The two of them entered the headmaster's office.
Dumbledore guided Lewis to sit at the large desk.
Lewis's gaze quickly swept the room.
The worn Sorting Hat rested quietly on a nearby shelf.
In front of it stood a perch—
and upon it, Fawkes.
The phoenix noticed Lewis's gaze,
tilted its head slightly,
and flicked its magnificent tail feathers—
a silent greeting.
On the walls hung portraits of past headmasters.
At first glance, they all seemed asleep.
But Lewis noticed—
their eyes were just barely open.
Watching him.
Curious.
With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore summoned refreshments.
Chilled pumpkin juice.
Cakes, candies—
neatly divided between them.
"Please, help yourself, my boy."
Lewis discreetly checked—
no Veritaserum, no tricks.
Only then did he nod, take a bite of cheesecake, and sip the juice.
Refreshing.
Perfect.
If not for the old wizard staring at him the entire time.
Only after Lewis finished a slice of cake did Dumbledore finally speak.
"As I mentioned earlier, would you be willing to tell me what happened tonight, Mr. Green?"
"I'd like a few more details—so I may properly inform the staff. After all, exams are approaching…"
"Of course, Headmaster."
Lewis had expected this.
So he began.
From Harry's investigations earlier in the term—
to Harry seeking his help—
to the trials.
He described Hermione's reasoning, Ron's contributions,
and finally—
the confrontation with Voldemort.
Including how a simple spell had turned the tide.
He didn't hide his own actions—
like dropping all the keys,
or summoning creatures to replace chess pieces.
But he never specified how he did them.
"Remarkable…"
Dumbledore sighed softly.
"Courage and intelligence, both in equal measure."
"You are truly a Ravenclaw, my boy… though I suspect Gryffindor might have suited you as well."
He smiled.
"Thank you. I've asked quite enough questions."
Then—
"I imagine you have some questions for me?"
Lewis understood immediately.
This wasn't generosity.
It was strategy.
You don't only understand someone by asking questions—
you can also understand them by answering theirs.
When someone asks, they feel in control—
and lower their guard.
Through his answers,
Dumbledore would learn what Lewis truly cared about.
What kind of person he was.
Old fox…
Lewis kept his expression neutral.
Even though he already knew most of the truth—
he still had to play along.
"Professor," he said,
"why did Quirrell react like that when touching Harry?"
"I assume… there's a reason?"
Dumbledore smiled slightly.
"I believe a clever boy like you already has some ideas."
Then he explained.
"Professor Quirrell was not alone. He carried another soul—one far more dangerous."
"Harry survived once because of a powerful protection."
"That protection still lingers."
"The Dark Lord cannot touch him."
"Unfortunately… Quirrell became the one who suffered the consequences."
Lewis nodded.
So he does know about the soul magic… at least partially.
Horcruxes.
He would need to study them eventually.
After all—
he still owed Helena Ravenclaw a diadem.
Next year… the Restricted Section.
Lockhart might be useful for that.
Lewis continued asking a few harmless questions—
things he already knew.
Then—
he shifted.
"Headmaster… don't you think Professor Quirrell's behavior this year was… strange?"
He repeated his earlier deduction about the troll incident.
Silence fell across the office.
A long one.
Lewis's mind flickered with a darker thought—
Did Dumbledore know… and allow it?
Was Quirrell just a piece on the board?
But he dismissed it.
Not entirely impossible—
but unlikely.
Dumbledore was flawed—
stubborn, overly reliant on prophecy—
but fundamentally good.
If Quirrell had truly turned back,
he likely would have tried to save him.
Still…
there was another truth.
Dumbledore could be cold.
Especially when it came to Harry.
Because deep down—
he likely understood the connection between Harry and Voldemort.
Which meant—
everything Harry was being prepared for…
led to one moment.
Standing before Voldemort.
And taking a Killing Curse.
Whether Harry lived or died—
was secondary.
That…
was terrifying.
For a man willing to sacrifice even himself—
others were also pieces on the board.
Lewis felt a faint trace of pity.
For Harry.
Dumbledore finally spoke.
"Quirrell was talented… but timid."
"He wished to prove himself."
"Unfortunately… he encountered Tom."
He sighed.
"Without that, he might have become a fine professor."
Then he smiled again.
"Thank you, Mr. Green. You've been very patient with an old man tonight."
"It's quite late—I trust you can make it back without Filch catching you?"
Lewis nodded and took his leave.
After he left—
the portraits stirred.
"He is brilliant," one said.
"Mature. Intelligent. A touch ambitious… perhaps even suited for Slytherin."
"But kind. I like him."
"He didn't even mention the Philosopher's Stone," another remarked.
"I certainly wouldn't have resisted."
"That's exactly what's suspicious!" a third snapped.
"Who wouldn't want it—unless he already has one?"
(An accidental truth.)
The portraits began to argue.
Some praised him.
Others doubted him.
Finally—
Dumbledore spoke.
"For now… Lewis Green is a good boy."
"Brilliant. Talented. Ambitious—yes."
"But his ambition lies in knowledge."
"A true Ravenclaw."
"And most importantly—"
"He has a kind heart."
"He helped Harry."
"He even saw the good still left in Quirrell…"
"…something even I failed to do."
Dumbledore's eyes softened slightly.
"For now—"
"He will not become the next Dark Lord."
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