Dumbledore's Consultation

"Professor McGonagall, it's been a long time."

Emerging from the fireplace wreathed in green flames, Voldemort forced a smile. He had decided he would never use that method of travel again.

"Quirrell, you look a bit disheveled."

Professor McGonagall looked up from her desk, her eyes peering over the top of her spectacles at him. Her stern expression was that of a teacher staring down a student who had made a mistake. "But your robes are nice."

"Thank you."

He patted the dust from his robes, only to find it difficult to clean. In the end, he simply used a Silencing Charm and cast the Scouring Charm once.

"The Silencing Charm is excellent. It seems the Forbidden Forest has improved you."

After speaking, Professor McGonagall's gaze returned to the documents on her desk. As Deputy Headmistress, she was extremely busy in the period before the start of term. She continued, "You know the way to the Headmaster's office. The password is: Toffee Finger Biscuits."

"Understood, Professor." Voldemort responded and left Professor McGonagall's office.

Walking through the staircases of Hogwarts, memories deep within his soul slowly awakened, even bringing a trace of joy. These were the memories of Voldemort's lingering soul; he clearly liked this place.

Before long, Voldemort arrived at the eighth-floor corridor and stood before a stone gargoyle.

"Alright, I'll leave it to you." Voldemort said to Quirrell's soul, then retreated and yielded his position.

Quirrell's soul took the lead, while Voldemort's soul hid within the potent Blood Curse. However, he did not choose to sleep, instead secretly peeking at everything outside.

"Toffee Finger Biscuits." Quirrell puffed out his chest slightly before speaking to the gargoyle.

"Rumble."

The gargoyle hopped aside. The wall behind it cracked open with a loud noise, revealing a spiral staircase slowly moving upwards.

"Quirrell?" From the depths of the staircase, Headmaster Dumbledore's voice could be heard.

"Yes, Headmaster, it's me." Quirrell said, steadying his nerves.

"Come up, I've prepared some biscuits for you."

"Thank you, sir."

As Quirrell spoke, he ascended the spiral staircase and entered a spacious, beautiful circular room.

Directly behind the staircase, a large, slender-legged dining table was set. Dumbledore, with his silver hair, sat behind it, but he was looking at something and did not look towards Quirrell.

"Have some biscuits. I need to finish this section first," he said without looking up.

"Of course, Headmaster. Please, continue with your work."

Quirrell replied, his gaze sweeping curiously around the room.

The most eye-catching items were undoubtedly the row of peculiar silver objects on the table. Through Quirrell's eyes, Voldemort saw a silver lighter, a golden watch, and behind Dumbledore's side, the Sorting Hat.

But their attention was quickly drawn to the materials Dumbledore was examining. It was a brochure, and it was immediately clear it was for Muggles, as the photos inside didn't move.

While bending down to sit, Quirrell quickly glanced at it. It was a brochure for hospital blood donation.

"Thump-thump, thump-thump..." Quirrell's heart began to beat rapidly, betraying him.

"You're a bit nervous." Dumbledore looked up in surprise, then smiled kindly. "Have some honey juice. It helps relieve stress."

With a wave of the Elder Wand, a cup of honey juice appeared before Quirrell.

"Thank you... I don't know if I'm ready, for Defense Against the Dark Arts," Quirrell said, picking up the drink and taking a small sip.

"You were the Muggle Studies professor. That means you have teaching experience,"

Dumbledore placed the blood donation flyer on the table and consoled him, "You've also ventured into the Forbidden Forest. That means you have practical experience. So... don't worry."

Quirrell forced a nervous smile, then quickly became serious again, as if preparing to face Dumbledore's interview questions.

"Don't rush. I happen to have a question I'd like to ask you."

Dumbledore picked up the flyer and gestured with it. "Regarding Muggle hospitals and blood drawing – from this leaflet, I seem to have picked up the wrong related document. What I mean to ask is, how much blood do they usually draw at Muggle hospitals?"

Quirrell's eyes widened in confusion, his gaze filled with bewilderment. "Uh... Headmaster, I think... I'm here to interview for Defense Against the Dark Arts, not..."

"Oh, you misunderstood me."

Dumbledore leaned back slightly, then chuckled. "This is a personal question, not part of the interview."

"Ah."

Quirrell feigned understanding and, after a moment's thought, said, "It's hard to say. It depends on the condition, but generally, they like to draw a bit more."

"Why?" Dumbledore asked, puzzled.

"To confirm the diagnosis and to avoid complications," Quirrell explained. "They use blood tests to confirm the cause of illness. The more tests they do, the more potential causes they can rule out. If they don't find a problem because they didn't do enough, and trouble arises later, that's a complication."

Dumbledore nodded, his brow furrowed slightly, and asked again, "Does the amount of blood drawn involve any risk to life?"

"Definitely not. They have clear regulations, and they are held responsible if something goes wrong."

"Oh, so are there many cases where drawing a lot of blood causes weakness?"

Quirrell's brow furrowed in confusion. After thinking, he said, "I'm not sure. Since I came to Hogwarts, I haven't been to a Muggle hospital again."

Hearing his last sentence, Dumbledore smiled at him and said, "I only went once out of curiosity, but I didn't do anything."

Quirrell returned the smile, then asked, "Headmaster, are you asking these questions because there's a problem that needs to be resolved at a Muggle hospital? Or is there some other situation?"

"He's a child," Dumbledore said. "He was checked at a Muggle hospital, and the results showed symptoms of anemia. Of course, he was very thin to begin with, which might also be related."

Quirrell shook his head, indicating he didn't quite understand.

"Alright, you've cleared up most of my doubts."

Dumbledore seemed completely at ease, but the truth of the matter was unknown. "Actually, I still think you'd be suitable to teach Muggle Studies—I've always encouraged Wizards coming from outside the Wizarding world to become professors for this subject."

"But I truly lack interest in that course," Quirrell said, frowning with a hint of grievance.

"Of course, neither of you has much interest in it."

Dumbledore said with some helplessness, then seemed to suddenly remember something. "I heard about the incident at Old Tom's tavern. It seems you're braver than before."

Quirrell froze for a moment, then realized that Old Tom's tavern referred to The Leaky Cauldron, and that incident...

"The Vampire's curse made me a bit neurotic, and I haven't fully adjusted after returning to the Wizarding world."

Quirrell explained somewhat anxiously, as if he didn't want that incident to affect Dumbledore's assessment of him.

"Don't be nervous, child."

Dumbledore soothed him. "Bravery isn't a mistake, and it's not something to be praised that they gambled with your life."

Quirrell nodded; he thought the same.