Wandering and Certain Thoughts

Hardly anyone noticed him.

He Shenyan only wanted to wander around by himself for a while, so he used a small, special trick to make his presence extremely faint—I know, some people would want to learn this little gimmick and use it for improper purposes.

Back to the point.

If he were to rate this ancient castle, he would give it an 85. It was magnificent. Setting aside the grand and elegant architectural style, the exquisite yet understated interior decor also suited his tastes perfectly.

Of course, he also noticed the ghosts wandering about at will, the portraits with their own consciousness, and the living sculptures.

These things, honestly, were not rare.

He himself knew quite a few ways to trap the souls of the living into paintings and sculptures for the sake of torture, and he also knew spells to turn souls into ghosts. However, the various creations within this castle were not like that; they were not crafted through malicious means.

This was quite interesting.

Ghosts not born of negative energy and portraits devoid of living human souls were, in his view, as precious and curious as a cat that eats with its backside.

If you were a biologist, you would probably immediately want to study such a cat that naturally eats with its backside.

The mage couldn't help but sigh that his decision to embark on the journey home was indeed correct. Not only could he find his way home bit by bit, but he could also witness new magic and see new scenery along the way—what could be better than that?

The Ancient One once laughingly remarked that he had a pathological thirst for magical knowledge, and he agreed with her.

He paused for a moment in front of a tapestry titled Barnabas the Barmy Battered by Trolls, then turned to look at the wall opposite it. Out of a sense of courtesy, he did not pry into the magic that resembled a folded space, but simply continued on his way.

Over the next half hour, aside from the students' towers and some of the professors' offices, he had essentially toured the entire ancient castle.

He finally chose to stop in front of an open window, overlooking the lawns, the woods, and the vast lake below. His heart was filled with an inexplicable sense of pleasure: Very well, let us begin here.

Dumbledore, by this time, had already Apparated to the Ministry of Magic, carrying Tom Riddle with him.

Not to mention the ordinary employees who nearly fainted upon seeing the piece of skin in his hand, even the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, fared no better. He pulled out a silk handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his face, looking at the tall old man with a weak, strained smile.

"My dear Dumbledore, pray tell, what is this?"

Dumbledore did not show any expression of disdain; he simply made a gesture for Fudge to calm down, then placed Tom Riddle on the table. The Dark Lord, existing merely as a piece of skin, seemed to make Fudge incredibly nervous; he nearly slid right out of his chair.

Seeing the sweat pouring off him, Dumbledore had no choice but to explain: "My dear Fudge, can you not see? This is that Voldemort we have been searching for for so many years."

He deliberately spoke the name. Voldemort's skin immediately began to curse silently again—in truth, he had never stopped, but no one could hear him, and they could only guess by the shape of his lips.

Fudge sat bolt upright—not out of excitement, but out of fear. He immediately drew his wand and pointed it at Voldemort, forcing himself to put on a show of great courage while simultaneously beginning to shout for Aurors.

Political capital!

While waiting for the Aurors to arrive, he asked if Dumbledore could also summon the reporters. After receiving an ambiguous nod of permission, Fudge's joy was evident—this would be a dazzling achievement in his political career.

However, Dumbledore unexpectedly showed little emotional fluctuation.

He felt a sense of relief he had never experienced before.

Looking back on his life, the first half was entangled with one Dark Lord, and the second half with another. Now, the old one was locked away in prison for decades, and the young one had been found at Hogwarts after ten years of hiding.

Feeling unburdened, he had nothing else on his mind now but to finish the job quickly.

After dealing with Fudge and the reporters with great speed and a distracted attitude, he pulled Fudge aside, his expression turning serious.

"My dear Fudge, I know you intend to make something of this, but he has not been completely dealt with. Do you understand? You may publicize the news of his capture to see if any Death Eaters who haven't given up hope will come to attempt a rescue, but I need him alive—for now."

After saying this, Dumbledore stopped looking at Fudge and offered no further explanation. He walked toward Fudge's fireplace and vanished amidst a burst of flames.

As for the Minister for Magic, after being dazed for a long while, he finally came to his senses. With a face full of smiles, he walked back behind his desk, intending to open a bottle of wine to celebrate.

At six o'clock that evening, Professor McGonagall saw Dumbledore push open the door to the conference room.

Following behind him was the young man she had seen that afternoon. Professor Trelawney, sitting opposite her, immediately let out a short gasp, then slumped over onto the table, her face looking so pale it was as if she were about to faint.

Professor Flitwick, sitting next to her, helped her up so she wouldn't lose face in front of the guest.

As for that famous ghost professor, Mr. Binns, he simply didn't come at all.

Even though Professor McGonagall had spent a long time that afternoon finding him in some corner of the castle to notify him, it made no difference.

Madam Hooch and Professor Sinistra were quite interested in this handsome man. Only Snape kept his usual deathly pallor; he seemed not to care about anything.

Dumbledore and He Shenyan walked into the conference room. Without introducing He Shenyan first, Dumbledore said: "Allow me to announce two things to you all first."

"The shame of this school, the notorious Voldemort, Tom Riddle, was discovered this afternoon at four o'clock by this Mr. He. He had, by some means, possessed the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirinus Quirrell."

"Forgive this slow-witted old man for not discovering him, but fortunately, our good Mr. He found him. It saved us from letting Voldemort teach our students. He has already been taken to the Ministry of Magic; by tomorrow at the latest, you will all see reports about this in the newspapers."

Professor McGonagall felt a wave of dizziness, a mix of the joy of Voldemort's capture and the fear of what Dumbledore had said. The other professors began to whisper among themselves.

Only Snape's sallow complexion turned deathly white, flushed with an unnatural red, his hands clenched tightly beneath the table.

"The second matter is that this school will undergo reforms, adopting a brand-new teaching method."

After saying this, he winked playfully and turned to look at He Shenyan beside him: "It is your turn."

He Shenyan smiled; he was ready to speak.

Late at night, Professor McGonagall sat in her office, feeling completely distracted. At this hour, she would usually be diligently grading assignments, but now, she had no heart for it. Her mind was filled with the miracles that man had displayed during the meeting.

A miracle.

There was no other way to describe it.

The magic used by wizards was worlds apart from the simple, basic spells he cast with a casual flick of his wrist.

Snape had initially been highly skeptical of the "otherworld" claim, believing Dumbledore had grown senile and fallen for a charlatan. It wasn't until they were both bathed in the light of that white star that he lost the ability to speak, remaining in a dazed, soul-absent state ever since.

Professor McGonagall only then noticed something—she had been staring at her desk for over half an hour. She helplessly set down her quill, intending to bathe and head to bed. Sleep would likely be elusive, however. At her age, rest was already difficult, let alone after such a shock.

Surprisingly, she found herself looking forward to tomorrow. She didn't know if her other colleagues felt the same, but she knew this event signaled a massive transformation for the entire world.

That method of spellcasting, that mastery over magic, was simply mesmerizing.

Snape was currently standing outside the Headmaster's office, displaying a rare, restless unease. Dumbledore stepped out, nodded at him, and greeted him: "Severus."

Snape didn't even notice him at first, only looking up when he heard the voice. He grabbed Dumbledore's sleeve, unable to speak for a moment: "Y-you, are you telling the truth? He has been captured?"

Dumbledore looked at him and nodded slowly, with great conviction.

Snape stumbled back a few steps, only then noticing the phoenix perched on Dumbledore's shoulder and the black leather suitcase in his hand.

Snape asked: "What are you doing?"

"Oh, this? I don't intend to be Headmaster anymore."

"What?!"

Dumbledore was quite satisfied to see the shock on Snape's face. He wore that classic, mischievous smile of a prankster who had succeeded: "Just joking. I'm just moving to a different spot. I intend to use this office as a classroom for the teachers for the next month."

"I'll return it once the term officially begins. After all, the students still need to attend classes; at least until the end of this semester, they still have those exams to take."

Snape nodded. He licked his dry lips and asked with some hesitation: "Is he... I mean, is Mr. He inside?"

Dumbledore knew what he wanted to ask, so he nodded decisively: "Of course. He should be inside preparing his lessons."

After saying this, Dumbledore knocked on the griffin-shaped brass knocker to put it to sleep, then walked away, leaving Snape standing there alone.

In the dim corridor, the candlelight in front of the Headmaster's office illuminated half of his face. That usually expressionless, cold face was now filled with hope.

He slowly pushed open the door, which anyone could now enter since the knocker was dormant, his heart brimming with complex emotions he couldn't even begin to name.