Dumblemdore Family: Wizarding Witch World

Alvo sat in the spacious classroom, sunlight streaming through the arched windows and casting warm patterns on the polished stone floor. The lesson of the day was Planar Linguistics, an essential subject for any aspiring wizard in their world. The professor, a tall man with a silver-streaked beard and eyes that seemed to see into your very soul, paced the front of the room, explaining the complex syntax of the Elvish dialect.

"This is not just a lesson," the professor said, his voice resonating through the room. "It is mandatory for anyone who still wishes to be considered a wizard. Without mastery of planar languages, you might as well hand in your staff and start selling potions."

Alvo couldn't help but smirk. He raised his hand and quipped, "So, Professor, does that mean anyone who fails this class becomes a potion vendor by default?"

The professor chuckled, shaking his head. "Sharp as ever, young master. If only your enthusiasm for jokes matched your enthusiasm for conjugations."

Midway through the lesson, Alvo raised his hand again, his curiosity piqued by a lingering question.

"Professor," he began hesitantly, "why is it that I'm not allowed to practice spiritual training until I'm eleven? It feels like a waste of time when I could already be learning."

The professor stopped pacing, his expression softening. He leaned against his desk, considering the best way to explain. "Ah, Alvo, it's not about wasting time—it's about readiness. You see, your magical organ, the core of your being, isn't mature yet. Imagine it as a radiant baby, full of raw, untamed energy. Right now, that little baby just wants to play, throwing spiritual explosions all around."

Alvo tilted his head, intrigued. "Explosions? I don't see or feel anything like that."

The professor grinned knowingly. "Ah, but we do. Wizards like me, your parents, even Helena—we can sense them. They're small, harmless bursts of energy that happen whenever you're excited, distracted, or even eating breakfast. One moment you're enjoying your toast, and—boom!—a tiny magical flare lights up around you."

Alvo blinked, his mouth slightly agape. "But why doesn't it affect reality? Why don't I see it?"

The professor's expression turned serious. "That's thanks to your father. As a Level 7 RulerWitch, his powers are far beyond what most can comprehend. He's suppressing these flares, ensuring they don't harm you—or anyone else. It's a delicate balance, Alvo. If you started spiritual training too soon, you'd be imposing rules on that baby organ of yours, and it might rebel in dangerous ways."

Alvo nodded slowly, a new respect for his father's subtle protection forming in his mind. "That does make sense," he admitted. "Now that you mention it, I do feel… bursts sometimes. Like when I'm sparring with Helena and suddenly feel this strange, radiant energy. It all clicks now."

The professor smiled warmly. "Exactly. That's your core, radiating potential. But don't rush it. Time will refine that energy into something extraordinary."

The Ranks of Wizards

The professor straightened up, his tone shifting slightly. "Speaking of refinement, I don't believe we've discussed the ranks of wizards yet, have we?"

Alvo's eyes lit up. "No, we haven't! I've been meaning to ask."

The professor chuckled. "Well, better late than never. Listen closely. At the very beginning, we have the Apprentice Wizards, Levels 1 through 3. These are the fledglings, just learning to spread their wings. After that, the real journey begins with Official Wizards, Levels 1 through 3. Then comes the great divide—many never make it past this stage. Beyond them, we have Master Wizards, Level 4, followed by the mighty ArchWizards at Level 5."

Alvo leaned forward, captivated.

"And after that?"

The professor's voice grew reverent. "The High Wizards, the true guardians of our plane. At Level 6, they are known as WorldWitches, wielders of immense power and protectors of our realm. Then there are the RulerWitches, Level 7—your father's rank. To reach this level, one must master the laws of omniversal dimensions."

Alvo's thoughts whirled. "Father is controlling omniversal laws? That's… incredible."

The professor continued. "Beyond that, we have the SupremeWitches at Level 8. And finally, the AutarchWitches, Level 9—the Sovereigns of our Plane. These are beings of almost unimaginable power. However, not all SupremeWitches can transcend to Level 9. Those who fail are bound as stewards of the world, serving as its protectors and leaders, often becoming Ministers of Magic."

Alvo absorbed this information, his mind racing. "So the current ministers are all SupremeWitches?"

"Yes," the professor affirmed. "Though their role is one of duty, not glory. And before you worry, Alvo, remember this—you have Autarch lineage. Your potential is extraordinary."

Alvo hesitated before asking another question. "What about Helena? With her warrior lineage, could she rival a Level 8 or 9 wizard?"

The professor paused, stroking his beard. "Perhaps in the earliest days of our plane, when PrimeWarriors roamed. They drew upon the energies of the heavens and earth, matching the might of the most powerful wizards. But after a planar war, their legacy diminished. Today, warrior magic peaks at Level 7."

Alvo was deep in thought when the professor yawned suddenly.

"Odd," the professor murmured. "I feel unusually tired today. Must be something I ate."

Suppressing a grin, Alvo glanced at the ceiling, where the lamp glowed faintly with a Delta Transfiguration. The professor's eyes narrowed, realizing something was amiss.

"Alvo," he said sternly, "what have you done?"

Unable to hold back his laughter, Alvo confessed. "It's a Delta Transfiguration, Professor. I applied it to the lamp when I arrived. I wanted to see if it could influence someone as powerful as you."

The professor shook his head, half amused and half exasperated. "You little trickster. If I didn't respect your ingenuity so much, you'd be in real trouble."

Before dismissing the class, the professor said, "Alvo, you're ten years old now. You've made remarkable progress, but you need to speak with your parents. If they approve, you might be ready for the next phase of your curriculum. What you've done here hints at a talent far beyond your years."

With that, the professor disappeared, leaving Alvo alone with his thoughts.

That evening, Alvo sat with his parents in their grand sitting room, recounting the day's events. When he described the Delta Transfiguration and its effects on his professor, his father leaned forward, intrigued.

"So," his father said, "you managed to influence a Level 5 wizard without him realizing it? Impressive. If this is true, I'd like you to create a small device for me—a jade stone imbued with Delta energy. I'll test it myself to see if it has any effect on a Level 7."

Alvo's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I'll do my best, Father!"

As he retired to his room that night, Alvo felt a renewed sense of purpose and started to work in the Delta Jade Transfiguration.

Alvo sat on his bed, a polished jade stone in his hand, humming softly with the faint energy of Delta magic. His fingers traced its smooth surface, his mind racing.

"Is this really enough to affect Father?" he thought, doubt creeping into his thoughts.

He looked out the window, where the immense, glowing moon bathed the night in serene silver light. Its stillness calmed him, yet it seemed to mock the storm in his mind. Determined, he refocused and began experimenting again, reshaping the jade stone over and over, imbuing it with Delta magic. Each attempt was met with a faint shimmer of power, but nothing extraordinary.

Alvo's mind wandered to an idea he'd had last week. "What if I combine Delta and Alpha?" he wondered. The thought intrigued him. Magic, after all, was an extension of willpower. If he truly willed it, perhaps he could create something extraordinary.

He spread several jade stones across his bed and began the intricate process of combining Delta and Alpha energies. Some stones pulsed with a faint glow, others felt flat, lifeless. Each failure only spurred him on. Dissatisfied with his progress, he cleared the stones with a wave of his hand, reducing them back to their raw form.

Sitting cross-legged, Alvo closed his eyes and delved into his sea of consciousness. He visualized the great symbols of Alpha and Delta hovering above the waves, their radiance flickering with each gentle tide. He noticed something—every time the waves grew stronger, the symbols glowed brighter, lingering longer before dimming.

"That's it," he realized, his spirits renewed. He focused on agitating the sea, creating wave after wave, watching as the symbols flared to life. The light filled his mind, sharp and vibrant, as if the symbols themselves responded to his will.

Driven by this revelation, Alvo transfigured a single exquisite jade stone. He carved a perfect "D" into its surface, a tribute to Dumblemdore. Channeling all his energy, he infused the jade with powerful waves of Alpha and Delta, the dual energies intertwining in a radiant dance.

The room dimmed. His vision blurred. As the final surge of energy poured into the stone, everything went black.

Alvo awoke in a soft bed, his head pounding with a dull, relentless ache. His surroundings were unfamiliar—stark white walls, the faint hum of magic in the air. He shifted slightly, groaning as the pain in his head flared.

Beside him, Helena was seated in a chair, her arms crossed but her head tilted toward him, fast asleep. One arm was draped protectively over his shoulder as if guarding him from unseen dangers. Her usually sharp features softened in sleep, and Alvo felt a pang of guilt.

"What happened? The jade…" He tried to piece together his fragmented memories.

As he stirred, Helena's sharp instincts kicked in. Her eyes snapped open, and she fixed him with a severe glare.

"Alvo," she said, her voice low but brimming with authority. "What were you thinking?"

Alvo winced, both from her tone and his throbbing head. He quickly adjusted his expression, puffing out his cheeks and widening his eyes in an exaggeratedly innocent look. "Sister Helena," he said in a sweet, playful tone, "what happened? I feel terrible, but I don't remember anything."

Helena's stern demeanor wavered as she took in his attempt to appear harmless. She sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "You really don't know how to stop, do you, little master?"

She reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace, surprising him. Her arms were strong yet gentle, and for a moment, Alvo felt like the small child he so often tried not to be.

"Do you have any idea how worried we were?" Helena whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "When I found you, your magic was completely drained. You wouldn't wake up, Alvo."

Alvo blinked, stunned by the intensity of her words. He hesitated before murmuring, "I didn't mean to make you worry. I just… I thought I could do it."

Helena pulled back slightly, cupping his face in her hands. Her eyes softened, though they still held a glimmer of reproach. "You're too young to push yourself like this. You have plenty of time to grow into your magic. But pushing yourself so far that you pass out—it's reckless, Alvo. Promise me you'll be more careful."

Alvo nodded weakly, guilt and exhaustion weighing heavily on him. "I promise. But… did the jade work?"

Helena sighed, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "You're unbelievable."

Alvo managed a faint smile despite his splitting headache. Helena's frustration melted into a small laugh, and she ruffled his hair.

"Rest now, little master," she said gently. "Whatever you're trying to prove, you have nothing to prove to me—or anyone else."

As she settled back into her chair, keeping a watchful eye on him, Alvo let his heavy eyelids close. His head still throbbed, but the warmth of Helena's affection and the faint pride he felt in his creation lingered as he drifted back to sleep.

Somewhere, Adrian Dumbledore stood beside his grandfather, the esteemed Autarch Hybrym Dumbledore, gazing at a delicate, intricately carved green jade stone levitating above a luxurious cloth on a pedestal. Despite the stone's mesmerizing beauty, Adrian struggled to keep his eyes open, fighting the urge to drift into sleep and relaxation. This stone was beyond anything he had ever encountered. Beside him, Hybrym remained unaffected, but clearly impressed.

"Who would have thought," Hybrym mused, his voice calm yet filled with intrigue, "that our bloodline would produce such a remarkable young wizard? And these four calming laws almost crossing into the original domain of rules…" He paused, his mind working through the implications of what had happened. "I may not need to understand how this was accomplished, but I can see it. What I don't understand is how a Level 3 apprentice managed to pull off something so extraordinary."

Adrian glanced up at his grandfather, still half-dazed from the stone's overwhelming aura. Hybrym continued, his voice filled with both wonder and concern, "Could it be that the world itself has crafted a champion for the future? Is there something we're not being told?"

Adrian didn't have the answers. The strange magic of the stone, combined with the questions his grandfather was raising, left him unsettled. Hybrym turned to him, his expression hardening as he looked at his tired grandson.

"Leave the stone here," Hybrym instructed. "Next week, I will descend to the wizarding world myself to take a closer look at this descendant of mine. As for you…" He turned his gaze sharply on Adrian, who was still struggling to stay alert. "Tell Alvo to refrain from such reckless actions. He drained too much magic. He didn't understand the consequences of what he was doing. From now on, you are to give him a breath of life. If he goes beyond his limits, you stop him immediately. This is a law now, Adrian."

Adrian nodded, feeling the weight of his grandfather's words. "Understood, grandfather," he replied, his voice quiet but filled with resolve.

"Good. You may go." Hybrym's voice softened, and with a final glance at the jade stone, Adrian turned and left, carrying the weight of his new responsibility with him.