The Second Director

"I thought you young people were more open to new things. These sweets are really delicious." Dumbledore smacked his lips regretfully, picked up a cockroach that wriggled and waved its antennae, tossed it into his thick white beard, and crunched away.

"Headmaster, people are free to like whatever they want, but sometimes I'd suggest they see a healer." Canopus sighed and hurriedly took a sip of black tea to suppress the discomfort of witnessing such a bizarre sight.

"Did you need something?" Seeing that he had made his point, Dumbledore pushed the plate piled with cockroaches aside.

"Nothing much. I just have a few thoughts about Harry's training plan."

"I know, but I didn't expect you to be so eager to discuss this with me." Dumbledore steepled his long fingers. "Speak freely."

"You should know my strength, Headmaster. Once I take part in this year's trial, Harry won't get any chance to train." Canopus got straight to the point. "So I want to act alone first, then fight Quirrell at the final stage."

"It'll also be a good chance to see exactly what state Voldemort is in now."

"I hope you can give me a heads-up before you set the plan in motion, Headmaster, so I can prepare early."

Dumbledore pondered for a while. He occasionally watched Canopus's morning training by the lake. Based on the strength he had displayed, let alone the little obstacles prepared for Harry and the other two, even facing Quirrell directly would pose no risk to him.

"Very well." Dumbledore nodded. "Then it's settled. I'll notify you in advance before the plan begins."

Canopus turned and left the headmaster's office. The portraits on the walls, which had been pretending to sleep, all woke up.

"Oh, a new generation of the Black Family. It moves me deeply." Phineas Nigellus in one portrait cried out, occasionally wiping at the corners of his eyes.

He was a direct descendant of the Black Family and also the least popular headmaster in Hogwarts history.

"But he's a Gryffindor, in the same House as those useless things you're always talking about, isn't he?" Headmistress Dilys Derwent seemed to be holding back laughter, her long silver curls swaying slightly.

"There must be something wrong with the Sorting Hat—that muddleheaded old fool!" Phineas immediately shouted, his goatee practically standing on end.

"Even if his mother was a Weasley, he is still noble pure-blood! His heart is full of secrets, and he acts with measured advance and retreat. How is he anything like those stupid Gryffindors?"

The other headmasters from Gryffindor in the surrounding portraits roared in fury. Walking sticks, leather shoes, and dentures flew into Phineas's portrait, sending him scurrying around with his head in his hands.

Dumbledore paused before saying, "That child bears a destiny..."

The room fell silent at once, as though everyone feared disturbing something.

"Dumbledore, you're saying that child bears a destiny? Does he know it himself?"

Phineas asked urgently, and Dumbledore nodded with certainty.

Armando Dippet sighed. "He knew the dangers of destiny, yet still chose to return from Fairyland to the mortal world. Even the bravest of men could do no more."

The former headmasters lost interest in continuing the discussion and drifted off to sleep one after another.

By then, Canopus had returned to the common room, where Harry told him about Snape threatening Quirrell.

Canopus knew the truth perfectly well, but he did not expose it. He merely told Harry to keep an eye on Quirrell and Snape for the time being.

Over the following weeks, Quirrell became increasingly thin and pale, while Snape remained as gloomy as ever.

Yet there was never any sign that the Philosopher's Stone guarded by Fluffy had been stolen, and Harry and the others could not help revising their opinion of Quirrell.

Canopus knew that Quirrell's changes were entirely because Voldemort, hidden at the back of his head, was draining his life force.

Even without activating Life Vision now, Canopus could feel Voldemort's twisted soul growing stronger day by day.

But it did not matter. Without a body, Voldemort could not interfere with the real world at all—otherwise, Harry would have died long ago.

The Easter holiday drew near, and exams were about to arrive.

Harry had already escaped the cautious mindset he had held when he first enrolled, when he had feared that one wrong move would send him back to the Dursley Family.

Driven by Ron, he had gone to the opposite extreme: utter laziness.

"There are still ten weeks until the exams, Hermione. I'll study after one more game of wizard chess."

"Yeah, Hermione. There are still several hundred years until the exams."

The two chess addicts turned a deaf ear to Hermione's reminders, while Hermione had already entered her pre-exam sprint.

The writing sprint was, in truth, a marathon.

Canopus continued to study diligently and temper his body. During this period, his opponents had been knights who were not particularly famous in history, but each had their own strengths and ranked higher than Owen at the Round Table.

For the past few days, his opponent had been a knight clad in light armor. He looked rather downcast and did not even have a lance.

In contrast, his archery completely suppressed Canopus.

This knight excelled at rapid fire. Two full quivers hung on his back, and all his arrows were fitted with triangular pyramid-shaped heads designed specifically to pierce armor.

Setting aside how tricky his shooting angles were, among his storm-like barrage, several arrows would always employ mana-based armor-piercing techniques. Canopus had mastered the technique too, but he was nowhere near as proficient.

Moreover, since he could not tell which arrows had been enhanced with mana, he could only treat every single one as a deadly threat and block them with his shield. This put enormous strain on his mind as well.

Canopus held his shield in his left hand, desperately blocking the arrows fired by his opponent as he tried to close the distance. But before long, the horse beneath him was shot through the belly by an arrow and, in agony, threw Canopus from its back.

Canopus rolled across the ground to disperse the force. Just as he was about to rise, an armor-piercing arrow enhanced with mana nailed his shield arm to the ground.

The next arrow grazed the side of his neck, leaving a streak of blood.

Canopus sighed helplessly and dismissed his armor.

Based on the experience of the past few days, his opponent should have vanished immediately. Yet this time, the knight removed his visor, revealing a somewhat weathered face.

"Canopus, do you only know how to defend?"

Canopus had wanted to close in and knock him off his horse with either his lance or sword. But every time, he died on the way to the charge.

"Why not try disrupting my rhythm of attack? Don't tell me you're afraid of pain."

His opponent offered Canopus a casual reminder, then reined in his horse and assumed his stance again.

Canopus suddenly understood. Once more, he summoned a fully armored steed from the mist and donned his gear.

This time, he did not pick up his shield. Instead, he gripped the stiff bow hanging at his saddle.

Both men took up their bows, drew their arrows, and aimed at each other.

Canopus's opponent was more skilled than he was. His arrow flew straight for Canopus's throat.

Canopus tilted his head and body aside, maintaining his stance as he drew his bow and took aim.

The opponent's arrow grazed Canopus's shoulder armor, carving a gash into it. Canopus released his bowstring, and his arrow shot toward the eye of the steed beneath his opponent.

His opponent had assumed the arrow would be aimed at him and, in his haste, failed to turn his horse aside.

The opponent's steed collapsed at once. Canopus immediately advanced and pressed his lance against the man's chest.

"Very good, Canopus. We'll stop here for today." The other man's figure shattered and melted into the thick mist. "But don't neglect your archery practice. In the future, you'll have to face Mr. Tristan. He knows how to use interception arrows."

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