"Albus!" Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout howled in unison and tried to throw themselves toward Dumbledore, who was sitting on the ground, but halfway there, while their minds were in turmoil, Allen bound them in place with Petrificus Totalus.
"Sorry, Professors, but there's nothing physically wrong with Dumbledore. Since things have already come to this, I think it's better to let Dumbledore fully understand himself, and understand the mistakes he's been making all these years." Allen looked apologetically at the two heads of house, then turned to the White Wizard sitting on the ground, lost in self-reflection. He shook his head, dispelling the wandering thought that the old man couldn't be trying to scam him by faking an injury, could he? Then he steadied himself and let his voice reach Dumbledore's ears. "Dumbledore, what I was interrupted before I could point out when I mentioned this just now is that Tom Riddle used that yew wand. Wizards generally believe yew wands carry connotations of immortality, evil, death, and deadly poison..." Allen did not step any closer, and said calmly, "But Muggles discovered a substance in yew... According to their medicine... oh, that is, their Potions... Muggle research found that this thing they call Taxol is recognized in the Muggle world as a drug that can fight what they consider a terminal illness—cancer."
Dumbledore, sitting on the ground, no longer showed any trace of his usual bearing as the White Wizard or that mischievous old grandfatherly manner. Under the repeated bombardment of information, he now looked only like a pitiful old man. His lips moved, but nothing came out.
"Dumbledore, I believe you should remember that I've dabbled in wandlore. The flower language of the towering yew is pride. Those born under the blessing of this plant have their own unique