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Devero walked over stiffly. The amount of information Dumbledore had just shared was overwhelming. He couldn't process it all at once.
"Devero," Dumbledore had said, "your mother's family was once a very prominent Muggle lineage in France. Constantine, your ancestor, was an alchemist—misunderstood by Muggles. That's why your mother's side kept their surname, passing it down until your generation."
"Only a few know the true connection between the two families, including the Tindalos Hermetic Order."
"As for your father... he's shrouded in mystery. Even I know very little about him. But I can tell you this: he's the most gifted wizard I've ever encountered—besides you, of course."
"And everything began when your parents came to England when you were two. Somehow, they became involved with the Hermetic Order. Then, seven years ago, they betrayed the Order and stole an incredibly valuable treasure. Since then… your family has been relentlessly hunted. None of them survived."
Now standing in front of the Great Hall's doors, Devero covered his forehead, overwhelmed. The flood of revelations had exhausted him.
To be honest, Devero didn't care much about how his parents had died. They were strangers to him—no affection, no memories. He just wanted to live a quiet life, study the microcosm, and make breakthroughs in that area. That was the whole reason he'd written to Lovegood in the first place.
His goal had always been to grow through the "entry system," enhancing his abilities with each step forward. Never did he imagine he carried such a terrifying background—or enemies.
Still, at this point, he hadn't completely broken ties with the Order. He clung to a faint hope that maybe, just maybe, if he returned the treasure, they could let things go.
But Dumbledore shattered that illusion.
"Devero, that's a noble idea," he said gently. "But to my knowledge, your mother destroyed that treasure long ago."
"And what exactly was this thing?" Devero asked.
Dumbledore paused. A flicker of confusion crossed his usually composed face.
"They were looking for something known as the Unique."
The moment the word left Dumbledore's lips, Devero's heart skipped a beat.
The Unique?
He had only encountered that word twice before.
Once was in his own entry panel—specifically, the two entries: [Transmigrator] and [Magical Genius].
The second was in Voldemort's Horcrux—specifically, Ravenclaw's diadem, labeled [Wilderness of Knowledge].
"Could it be… am I the treasure my worthless parents stole from the Hermetic Order?" he wondered.
The thought made him dizzy. Could he—his body, his existence—be the Unique?
"No, that doesn't make sense. I was already three when it happened. I couldn't have suddenly become the Unique."
"And besides," he reasoned, "the Magical Genius entry didn't even activate until I got my Hogwarts letter."
That could only mean one thing: the Unique wasn't a person, but a kind of energy—or some mysterious essence sealed within him. Something his parents left behind, which only awakened when he entered the magical world.
But then, why were they still after it?
He pressed the question to Dumbledore. The headmaster's face grew tense. After a moment, he simply shook his head, refusing to answer.
Devero was left to put the pieces together himself. One thing was clear: the Hermetic Order wouldn't let him go. Worse, his presence at Hogwarts had already been exposed.
That left him with two choices.
First option: Retrieve the Horcrux from Ravenclaw Tower and hand it over to the Order as a peace offering—hoping they'd leave him alone.
Second option: Eliminate the Hermetic Order completely.
What were they, anyway? Some pathetic secret society, daring to harm the Alexander family?
The decision was obvious.
Without hesitation, Devero chose the second option.
Hermetic Order? I'll wipe you out completely.
He felt no attachment to the people who hurt his friends—especially Harry. That alone made any peaceful resolution impossible.
From now on, he'd have to plan carefully. He'd need to deal with these lurking shadows before they struck again.
With two major questions resolved, he finally turned to the last.
"Professor," he asked, "why did you cast the Obliviate charm on Harry? Or…"
He paused, looking up into Dumbledore's clear, azure eyes.
"…why did you cast it on me?"
…
After confirming his own thoughts and accepting what he had to do, Devero took a slow breath.
He approached the great oak doors of the hall. From the other side, muffled chatter and laughter spilled into the corridor.
With effort, he raised his hands and pushed.
The heavy doors creaked open, just wide enough for one person to pass through.
My physical strength is still too weak, Devero thought, frowning. This child's body is really inconvenient.
He stepped into the Great Hall.
Nearly all the students and professors were present. Conversations buzzed from every direction.
Then, the moment he entered, the noise vanished.
Silence fell.
Devero had planned to slip over to the Slytherin table quietly, unnoticed.
But the way everyone was staring at him—it froze him mid-step.
A second passed.
Then—
"Wow!"
"Devero's back! He's alive!"
"Our hero returns!"
"Alexander is our king!"
In an instant, students surged toward him from all directions.
Before he could react, he was lifted off the ground—hoisted onto their shoulders like some kind of savior.
They carried him high above the crowd, chanting and cheering.
Devero caught glimpses of familiar faces: Ron, Neville, Adrian… and Hermione, eyes shining with unshed tears.
But Marcus was nowhere to be seen.
Still held aloft, Devero drifted across the hall for ten whole minutes before they finally set him down.
He stood there, dazed.
All around him, students shouted, laughed, and jostled for his attention.
Everyone was asking questions at once.
What's going on? he wondered. Why are they acting like I know something? I want to ask them!
Breathless from the crowd's enthusiasm, he tried to stay calm.
"Devero, you're amazing!" Fred Weasley exclaimed, clapping him hard on the shoulder.
His grin was bright and genuine.
"Yeah, it's unbelievable," added George, eyes wide with admiration. "You took on all those dark wizards by yourself!"
Devero blinked.
What dark wizards?
"What are you talking about?" he asked, baffled. "I didn't—"
"Come on, don't be modest," Fred interrupted. "The whole school's talking about it."
"I heard you and Harry were attacked in the Owlery," George said. "Harry was hit by a Killing Curse and Hagrid rushed him to the infirmary."
"But you," Fred continued, "you stayed and fought. You held off the attackers until Professor Quirrell arrived. You protected the school, all by yourself!"
"You're a hero, Devero!" George declared.
Devero stared at them, mouth slightly open. He wanted to correct them—but he didn't know where to begin.
Suddenly—
"Silence! Everyone return to your house tables!" came a sharp voice.
Professor McGonagall had entered.
She gave the crowd a stern look, eyes sweeping across the excited students.
Boom.
The crowd scattered like frightened birds.
At that moment, a figure approached Devero from the side and wrapped him in a gentle hug.
"Devero, I'm so glad you're okay."
It was Hermione.
Tears still sparkled on her cheeks. She gave him a quick glance—then ran away before he could respond.
Devero opened his mouth—but said nothing.
Then McGonagall's voice called again.
"As for you, Alexander, come with me."
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