21, I Have an Idea

Klein's first Saturday at Hogwarts was quite fulfilling; aside from a minor incident in the morning, he spent the entire day immersed in the ocean of knowledge.

Learning brings joy—an old saying that never lies~

"Smooth on the surface, cold in nature and sweet in taste, it can cure most heat toxins, but it can also serve as the main ingredient for poison. That is, if certain specific conditions are met, its properties can transform. So, which angle should I start my experiment from?"

At the dining table, Klein was still pondering the medicinal changes of the "Sheep Liver Fruit."

So absorbed was he that he even forgot to eat the steak he had bitten into, only snapping back to reality when the House-elf's magic cleared the plates. A hint of self-reproach flickered in his blue eyes.

"Wasting is bad behavior. I need to pay attention next time."

Muttering to himself, Klein rose from the table.

Before the library closed, he decided to look up some materials before curfew, but he hadn't even left the dining hall when a small, pointed-faced boy coming his way made him abandon that idea.

"Draco, are you alright?"

Klein approached the Malfoy Young Master and asked with concern.

"Who? Oh, Klein, it's you. I'm fine."

Draco, lost in his own thoughts, was startled. Steadying himself, his face paler than usual, he ran a hand through his damp, stringy hair and forced a faint smile.

"Hey, buddy, who did you run into in the library?"

Slightly twitching his nose and glancing at the book tucked under the other's arm, Klein spoke calmly.

"It was Professor Quirrell, the one from Defense Against the Dark Arts. Oh, and he asked me to tell you that next Wednesday at seven in the evening, he wants to invite you to his office to discuss some spell improvements."

Recalling what happened in the library, Draco blinked and answered truthfully.

"An invitation from Professor Quirrell, I see."

His mind stirred, Klein reached out and patted the other's shoulder.

A glimmer of light flashed by.

"Alright, I'm off to the library. You should go eat quickly—mealtime is almost over."

Quietly withdrawing his magic, he offered a gentle smile.

For some reason, seeing that smile seemed to lighten the fatigue on Draco's body.

After bidding farewell to his companion, who had unknowingly been subjected to a "Calming Charm," Klein walked straight out of the dining hall. But instead of heading to the library, he went directly to the eighth floor and arrived at Dumbledore's Headmaster's office.

"Password."

The stone gargoyles flanking the wooden door asked in a rigid tone.

"Cream Honey."

Klein said softly.

"Creak~"

The door swung open, and he stepped inside slowly.

"You're here."

Seeing Klein, Dumbledore behind the desk showed no surprise. Since forming the "Alliance," the two had met almost every day.

"Have a seat. I've already written and sent the letter, no need to worry."

He looked up, inviting Klein to sit across from him.

But Klein didn't move; he just quietly watched Dumbledore.

"Whispers."

The old man understood, picked up his wand, and waved it casually, sealing off all external prying.

"Voldemort has appeared."

Once the "Muffliato" took effect, Klein said in a low voice.

"Hm?"

Dumbledore's heart jolted, and his brow furrowed involuntarily.

"He's in the castle. Quirinus Quirrell—he is Voldemort. No mistake."

His expression still as calm as ever, Klein leaned forward slightly.

"Let's take a walk together and get rid of him. It'll be quick, won't take much effort."

"Wait, hold on!"

Dumbledore took a deep breath, struggling to keep up with Klein's pace.

What was all this? How could Quirinus Quirrell possibly be Voldemort?

That outstanding wizard, a Ravenclaw alumnus, was someone he had watched grow, step by step, into the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Still...

Quirrell's recent behavior had indeed been strange.

The old man narrowed his eyes, a flicker of doubt passing through the gaze behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Evidence? What evidence do you have?"

Suppressing the doubts in his heart, Dumbledore decided to hear Klein out first. The matter was too important to rush.

"I smelled it."

Klein hadn't wanted to bother with Voldemort's petty affairs for now—live and let live, after all. Besides, having some troublemaker hopping around to draw outside attention suited him just fine.

But now that noseless Peeves had set his sights on him, daring to interfere with his studies?

Sorry, that was unacceptable.

"Smelled?"

Dumbledore was a bit speechless, yet not without understanding. Powerful wizards generally had sharp instincts. If Klein said Quirrell was problematic, then Quirrell very likely was.

As for whether this could be a scheme—

Nonsense. If Klein truly wanted to act, no one in the castle could stop him. He wouldn't need to go through the trouble of fabricating lies.

Scenes from the "Gringotts break-in" at the end of July flashed through his mind, along with what was hidden in the Mirror of Erised. Dumbledore stroked the Elder Wand, now with a new master, and his expression gradually darkened.

He hadn't expected Voldemort to slip into the school right under his nose.

He couldn't allow this!

"Klein, stay here for now. I'll go have a word with Professor Quirrell."

Having made up his mind, Dumbledore rose, tucking the Elder Wand into his wide robe sleeve. He paused for a second, then showed a hesitant expression, sat back down, and gently shook his head.

"No, not yet. Now isn't the time."

"You mean you're afraid of dragging innocent students into it."

Seeing Dumbledore's look, Klein instantly understood why he'd sat back down. As headmaster, Dumbledore always put the safety of teachers and students first. Rushing to confront Quirrell could easily harm the innocent.

Thinking it over, he blinked and suddenly had an idea.

An idea that would both keep Voldemort obediently out of his way and improve his public image, erasing the "Grindelwald" stereotype in the Magical World.

"In that case, let's put on a show for Voldemort."

A smile curled at the corner of his mouth as Klein sat down across from Dumbledore.

"You mean—"

Countless possibilities raced through Dumbledore's mind, leaving him puzzled.

"First, in the public's perception, Voldemort is already dead. No matter what reason you give for destroying him, the Ministry of Magic—especially Cornelius Fudge—will just label it a self-staged farce. You know, you can never wake someone who's pretending to sleep."

"Like this morning."

Dumbledore added.

"Exactly, like this morning."

Klein nodded.

"We can keep an eye on Voldemort, make sure he doesn't act rashly. Once everyone is in position—"

His eyes grew brighter as he spoke, and he raised a finger.

"—that's when we strike."