Everyone Played Dirtier Than the Last

Anton felt that his mind was a mess.

Since it was Auroro, why did she call herself Alex Fiennes?

After all, he was Fiennes's Apprentice.

Could it be that Fiennes had promised to revive Auroro? Auroro had believed him, and so whoever revived her would be regarded as Fiennes?

The analysis seemed to make a bit of sense.

But Fiennes had personally said that they had merely been collaborators back then, the sort of partnership between scholar-type wizards who loved research.

It should have been an alliance in the name of romance, something akin to a family marriage arrangement.

They had not even held hands. There was camaraderie, but no affection.

Anton was a master at studying "emotions." It was easy for him to determine that an experience of that degree could never produce an obsession that transcended death.

Dumbledore gently took the letter from Anton's hand, folded it, and put it back into the envelope. He smiled at Anton. "You seem troubled. Is it about magic? Perhaps if you tell me, I can offer some advice."

"Thank you."

"But there is no need."

Anton had no intention of telling Dumbledore about this. When Old Dumbledore started plotting against people, even Grindelwald, who toyed with fate, was no match for him.

Telling him would be like placing his own weakness right in front of Dumbledore.

Even if Old Dumbledore had no such intention, with something so tempting laid out before him, he would not be able to resist doing something out of professional habit.

Anton did not want to bring more trouble upon himself.

Dumbledore studied Anton through his half-moon spectacles, then nodded.

"Thank you for the information. I shall go back and wait for lunch." Anton was still very grateful. For the information he needed, Old Dumbledore had written