Godfather Owl: Guardian of Batman

Mystic Code Deployment: Bonus Chapters ✨

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"Ariana?"

Dumbledore spoke her name softly.

It was the name of his long-lost sister, his greatest and unspoken sorrow.

"Albus?"

Ariana came up to him, her face a mix of joy and confusion. "Aren't you happy for me?"

"I…"

Dumbledore started to reply, but his attention drifted to his own reflection in a nearby mirror.

The face he saw was that of a young man—handsome, confident, and full of youthful pride.

The Albus Dumbledore of seventeen: Head Boy, Prefect, recipient of the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting, the British Youth Representative for the Wizengamot, and a golden medalist at the Cairo International Alchemical Conference.

A young man brimming with potential.

"It's...me," he murmured to himself, almost disbelieving.

It seemed he'd been deliberately granted awareness within the dream, allowing him to leave whenever he wished.

But Ariana's voice was still echoing softly beside him.

"Albus?"

Dumbledore slowly turned back, meeting the gaze of his sister—his most profound regret, one that had haunted him for nearly a century.

He had never seen Ariana this way—radiant, carefree, filled with life.

The Dumbledore family had always been broken.

Ariana's magic had surfaced early on, witnessed by some local Muggles who reacted violently, leaving her deeply traumatized and volatile in her powers.

Their father had been imprisoned for exacting vengeance on her behalf, and later, their mother perished due to Ariana's uncontrollable magic.

Ariana herself died in a tragic accident during a fight between Albus, Aberforth, and Grindelwald—a tragedy Dumbledore could never bear to speak of.

And he'd often thought that if he had paid more attention to Ariana that summer instead of being so captivated by Grindelwald…

Perhaps he could have found his way out of the web of regret that had bound him ever since.

Ariana looked at him now with an expression that made him feel almost like a stranger.

"You're not happy for me?"

Her lower lip quivered slightly in frustration. "Aberforth was thrilled—he even said he'd get me a gift! But you…you don't even look happy! Fine, I'm never talking to you again!"

"I—"

Dumbledore's heart trembled.

He could leave this dream; he knew he could.

But he wanted to stay, just for a moment longer, to see his sister attend Hogwarts.

"I'll stay only a little while," he promised himself. "Just until Ariana finishes her Sorting. Then I'll leave."

---

Meanwhile, in the real Hogwarts, the silver light had affected everyone, leaving them in a deep trance.

Most affected were those present in the infirmary; each had been instantly struck unconscious.

Luckily, Professor Gale had stepped out of the room.

The instant he sensed something amiss in the air, he cast a protective charm over himself.

Upon re-entering the infirmary, he found the others sprawled in various positions across the floor.

On their faces were expressions ranging from sorrow and joy to guilt and pain.

"I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat…"

Minister Fudge was muttering dreamily, as though mid-speech in some kind of rally.

Even Dumbledore had succumbed, leaning back against a wall, his eyes closed.

"You lot are just…" Gale bit his lip, suppressing his frustration. He had only left for a few minutes—just a few minutes—and it all fell apart.

Did they really need him that much?

In the end, they could only rely on him.

Taking out his wand, Gale turned his gaze to the diary lying on the floor.

"Fiendfyre—"

"Gellert?"

He froze.

That voice, a voice etched into the deepest reaches of his soul, one he would remember even in death.

Slowly, he turned around.

He was no longer in the Hogwarts infirmary but standing inside a cozy room.

At a desk sat a young boy with striking blue eyes, scribbling away with a quill in his hand.

Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a gentle glow over his hair and features.

It was Grindelwald's memory of young Albus.

"You're right, Gellert," young Dumbledore was saying, still facing the desk. "Our power brings us greater responsibilities.

"We owe it to all wizards to fight for something more—to pursue a grander destiny!"

The teenage Albus turned back to him, holding up a sheet of parchment with a freshly drawn emblem.

It was a symbol he had designed, combining the initials of their names—Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

Dumbledore smiled brightly. "Let this mark be our symbol!"

---

Back in the present-day Hogwarts, owls were in a frenzy, swooping and darting throughout the castle.

They checked on every student and staff member before carrying their reports to their liege.

Kathoom was in the training hall.

Bruce had slumped against a wall, unconscious.

He, too, had fallen.

Kathoom perched on Bruce's head like a king on a throne, waiting for the news his owl sentries would bring him.

"Sire, Slytherin has been completely subdued!"

An owl flew up, relaying news of the Slytherin common room.

"So, everyone's down for the count."

Kathoom sighed. Rowena was certainly thorough; not a single soul had been left awake.

Hogwarts had been entirely pulled into her dream.

Except, of course, for Kathoom himself. Rowena seemed to have overlooked the owls and other animals in the castle.

Kathoom huffed indignantly. "Underestimating owls comes at a cost!"

Still, the situation was urgent.

He'd already done a few laps around the castle but hadn't seen any sign of Rowena herself.

Everything that had happened in the infirmary, he had witnessed. He knew that the power came from Voldemort's diary.

But that diary hadn't followed its intended path. Instead of being spread throughout the wizarding world, it had ended up at Hogwarts through Grindelwald, then Bruce, then Dumbledore.

There had been no opportunity for tampering.

So how had Rowena managed to turn it into a trap?

"Sigh…"

Kathoom exhaled heavily. "Bruce is out cold—now who am I supposed to banter with?"

Well, he'd better start by trying to wake Bruce up.

Physical means wouldn't cut it; he would have to enter Bruce's dream.

"Listen up!" Kathoom called to the nearby owls. "Stay on guard here. Anything goes—but do not poop on him!"

He truly was the most considerate friend, he thought, as he flew back to the infirmary.

Inside, wisps of incense from the seance still filled the air, and the diary lay open on the floor.

Professor Gale was lying off to one side, his face twisted into a foolish grin.

"Pathetic!" Kathoom scoffed and turned his attention to the diary.

Only then did he notice that even Voldemort's spirit inside the diary had fallen into a mysterious slumber.

"Guess I'll have to enter Voldemort's dream first."

The power binding everyone into slumber originated from the diary. To solve it, he would need to start at the source.

Kathoom wasn't particularly interested in Voldemort's dreams, but he had no other choice.

Taking a deep breath, Kathoom soared high, then dove sharply downward.

With a swift, graceful plunge, he vanished into the diary's pages.

---

Cold wind howled as Kathoom found himself standing before a building he knew all too well.

Wool's Orphanage—Bruce's first home in this world.

A few scraps of newspaper fluttered by in the biting wind. Kathoom pinned one beneath his talons, checking the date.

December 31, 1926.

"This is it? How disappointing."

Kathoom shook his head. He'd hoped for something grander from Voldemort's dream.

A vision of a world Voldemort ruled? A wizarding kingdom lording over Muggles?

If that had been the case, Kathoom would have stuck around to see what was in store.

After all, if wizards ruled humanity, surely a loyal owl would be granted a special place of honor.

But instead, he found himself standing outside a dingy orphanage on the night of Voldemort's birth.

As Kathoom recalled, this was the very night that Tom Riddle was born.

How absurd to dream about one's own birth.

His thoughts were interrupted as a tall, slender figure strode up to the orphanage doors.

The figure wore wizarding robes, though his face was youthful—sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle.

Kathoom flew after him, entering the building in silence.

Riddle moved with confidence, as though the orphanage were his kingdom.

It was, after all, the birthplace of the one who would become Voldemort.

After weaving through dim hallways, Tom entered a small, humble room.

Kathoom hovered near the doorway, listening to the voices inside.

"Are you feeling any better?" came Tom's voice.

"A little," answered a woman in a frail, weak tone.

"You shouldn't have eloped with that Muggle," Tom chided. "You're a Slytherin by blood, a pure-blood witch! Running away with a Muggle and ending up like this—do you even realize—"

He stopped abruptly.

After a pause, he sighed. "If I hadn't come tonight, you would have died soon."

Kathoom glided in, unnoticed.

He saw the woman lying on a threadbare bed, her face pale yet stunningly beautiful.

Even in this weakened state, her beauty was breathtaking.

Kathoom recognized her immediately: Merope Gaunt, Voldemort's mother.

By all rights, she should have died within an hour of giving birth, but in this dream, she had survived.

Moreover, in reality, Merope had been plain-looking, her hair brittle, her eyes slightly askew.

But here, in Tom's mind, she was as lovely as a vision.

At her son's rebuke, she mustered a faint smile.

"But I was happy."

In her arms, she cradled a sleeping infant. "I'll never forget the day Tom proposed, saying he'd take me away from my bleak life.

"I believed him, and he did.

"And then we had the most precious gift of all."

Tom?

Kathoom didn't need more clues. He knew this woman was Merope Gaunt, Voldemort's mother.

Her life had been pitifully short, but here she was, beautiful and alive.

In reality, Tom's father had died in a traffic accident long after abandoning Merope. But here, in the dream, he was enshrined as the ideal husband.

Her words seemed only to deepen Tom's scorn.

"A Muggle who died in a car accident, and yet you hold him dear?"

Merope tightened her arms around the baby protectively. "He was my husband, and we loved each other! Love doesn't care if one is Muggle or wizard!"

"Believe whatever you want."

Tom rose abruptly, his expression as cold as ice. "Whatever the case, I will heal you.

"As long as I'm here, you are not going to die."

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If you notice anything that feels off, just let me know—I don't mind fixing things up.

Oh, and don't forget to sit up, grab some water, and take it easy while you're here. No rush, right?

If you're into this, consider checking out [patreon.com/WiseTL]. 

Your support helps me keep going, and I'm grateful for every bit of it.

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BIG ANNOUNCEMENT BELOW PLEASE READ???? its the same announcement posted on patreon so if u read that already u can skip it :3c

Hear me, Mongrels!

This week, you have proven yourselves worthy. Through your steadfast dedication, the Mystic Code Deployment: Bonus Chapters has been unlocked, thanks to one story reaching 400 Powerstones three times. By your hands, the Powerstone progression has evolved: 30/40/50/100/200, and now, a mighty new goal of 400 Powerstones stands ready to reward your efforts.

But do not mistake this as the pinnacle of glory. No, what lies ahead is a treasure more magnificent than any before: the unveiling of a Noble Phantasm. Tapisserie Éternelle now awaits the worthy!

What is Tapisserie Éternelle?

It is a Noble Phantasm of unparalleled grandeur, woven from the threads of your support. When a story reaches 800 Powerstones, 4 extra chapters will be bestowed upon it on a single day, bringing the total to a staggering 12 chapters in one day!

Yet, this tapestry is vast, encompassing all stories. To honor your collective efforts, every other ongoing story shall receive 2 bonus chapters in celebration of this monumental feat.

The Path to Unleash Tapisserie Éternelle:

A story must amass 800 Powerstones in a single week to activate this Noble Phantasm.

Tapisserie Éternelle can only be unleashed once per story each month.

To summon it again within the same month, another story must achieve the 800 Powerstone milestone.

Do you comprehend the scale of this offering?

A Noble Phantasm such as this is not simply given; it is earned. So rise, Readers, and let your Powerstones speak!

The gates to the Eternal Tapestry have been opened. The only question now is: will you seize it?