"His goal may have been Fawkes from the very beginning. Helping Voldemort was likely just a smokescreen."
Inside the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore was explaining the events to Snape and McGonagall, who had demanded answers.
With all the students evacuated, it was clearly no trivial matter, and Dumbledore had a duty to account for what had happened.
"In the end, Voldemort fled. The Philosopher's Stone is still in his possession. And now that man has absorbed phoenix fire, which he can call upon at will."
Professor McGonagall's eyes flashed with astonishment. "What kind of monster is he?"
"That, we do not yet know. It is unlike any magic…" Dumbledore shook his head helplessly. "Dio Brando—this man seems to have appeared out of nowhere."
Snape said nothing, but his eyes burned with hatred.
Because Dio Brando was allied with the woman who had nearly gotten him mauled by the three-headed dog.
He bore that grudge against all of them.
"How are the students, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked.
"They're unharmed. But what should be done about young Weasley and Mr. Longbottom?" McGonagall's face darkened. "To sneak into such a dangerous place…"
"No, no, don't blame them, Minerva," Dumbledore said gently. "We share responsibility for this. Whatever the risk, their intentions were good. I believe they deserve a reward."
"A reward?" McGonagall blinked in surprise, while Snape's face twitched visibly at the word.
He had only just managed to bring Gryffindor's House points under control, and now Slytherin was only fifty points ahead. With one Quidditch match left, Gryffindor could easily claim another fifty. It seemed encouragement was coming for those reckless brats.
If Felix Felicis weren't so expensive, Snape might have been tempted to cheat.
"We'll decide on the specifics later. For now, I must see our little hero." Dumbledore rose. "Though he did not succeed, his courage deserves recognition."
Snape's expression shifted strangely—fear, disbelief, and a sudden glimmer of realization.
"Albus… it was you…!"
He meant to say more, but Dumbledore cut him off.
"Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "It was necessary."
"Even a fledgling dragon must learn to fly."
......
In the hospital wing, Harry stirred awake from his dreams. Blinking blearily, the first thing he saw was Louis sitting by his bedside.
Louis looked at him and smiled.
"You're awake. Congratulations—henceforth you're a girl. Better change your name to Harriet."
Harry jolted in shock, springing upright and immediately patting himself down below.
Thankfully, everything was still intact.
"Just kidding," Louis said with a grin. "Here, I brought you a gift."
It was a small wooden carving of a monkey. But unlike an ordinary toy, this one seemed oddly alive, as if it might transform at any moment.
And indeed, it did.
Harry watched with wide eyes as the carved monkey suddenly shifted, becoming a wide-winged eagle.
"Something I made while practicing," Louis explained. "It transforms automatically every thirty seconds. Not particularly useful—but it looks fun."
He set the little trinket—essentially a Black Qi-crafted magical device—on the bedside cabinet beside Harry's bed.
The table beside Harry's bed was piled high with gifts—get-well presents from all the friends who had come to see him.
Looking at them, Harry couldn't help but smile. He really liked this feeling of being cared for.
And most of all, he liked the little toy Louis had given him—the way it transformed was endlessly fascinating.
"Right—what about Quirrell? And Voldemort… and Dio Brando!" Harry suddenly pulled himself from the distraction of the gifts and asked urgently.
He still remembered that Dio Brando had taken the Philosopher's Stone, and Voldemort had been inhabiting Quirrell's body.
Louis raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Those people you're talking about—I don't know anything. I think most students don't. If you're curious, you'd best ask Headmaster Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall."
"Oh—sorry…" Harry quickly apologized, worried he had troubled Louis with his questions.
"No matter," Louis said as he stood up. "I should be going. But as your friend, I'll give you one piece of advice."
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Next time—don't be reckless." With that, Louis tipped his ever-present top hat and turned to leave the hospital wing.
Truth be told, Harry's sudden charge to grab the Dark Lord's sword had genuinely startled Louis. What on earth had the boy been thinking? In that moment, shouldn't he have run for his life? Instead, he had stayed put, waiting like a fool for the "plot" to play out in a boss fight.
Harry didn't realize Louis was talking about the sword incident. He assumed Louis meant sneaking through the professors' obstacles.
"I will. Next time, I'll be careful," Harry said earnestly.
Already at the door, Louis rolled his eyes.
Harry Potter promising not to stir up trouble? What a joke.
He didn't believe it for a second.
Still, he waved a hand behind his back, signaling he'd heard.
At the hospital wing entrance, Louis ran into Dumbledore.
"Mr. Wilson, you've just finished visiting Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
"That's right. Harry's in good shape. It won't be long before he's back on his feet. With luck, he might even make it to the Quidditch final," Louis replied.
"That's good to hear." Dumbledore's eyes met his—and this time, Louis didn't look away.
"Do you know what happened in the school that night?" Dumbledore asked, testing him.
"What happened? I'd think the Headmaster knows better than me," Louis answered lightly.
Dumbledore didn't press his evasiveness, instead asking, "And what do you think those people are?"
"Headmaster Dumbledore, are you asking me to divine the future?" Louis replied with an open smile, making no attempt to hide his talent.
"You could put it that way," Dumbledore nodded.
"Then let's wait until third year. Once I've studied Divination, perhaps I'll have something worthwhile."
Louis removed his hat, bowing politely. "Goodbye, Headmaster Dumbledore."
With that, he strode away with a flourish.
Dumbledore watched his retreating figure, lost in thought.
"He seems to have changed greatly again. Is this… the gift of Merlin's bloodline?"
But no matter how he pondered, no clear answer came. With a sigh, Dumbledore shook his head, pushed open the door, and entered the hospital wing.
"Harry…"
The time had come to offer the Savior comfort, guidance, and a few answers.
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