Dumbledore did not believe in coincidences.
According to Professor McGonagall's report, Logan Anderson's home address was almost identical to the location where that violent magical eruption had occurred years earlier.
The timing matched too perfectly.
And yet, something about the situation remained impossible.
Obscurials were not meant to survive past the age of ten.
That was an almost absolute rule within the wizarding world.
Yet according to McGonagall, the boy appeared perfectly healthy. Energetic. Intelligent. Completely stable.
No signs of physical deterioration.
No visible instability.
Nothing.
Dumbledore leaned back slowly in his chair as an old memory surfaced in his mind. Years ago, he had once read a famous detective novel containing a line he never forgot:
"When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."
The elderly wizard gently tapped the desk with his fingers.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Dumbledore found himself growing increasingly curious about Logan Anderson. For a brief moment, he even considered visiting the boy personally for observation.
However, he ultimately dismissed the thought.
Hogwarts would reopen soon anyway, and once the term began, there would be plenty of opportunities to observe him naturally. There was no need to act prematurely.
Besides, far more important matters demanded his attention this year.
Harry Potter.
Dumbledore had already sent Hagrid to retrieve the boy and explain the situation regarding his magical heritage. If everything proceeded smoothly, Harry would finally enrol at Hogwarts this year.
Not long after Professor McGonagall departed, Dumbledore quietly rose from his desk and gazed out across the castle grounds.
The night wind stirred softly beyond the windows.
Somewhere deep in the darkness, the gears of fate had already begun turning.
And once fate started moving, nobody could stop it.
Fate was never a sleeping servant.
....
Over the following days, Logan travelled alongside his parents through the hidden magical districts of Britain.
The Leaky Cauldron.
Gringotts Wizarding Bank.
Diagon Alley.
Every location felt surreal to him.
Back in his previous life, he had only seen these places through cinema screens. Now he was standing inside them personally.
It felt strangely nostalgic.
When exchanging currency at Gringotts, Anne and Huggins displayed exactly how wealthy the Anderson family truly was. Both sides of the family held influential positions within British high society, meaning money had never been an issue for them.
Huggins directly exchanged a massive amount of Galleons for Logan.
"Spend freely," he declared proudly. "A proper wizard should look impressive."
Then he secretly kept another pouch hidden in his coat for "emergencies."
At the same time, Logan finally encountered the goblins of the wizarding world.
The creatures were every bit as sharp-eyed and cunning as described in the books. Watching them carefully, Logan gradually realised something unsettling.
Over the long course of magical history, countless magical races had either vanished entirely or declined toward extinction. Even house-elves existed as little more than enslaved servants devoted blindly to wizarding families.
But goblins were different.
They maintained independence.
Culture.
Language.
Economic power.
Most importantly, they controlled Gringotts itself—the financial heart of magical Britain.
That alone made them terrifying.
The more Logan thought about it, the more dangerous the goblins seemed as a species.
As for the Leaky Cauldron…
His long-awaited first impression could be summarised in three words:
Dirty.
Chaotic.
Noisy.
To be honest, Logan felt slightly disappointed.
Still, some of the magical drinks served there were genuinely incredible. Certain flavours simply could not exist within the normal Muggle world.
So overall, he considered the experience acceptable.
Unfortunately, the true disaster occurred inside Ollivanders.
The moment Logan touched his first wand, something horrifying happened.
The wand flew out of his hand instantly like two magnets repelling each other violently. Another wand cracked the moment he touched it. One particularly unfortunate wand literally died in his grasp, its magical core collapsing entirely.
Ollivander nearly suffered a heart attack.
Logan himself stood frozen in disbelief.
Every wand reacted abnormally.
Some rejected him violently.
Some exploded.
Some simply stopped functioning altogether.
By the time the fifth wand self-destructed, even Ollivander's face had turned pale.
"These… these wands are defective," the old wandmaker muttered stiffly.
Logan immediately offered compensation out of guilt, but Ollivander firmly refused. In his eyes, every wand was like one of his own children. Admitting a customer destroyed them somehow felt less painful than accepting the alternative explanation.
In the end, Ollivander practically shoved a random wand into Logan's hands and forced the transaction to conclude.
Professional pride demanded he continue searching for the perfect match.
Self-preservation demanded otherwise.
Eventually, self-preservation won.
That evening, back inside his room, Logan sat on his bed staring gloomily at the wand lying nearby.
"How am I supposed to cast spells like this?" he muttered.
Wandless magic?
Impossible.
At least for now.
That level of magic required extraordinary control and experience. It was not something an eleven-year-old beginner could simply improvise.
More importantly, if every wand rejected him, then his path as a wizard was fundamentally crippled before it even began.
Slowly, Logan opened his palm.
The ancient grimoire materialised instantly.
The spellbook floated silently before him, its cover pulsing faintly with dark purple light.
Logan stared at it thoughtfully.
Very likely, the reason wands rejected him was because of the spellbook itself.
Then a ridiculous thought suddenly crossed his mind.
What if…
What if the spellbook itself was acting as his wand?
Logan blinked.
The more he considered it, the more plausible it became.
"You jealous little thing," he muttered toward the grimoire.
Over the following days, Logan immersed himself in studying the magical textbooks purchased from Diagon Alley. He intended to verify several theories regarding the spellbook's functionality.
Eventually, he selected the simplest possible spell for experimentation.
The Levitation Charm.
Wingardium Leviosa.
As Logan focused completely on studying the spell structure and magical theory behind it, the spellbook system suddenly emitted a soft electronic notification.
[Ding.]
[Entering Sage Mode.]
Logan froze instantly.
"Sage Mode?"
His face twitched slightly.
"I'm eleven years old," he muttered. "Why am I suddenly entering some transcendent state free of worldly desire? That sounds completely wrong."
Still, the effect activated immediately.
And it was terrifyingly effective.
Under Sage Mode, Logan's learning speed increased dramatically. He could absorb entire pages with a single glance while perfectly memorising every detail. His imagination sharpened. His thought processes accelerated.
More importantly…
Learning became enjoyable.
Genuinely enjoyable.
Several hours later, a new entry finally appeared within the system interface.
Magic Skill: Wingardium Leviosa [Beginner] (5200)
Logan stared at the notification in satisfaction.
He had learned it.
Now came the practical test.
The grimoire appeared once more in his palm.
Logan focused on the pocket watch resting atop his desk and quietly spoke the incantation.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
Instantly, the spellbook formed a mysterious connection with him. It felt as though the two had merged together into a single existence.
Dark violet light erupted from the grimoire.
The purple glow reflected across Logan's face, even staining his green eyes with unnatural colour.
Then—
The pocket watch launched forward like a cannonball.
It slammed directly into the wall with explosive force.
BANG!
The watch embedded itself halfway into the plaster.
Silence filled the room.
Logan stared blankly at the wall.
"…What the hell?"
He slowly fell into deep thought.
According to the actual Levitation Charm, the spell absolutely should not possess this level of power. First-year students struggled just to lift feathers. Even considering Logan's abnormal magical reserves, this result made no sense.
He had only just learned the spell.
Yet the effect resembled a magical railgun.
A strange weakness suddenly spread through his body.
Not exhaustion exactly.
More like the drained sensation some unfortunate young men experienced after making poor life choices late at night.
Still, that should simply be magical depletion.
Which made even less sense.
With the amount of magic inside his body, one basic levitation spell should not leave him feeling weakened at all.
So the answer became obvious.
The spellbook.
The grimoire not only rejected other wands—it amplified magic tremendously whenever used as a casting medium.
And there was something else.
During the spellcasting process, Logan clearly sensed the spellbook temporarily losing its invisibility.
Normally, nobody except him could see the grimoire.
But while casting through it, the concealment vanished completely.
Fortunately, although visible during spellcasting, the grimoire remained absolutely bound to him. Nobody else could touch it or steal it away.
The spellbook simply acted as the medium through which magic was released.
To ordinary wizards, such a method probably looked dangerously heretical.