You are a teacher!

Dumbledore furrowed his brows, feeling as though he had caught a faint thread: the Basilisk encountered in the Chamber of Secrets last year, the inventions of Herpo, and the memories of Tom once requesting books on Herpo.

Immortality.

Longevity.

A fragmented soul.

Harry Potter's lightning scar.

Lily Potter's magic of love.

Dumbledore began to pace the Headmaster's Office alone, his steps quickening until he moved like a gust of wind, causing the quills on his desk to rustle and whistle. The other headmasters in their portraits watched Dumbledore in this state, unaware of what had transpired.

Yet, none of them dared to disturb him.

Dumbledore had formed a conjecture, a hypothesis so unimaginable and absurd that he had never before considered it a possibility.

"Horcrux."

There were only so many ways to achieve immortality. Alchemy and Dark Magic; from a conventional perspective, these were the only two paths to such an end.

Other methods merely extended one's lifespan, as was the case with a former Headmaster of Hogwarts who had lived for several centuries.

His friend, Dumbledore recalled, Nicolas Flamel and his wife, had achieved immortality through the pinnacle of alchemical creation: the Philosopher's Stone. However, the side effects were severe; his friend had long since become a dehydrated, mummy-like figure, his organs aged and his bones brittle, with only his soul tethered firmly to his flesh, unable to depart.

This was a form of immortality, but also a form of torture.

This was not what Dumbledore desired.

Dumbledore was still young; given his magical attainments, he was merely in the prime of his magical journey. He had many, many years ahead of him and no need to worry about the limits of his lifespan.

His ambition was also greater than Voldemort's.

He did not seek to live forever; he sought something else entirely. He wanted to reclaim souls that did not belong to the realm of the dead from the hands of Death itself.

What he desired was even more wicked than what Voldemort sought.

Voldemort wanted to escape death, while Dumbledore wanted to reverse it.

Beyond the Philosopher's Stone, as far as Dumbledore knew, there was one other way to live longer and evade the grasp of Death.

A Dark Magic creation: the Horcrux.

By splitting a piece of one's soul and anchoring it to an object, the creator would not die so long as that object remained intact. This method was extremely mysterious; though rumors existed, it was not widely known.

Not everyone could create a Horcrux. Even Dumbledore only knew of their existence and had never studied them in depth.

He was researching a different path.

They were two entirely different realms.

There were not many Dark Wizards who knew of "Horcruxes," but there were certainly not few. Since the vile Herpo first invented them, countless Dark Wizards over the millennia had attempted to use this method to gain eternal life, yet they had all failed.

Could it be that Tom had succeeded?

Could it be that Tom had begun preparing for the creation of a "Horcrux" as early as his third or fourth year?

How could that be possible?

Tom in his third or fourth year was only thirteen or fourteen, fifteen at most. He had received no magical education at the orphanage, and after only two or three years of schooling, he hadn't even acquired a complete knowledge base—could he have already learned to create a Horcrux?

If that were the case, then "genius" would be an insufficient word to describe Tom.

Dumbledore knew Voldemort was a genius, a talent not inferior to his own, but had he truly reached such a level?

Even Dumbledore found it hard to believe.

He picked up the books again, carefully reviewing the section on Horcruxes.

He was becoming increasingly certain that Voldemort's return was an unstoppable inevitability; when a person has not truly lived, they cannot truly die.

This was Dumbledore's thought.

Moreover, Dumbledore was worried about another matter.

Although he had told Professor McGonagall that he did not believe the escape of Sirius and Dewey from Azkaban was a major event, he was right.

He had not lied about this; he truly believed it. They were merely two Death Eaters. Dumbledore was concerned about something else.

From Professor Quirrell in Harry's first year to the Basilisk encountered in his second, everything indicated that Voldemort had not died; he was waiting to make a comeback.

Behind the two Azkaban escapees, was it truly devoid of Voldemort's influence?

Did they really escape on their own?

If Voldemort's methods were involved, what was their mission?

There was no need to worry about Sirius; he was innocent.

He was clear on that point.

Sirius was an Animagus. Yes, Dumbledore had known this long before Snape had come to report him; he knew Sirius was an Animagus who could transform into an animal to escape. But what about Dewey?

How did Dewey manage to escape?

Was he, too, an Animagus?

No, he is not.

Dumbledore paced back and forth, beginning to ponder this problem. Dewey, if he did not receive help from Voldemort, then how did he escape?

If Voldemort truly had the ability to fish someone out of Azkaban, then why didn't he fish out the Bellatrix family?

Even Dumbledore could not avoid having preferences among those around him; it was clear that even though Dewey had accomplished some major feats, they could not compare to the Bellatrix family.

Dewey was of little use to Voldemort.

What exactly did Voldemort want to do?

The fog was heavy.

Dumbledore temporarily sealed this information away in his mind, waiting to continue researching it another time. What he needed to do now was to follow the path Tom had walked back then and figure out exactly what kind of Dark Magic gifts he had obtained.

As for teaching, Dumbledore was not worried about that. He even dared to appoint Hagrid as the professor for Care of Magical Creatures, so what was there to be uneasy about regarding Lupin?

Dewey arrived at his bedroom, closed the door, and stared blankly at the fireplace before him.

After taking a sip of a potion, he turned away from the fireplace.

He had Floo Powder right beside him, but he dared not use the fireplace here. According to Hogwarts tradition, the Floo Network was not monitored, yet Dewey did not want to use this method to test that tradition.

Because there were only two possibilities for the Floo Network.

It was either monitored or it was not.

If he attempted to use the Floo Network here, there would only be two outcomes.

He would definitely be discovered, or he would not.

If he contacted Sirius Black through the Floo Network, he would either be perfectly fine, or Snape would be the first to arrive, followed by Dumbledore kicking down the door and knocking him to the ground with a spell.

Dewey sat quietly at the table. Dumbledore provided excellent treatment for Hogwarts professors; the salary was high, and the living conditions were quite comfortable—it was a two-story unit. The first floor was a lounge, and the second floor was a bedroom. If one wanted additional teaching tools or rooms for experiments and storage, one could continue to apply for them.

Of course, this professor position was not easy to hold. At the very least, one professor had to educate seven grades across four houses; it had to be said, this was also a physically demanding job.

To this day, he still had no clear idea of how to teach.

Dewey shook the Marauder's Map out from his clothes.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

He pointed his wand at the Marauder's Map and spoke. Words and drawings began to appear in winding lines on the map. Dewey looked at the text earnestly, watching as name after name appeared. He scanned through them one by one; among these names were people Dewey was familiar with, as well as those he was not. What struck Dewey as strange was that he could not find the Peter that Sirius Black was looking for.

"Where is Peter?"

He carefully checked the Gryffindor boys' dormitory and did not find Peter's name. He glanced at other places as well, but he did not see Peter's presence anywhere.

"Did he run away? No, that's impossible. Voldemort hasn't fully returned yet; he is still drifting toward Britain. A person like Peter Pettigrew would not leave his safe harbor."

"Where are you, my little darling, my dear? Answer me quickly, where are you?"

Dewey tapped the table, carefully considering the possible scenarios. After watching for a long while, he put away the map in his hand and began preparing for tomorrow's lessons.

That's right, he really intended to teach the students at Hogwarts.

Even though, regarding magic, he was practically clueless.

Dementors would destroy a person, both mentally and spiritually—a dual destruction.

In Ravenclaw, the original Dewey had been happy, so those happy memories of his had been sucked away almost entirely.

As for some Dark Magic, Dewey had also tried casting spells without using cards.

Dewey calmly spread out his books, sharpening his sword at the last minute.

After a while, someone in the room began to dance.

"Aha." In the bedroom where he was all alone, Dewey let out a joyful, strange cry while reading, looking as if he were extremely happy.

He hummed Hedwig's Theme, took his wand, stood up and danced, and then read two more pages of the Hogwarts textbook before him.