The moment the words left Dumbledore's mouth, the office exploded with noise.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron all gasped in unison.
Dumbledore nodded solemnly, his blue eyes heavy with worry.
"Unicorn blood can prolong life, though it comes with a terrible curse," he said quietly. "But for a dark wizard who's already committed countless sins, that price means nothing."
Harry's face went pale as he instinctively reached for the scar on his forehead. It was still throbbing faintly, as if something inside were writhing beneath the skin.
"Wait... you mean..."
"Voldemort is the one trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone too?"
Before he could finish, Ron sprang up and slapped a hand over Harry's mouth.
Was Harry out of his mind? How could he say that here?
Mentioning the Philosopher's Stone in front of Professor Dumbledore, that was basically a confession that they'd been snooping around the fourth-floor corridor.
Dumbledore watched their awkward cover-up with a faint smile in his eyes.
Ah, youth. So full of energy, so wonderfully naïve.
Then his gaze shifted to Charlie, and that smile slowly vanished.
That boy wasn't cute at all.
Charlie, for his part, found Dumbledore's look increasingly annoying.
Why did he suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to punch a teacher?
[Come on, Your Majesty! I'll max out your Tyrant Points even on your gravestone.]
Hermione, the only one still maintaining some semblance of decorum, anxiously asked,
"But... wasn't He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named supposed to be dead?"
She glanced at Harry, concern written all over her face.
They all knew Voldemort was the one who murdered Harry's parents.
Dumbledore shook his head.
"He never truly died. He's been plotting his return all this time."
"That's why I placed so many protective enchantments around the Philosopher's Stone."
At last, the truth was out.
Ron gulped, then asked tentatively,
"Then... since Charlie defeated Quirrell, does that mean You-Know-Who's plans failed?"
Dumbledore was silent for a moment.
"He may simply seek out a new ally."
That single sentence sent a chill down Ron and Hermione's spines.
Just imagining it, what if the next one wasn't someone as weak as Quirrell, but a far more dangerous dark wizard?
The consequences were too dreadful to consider.
Charlie, however, didn't seem too bothered. If trouble came, he'd deal with it. Worst case, Dumbledore could shield him.
Dumbledore glanced at the time and stood.
"It's getting late. You students should head to bed."
"As for Voldemort's return, don't speak of it for now."
He paused, eyes settling on Charlie.
"Charlie, stay behind a moment."
Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchanged looks, but didn't ask any questions. After bidding goodnight, they left the office, leaving only Dumbledore and Charlie behind.
The room fell silent again, broken only by the soft crackle of the fireplace.
Dumbledore walked up to Charlie and looked him straight in the eyes.
"Child, what's your view on dark magic?"
He had noticed that Charlie had used Sectumsempra, Snape's spell, during the fight.
He wasn't interested in how Charlie had learned it, only whether the boy might fall into the temptations of dark magic.
Charlie didn't bother hiding anything and replied frankly,
"I think it's quite useful."
Dumbledore's eyes immediately clouded with concern.
Was this talented student walking down the same path as Voldemort?
His brows furrowed, his gaze troubled.
Charlie went on,
"I just think the power's a bit lacking, Professor."
"If it were a bit stronger, I could've one-shot Quirrell. Would've saved a lot of time."
Dumbledore: …?
He thinks it's too weak?
What is this, some kind of dark arts lunatic? Should I respond with Fiendfyre?
Dumbledore looked at him deeply, then said in a serious tone,
"But dark magic can corrupt the mind. It leads people astray."
He meant every word.
Far too many wizards had lost themselves in dark magic's seductive pull, Tom Riddle being the prime example.
Charlie chuckled and asked,
"Professor, do you know dark magic?"
Dumbledore froze.
As Headmaster of Hogwarts and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he knew far more dark spells than most so-called dark wizards.
And he understood what Charlie meant.
You can resist it, why can't I?
But just because he could, didn't mean others could. Even without using dark magic, Dumbledore could overpower most dark wizards.
Charlie stood up, confidence gleaming in his eyes.
His voice grew bold and brash.
"If I can't even resist the lure of dark magic, how can I possibly grasp the vast sea of magical knowledge out there?"
"If I can't learn dark magic, how can I resist it?"
That struck Dumbledore right in the heart.
It was only now that he realized, Charlie was nothing like Tom Riddle.
Charlie was bold, unrestrained, and made no effort to hide his hunger for power.
Unlike Tom, who played the role of a humble, gentle student while hiding a twisted soul.
Charlie's eyes were clear. His desire for power was open, honest.
And there was nothing wrong with young people seeking strength.
Dumbledore wouldn't condemn someone just for wanting to be strong.
Still, he couldn't fully relax.
After all, Charlie was only eleven.
If he were an adult, Dumbledore wouldn't worry about him studying dark magic at all.
Charlie noticed Dumbledore's lingering concern.
"I know what you're worried about."
He raised his wand and said quietly,
"Expecto Patronum."
Silvery light burst from the tip of his wand. A glowing form began to take shape, it was a majestic Eastern Dragon, shimmering in the dim office.
Anyone truly corrupted by dark magic would be incapable of casting a Patronus.
Dumbledore smiled warmly, finally reassured.
"A beautiful Patronus, Charlie."
"Seems my worries were misplaced."
Seeing that Charlie wasn't lost to dark magic, Dumbledore let him return to his dorm to rest.
...
Late at night, Hogwarts' faculty quarters were silent.
Moonlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, casting a pale glow on Snape's sallow face.
His eyes snapped open.
A burning pain throbbed in his left forearm.
The Dark Mark was flaring.
Snape sat up, lifting his sleeve.
The skull-shaped mark glowed an eerie green. The coiling snake writhed as if alive.
The Dark Lord's summons had come without warning.
Ever since their last secret meeting, Snape had been acting as Voldemort's spy inside Hogwarts, while also secretly reporting to Dumbledore.
A double agent in both camps.
Voldemort wouldn't contact him unless it was truly urgent.
Had something happened?
Snape quickly dressed in his black robes and slipped out silently.
Following the pull of the Dark Mark, he made his way deep into the Forbidden Forest.
"Master?" he called softly.
The forest was silent, save for the wind rustling the leaves.
Just as Snape began to wonder if he'd been mistaken, a rustle came from the nearby underbrush.
A raspy voice, cold enough to freeze blood, hissed through the air.
Snape immediately bowed his head, and saw a black serpent coiled among the grass, its red eyes locked onto him.
"Master?" he asked in shock.
"Yes... Severus,"
The snake spoke, its voice unmistakably Voldemort's.
"This is the only form I can take for now."
Snape knelt, but questions churned in his mind.
"My Lord, why... why are you in this state? Possessing a snake?"
"What happened to Quirrell?"
At the mention of Quirrell, rage flashed in the serpent's crimson eyes.
"That fool is dead!"
Voldemort's voice dripped with venom.
"Killed by a student, of all things!"
Snape was stunned.
A student killed Quirrell?
That shouldn't be possible. Quirrell might've been weak, but he was still an adult wizard.
"How shall I proceed, Master?"
"I don't have much time left," Voldemort rasped.
"I will soon fall into a deep sleep, for at least a month."
"When I awaken... I need you to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone for me."
Snape's heart sank.
"Master, if I act openly, my cover will be blown."
"Of course I know that."
"You won't need to act directly. I have a new plan."
"All I require is your cooperation... at the critical moment."
Snape wanted to ask more, but the serpent's eyes had already begun to dim.
"Remember, Severus..." Voldemort's voice grew fainter and fainter.
"The Philosopher's Stone... must be... mine..."
With that, the snake collapsed, completely unconscious.
Snape carefully picked it up and tucked it inside his robes.
After ensuring no one had seen him, he swiftly returned to the castle.
Back in his quarters, he placed the snake in a hidden corner and sat by the bed, deep in thought.
Quirrell was dead, killed by a student.
The Dark Lord now possessed only a snake... and would remain unconscious for a month.
Just what in Merlin's name had happened tonight?
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