that out from under your bed?"
Dumbledore's face was full of bewilderment and incomprehension.
"I made them myself, obviously. Orphans living out in the world have to know how to protect themselves. Shame about the Gatling, though. It's too complicated. I haven't managed to finish it in the past two years."
"Hopefully magic will help with that... Oh, right, Professor, can magic refine minerals? I buried some rare ore in the back yard too."
Iain blinked.
His packing never slowed.
Which only went to prove one thing.
He really was a top student.
And he really did have a super-brain.