Outside the window, night hung heavy. But the Headmaster's office blazed with light. Fawkes pecked at the Sorting Hat's tip. Dumbledore sat behind his desk in robes embroidered with golden stars. Silver beard and half-moon glasses glinted in candlelight.
"Welcome, Henry," Dumbledore said. "Thank you, Minerva, Severus."
The moment Anthony's slippers stepped into the office, Fawkes flew to the top of a cabinet. The cat's gaze locked onto this large bird it had never seen. Looked fascinated.
"Albus, it's not Henry," McGonagall said firmly. "He—"
Dumbledore smiled. Interrupted her. Also stopped Snape from speaking: "I don't think it's Henry either." He glanced at Anthony's dust-and-blood-stained outfit. "If you don't mind, I'd like to speak with him alone."
"Just reminding you, Headmaster," Snape said coldly. "The Devil's Snare proves only one person went down."
He and McGonagall walked out together. Closed the office door behind them.
After consuming half a plate of cookies, Anthony finally finished his account. Yawned slightly. Reached out to stroke his cat. The Headmaster's office armchair was surprisingly comfortable. The cat dozed on his lap. With Dumbledore's help, his bathrobe, pajamas, and slippers were all clean now.
"Oh my, oh my," Dumbledore sighed. "Henry, I never imagined this would happen. Let me put it this way—Quirrell is actually Voldemort."
"Wh-what?"
"Quirrell is actually Voldemort. At least he's working for Voldemort," Dumbledore repeated. "The third-floor corridor was a trap... well, not entirely a trap. He was cautious. Always suspected it was a trap. Severus threatened him several times before he believed we'd really hidden something there—I must admit, we suspected you too—we originally planned to trap him in a small room... It's very open, walls specially reinforced, no students nearby... In short, perfect for catching someone."
"But I stopped him from entering that room," Anthony said. Wide awake now. He gradually understood what happened. He'd let Voldemort escape.
But the next second, he couldn't help blurting out: "Wait. You knew he was problematic all along? You planned to catch Voldemort at school?"
"Ah, Henry," Dumbledore couldn't help showing a slight smile. "Minerva told me you'd say that. Rest assured, we have ample evidence he wouldn't dare harm students in school corridors or classrooms. He came here for something more important. With that greedy desire, I'd bet once he entered that final room, he'd never want to leave."
"What's really in the final room?"
"Just as he told you. The secret of immortality," Dumbledore said lightly. "And a magnifying glass for desire. A cage prepared especially for him."
"Oh..."
"I think he must have been desperate to escape the unicorn's curse," Dumbledore said. "You know, sometimes I really don't understand what he's thinking. He didn't dare see Madam Pomfrey. So he chose to attack unicorns in the Forbidden Forest."
"Speaking of unicorns, I suppose he visited my office..." Anthony recalled. "After returning from the pet rescue center, my office was a mess. And Quirrell was injured. I later discovered my cat had scratched him."
Dumbledore nodded approvingly: "Yes. As I said, I think he was somewhat too impatient."
"Do you think..." Anthony hesitated. "Do you think he killed the unicorn because the cat scratched him?"
He couldn't stop himself from thinking about various "what ifs." If he hadn't indulged in warm illusions. If he'd discovered Quirrell's abnormality earlier. If he hadn't discussed resurrection and souls with Quirrell. If Quirrell hadn't been injured. If he hadn't followed tonight. If he hadn't lost control. If he'd discovered Voldemort... At every point, he could imagine things developing differently.
As if knowing what he was thinking, Dumbledore said gently: "I doubt it, Henry. Voldemort is very weak now. That's why what's in the school attracted him so much. Even without your cat..." He smiled at the ginger cat with its face buried in Anthony's bathrobe, sleeping. "I think he probably couldn't have lasted much longer anyway. At that point, he'd still choose to kill innocent creatures. Just a matter of time."
"When the unicorn died, you knew—you knew—"
"No, I must say, I only had some suspicions then," Dumbledore said. "But you see, when people get older, they have this problem... I often worry whether I'm too suspicious. Then again, I have an even more suspicious old friend. He often scolds me for trusting people too much."
Anthony was momentarily speechless. Fortunately, his mouse woke then. Crawled out of an orange wizard's hat Dumbledore had placed on the desk. Dumbledore gave it half a cookie. The mouse held it politely. But didn't eat.
"Henry, you did absolutely nothing wrong," Dumbledore said, biting into the remaining half cookie. "If there's any problem, it's that Quirinus unfortunately—or fortunately—happened to run into you. And you were more excellent than we expected. I should have told you, but..." He shook his head. Said lightly: "No matter. Now we have you on our side. I'd say that's our bigger gain this term. Perhaps bigger than catching Voldemort."
Anthony still found it hard to believe: "But Professor Quirrell—Quirrell... I even thought Voldemort was dead?"
Since entering the magical world, all the magical history he'd studied told him that. To him, Voldemort represented nothing more than a slightly closer goblin rebellion.
Cocoa could testify—he'd never imagined eating stewed lamb with Scruffy Lala.
"Yes, I suppose he's more tenacious than people imagine," Dumbledore said. "He even somehow sent me an urgent letter from the Ministry. Otherwise we should have..."
"At this time?" Anthony asked. Couldn't believe Dumbledore would be lured away by such a childish tactic.
Dumbledore said quietly: "Once you deal with them for a while, you'll realize this timing made that letter more credible, Henry."
After resolving the doubts nearly bursting through his chest, Dumbledore spent time trying to analyze what happened. But Anthony resisted somewhat—at this point, he didn't want to recall why he hadn't swallowed that weak Voldemort in one bite. Let him struggle in his stomach like a toad mint.
Moreover, Anthony found it hard to describe the scene in words. Simply saying "I felt like I was that troll" or "I seemed able to eat life directly" wasn't enough. He had to try describing that thing between edible and inedible. And that seemed beyond the Hogwarts Headmaster's menu.
Besides, there was a simpler reason. He didn't want to tell anyone he'd almost eaten a person again. Even now, recalling how he'd tried to pull out Quirrell's soul still made his heart race. Even more than letting Voldemort escape.
So he simply said he'd scared Voldemort away with "necromancy" and such methods. Facing Dumbledore's seemingly soul-penetrating gaze, he felt the old man before him must know he was deliberately hiding something. But he repeated guiltily yet firmly: "Necromancy."
"All right, necromancy," Dumbledore sighed. "Before truly facing death, I don't think I can comment on it. And if I must say something, I think Voldemort must have been terrified by you, Henry... When forced to face what he pathetically wants to escape, I hope it makes him realize something."
Then, like lightning splitting dark clouds, Anthony suddenly understood what Dumbledore's research assignment meant. He suddenly understood why Dumbledore repeatedly asked about his research progress. Why he encouraged him to voice every method he thought of.
Because Dumbledore always believed Voldemort would return.
"You told me to research resurrection!" Anthony said, frustrated.
"Yes, Henry."
"—But I should actually have researched immortality!" Anthony said. "Those are completely different things!"
"I lost control somewhat," Anthony reflected. "That's actually very dangerous. I'd sworn to myself. But in that instant, I think I almost forgot. I don't know if I'd wake up like last time if I let necromancy dominate my consciousness. I don't dare rely too much on probability."
"Last time?" Dumbledore asked.
"You investigated it," Anthony said. "The community where I was before resurrection. The one that made the Ministry think I was a nasty wizard crawling from mud to scare Muggles... There was a Mr. Wright in the community. I nearly hurt him when I wasn't lucid—I think I nearly killed him—only came to my senses in time." He said helplessly: "I know. I also think necromancy is really scary sometimes. It's too good at killing."
"I hope not all necromancers possess this ability. I truly hope so," Dumbledore said. "Fortunately, historically, you're probably indeed special. Even if I don't know necromancers' usual situation, by simple deduction, they shouldn't be impossible for any creature to resist. Unfortunately, this means you must walk your own path."
"I understand."
The sky outside had turned from heavy night to deep blue. Near the ground, a faint light showed. Forest birds began calling.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to know how you..." Dumbledore didn't continue. "From your description, when you can't control necromancy but are controlled by it, you have almost no consciousness."
Anthony immediately understood his concern. He said: "I very sternly commanded myself not to harm humans."
Dumbledore said quietly: "But today..."
"Yes. Today I lost control somewhat," Anthony said. "But—allow me to defend myself—at that moment, in my eyes, he didn't really look human anymore."
Dumbledore said seriously: "Even so, Henry. Even so."
Anthony admitted: "Yes. Even so. Do you have any suggestions? Should I restrain myself more cautiously, or understand myself more deeply?"
"Ah, good question," Dumbledore pondered. "How to coexist with oneself, Henry, is a problem many people can't solve in their lifetime. But your situation is slightly different... You mentioned you'd practiced necromancy relatively restrainedly, yes?"
Anthony nodded. His cat finally woke. While stretching, mercilessly tore several holes in the bathrobe Dumbledore had just repaired. Then jumped down. Walked around Anthony. Started sharpening its claws—the ones that had scratched Voldemort—on the armchair leg.
As if unable to hear that harsh scraping sound, Dumbledore said calmly: "While practicing, try understanding the magic. You know, magic isn't stagnant water. It flows. It's active. Has body temperature—even lost magic. Even necromancy."
Anthony scooped up the cat. Ignored the long bloody scratches on his arm: "I thought you'd suggest I resign."
"What, do I have that option?" Dumbledore pretended surprise. Then laughed. "No, Henry. Not when you haven't done anything bad. Not when you're still finding your path. Hogwarts is a magic school. And you, from one perspective, are still a first-year student."
Anthony stared at him. Dumbledore said gently: "Hogwarts welcomes every confused young wizard."
"You know, some people accuse you of liking to shelter Dark wizards and dangerous magical creatures?" Before leaving, Anthony said. "Considering my danger, sometimes I don't even know if I should stay at school."
Dumbledore said calmly: "I know. But this is a solid castle. And I'm the Headmaster."
"And you're a very difficult old lunatic to deal with," Anthony said thoughtfully.
"Oh, absolutely right," Dumbledore laughed. "Don't worry, Henry. In my eyes, having a dedicated professor in the castle is very beneficial. At least better than replaced snacks in the common room. Even better than a dragon in the backyard."
"You—how did you know, sir?" Anthony asked, surprised. They'd been quite discreet when replacing them. And Dumbledore wasn't at school then.
Dumbledore said slyly: "You don't really think I have that many meetings, do you, Henry?"
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