Truly worthy of Dumbledore

Watching Quirrell leave the headmaster's office awkwardly, Twer couldn't help feeling that this only made him seem more suspicious.

It was practically as if the words "I have a problem" were carved into the back of his head!

Oh.

Voldemort was carved onto the back of his head, so never mind.

"Quirinus was always a timid child. He became like this for certain reasons," Dumbledore sighed. "He was a clever student when he was at Hogwarts. I never expected him to suffer such an ordeal now."

Dumbledore sighed, but did not linger on the subject.

"Do you believe what this book says?" He patted the book The Four Elements of Magic, and the magic clinging to it instantly dissipated.

"I believe Rowena Ravenclaw."

Twer did not dare claim that the book's contents were necessarily correct, but if Ravenclaw had held it in such high regard, then there was surely something within it worth investigating.

After all, this was Rowena Ravenclaw, hailed as the embodiment of wisdom. Had it been anyone else, he would not have devoted so much thought to this book.

Dumbledore had the same reasoning. History had not recorded much about Hogwarts' four founders, but every detail was worth later generations' utmost effort to study.

So Dumbledore did not dwell on that matter and moved on to his next question.

"What do you think of Dark magic?"

Now that was a topic that woke him right up.

"Caution," Twer said after deliberately considering it for a moment, lest he appear too outstanding. "No matter what kind of magic it is, as long as it is appropriate, it can be used."

"However, Dark magic corrodes the mind. Therefore, at Durmstrang, those whose minds have not met the required standard are not permitted to use Dark magic."

"So I have always regarded Dark magic cautiously. If one harbors malice toward evil people, isn't that justice?"

Twer's words were somewhat harsh, causing the old man before him to frown, but he did not refute him directly.

"Fighting violence with violence cannot be called justice—"

"Evil people only need to be responsible for being evil, while good people must abide by every rule and restriction. I never knew you were such a naïve man."

Twer rudely interrupted Dumbledore, but it did not anger him. In fact, the more he looked at Twer, the more he felt that Twer resembled someone.

Himself.

The young, high-spirited Dumbledore.

Or rather, Grindelwald...

The old man sank into his memories, but after only a brief moment of distraction, he forced himself back to the present.

"You may leave this book with me. If you have any questions about magic, you may come and ask me at any time. I will answer them one by one."

Compared with his teacher, Dumbledore had clearly accumulated far more experience over time, and was also far more "healthy." That was precisely what Twer lacked.

Faced with such good fortune, Twer hurriedly nodded in agreement.

After leaving Hogwarts, Twer finally let out a breath of relief.

He had thought Hogwarts would be desperately short of Defence Against the Dark Arts staff. He had not expected the interview to be even more complicated and difficult than he had imagined.

But the outcome was good, at least. He had officially become an assistant instructor at the school he had long looked forward to attending.

Calculating the time, Twer figured it was about right. With a whoosh, he vanished from where he stood.

When he regained his footing, the scene before him had changed from Hogwarts to a deserted little alley.

After taking two steps out, Twer saw a filthy, cramped building with a crude sign hanging over its entrance—the Leaky Cauldron.

The hurried passersby on the street had never noticed the tiny building. It was not that they looked down on the place; Muggles simply could not see this magical pub.

When Twer pushed open the door and entered, he caused not the slightest stir in the pub. It seemed they were accustomed to people coming and going here.

"A guest?" a shriveled man behind the bar asked. "Or a passerby?"

As the owner of this little pub, he could be said to remember every wizard who came through its doors. Yet in his memories, there was little impression of Twer.

A man with such distinctive features was difficult to overlook.

In truth, Twer had visited this place several times. It was simply that over the past seven years, he had changed from a gloomy student into an elegant gentleman.

From initially fearing death to now facing the world with composure, he had changed so much that he seemed like a completely different person.

Twer swept his gaze through the small pub. Only after failing to find his target did he approach the pub owner, Tom.

"I'd like to ask where Professor Quirrell is," he said with a smile, though he already knew the answer.

"I won't casually reveal a Hogwarts professor's whereabouts." Tom grinned, exposing his mouthful of rotten teeth.

"And Harry Potter? Has he left yet?" Twer calmly stepped away from the bar.

Tom had "told" him that the bar was even dirtier than he had imagined.

But this question silenced the entire pub. A bald little man beside him dropped his top hat, yet did not bother picking it up, merely staring at Twer with suspicion in his eyes.

"Stranger, please allow me to ask first—ah, yes, Mr. Potter entered Diagon Alley not long ago. He is likely enjoying his pleasant shopping trip at this very moment."

Tom's smile suddenly turned fawning as he respectfully bent his hunched back.

No one in the pub found this strange. Instead, they too looked at Twer with admiration in their eyes.

This wasn't the Imperius Curse. Twer had no intention of ending up in Azkaban on his first day at work.

It was a Confundus Charm. Of course, he had added just a tiny bit of force from his soul to achieve this effect.

In their minds, he had probably become someone as great as Dumbledore. As for exactly who, they would forget in five minutes.

They would forget this little incident.

"Thank you." Twer returned a polite smile and quickly passed through the door of the small courtyard into Diagon Alley.

The bustling scene here lived up to its reputation as the center of Britain's wizarding world. The winding cobbled street was lined with all manner of strange and exciting shops.

The road was not particularly wide, which was hardly an advantage, but it allowed Twer to spot his target immediately.

Rubeus Hagrid and Harry Potter.

As a half-giant, Hagrid's enormous frame stood out in the narrow street like a fire dragon.

Twer had seen quite a few people of mixed heritage with magical creatures. France, for instance, had many descendants of Veela and humans.

As for a half-breed like Hagrid, born of a giant and a human—he meant no offense—but even the boldest Durmstrang student would never have entertained the idea of sleeping with a giant.

His highest respect went to Hagrid's father.

Outside Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Hagrid suddenly rubbed his head and separated from Harry.

Harry entered the robes shop, while Hagrid headed toward Florean's Ice Cream Parlour.

The owner of that shop was quite a notable figure as well, but Twer had no desire to greet him. Suppressing his excitement, he slowly approached Hagrid's side and stood there quietly.

Yet everyone ignored Twer's appearance, just as Muggles never noticed the Leaky Cauldron.

Outer coat pocket?

No.

The pocket over his shirt's chest?

That was it.

Twer stared at the bulging pocket. If he was not mistaken, the coveted Philosopher's Stone was inside!

He did not act rashly. Even magic had to follow certain basic rules; no one would fail to notice a hand reaching into their upper pocket.

Especially someone like Hagrid, a half-giant whose resistance to magic was far stronger than a human's.

Following Hagrid's perspective, Twer watched Harry experience the wonders of the magical world for the first time.

He had been the same when he first came here.

The bizarre herbs, the exquisitely crafted flying brooms, the amusing prank toys—even ordinary cauldrons had seemed so fascinating.

But happy times always came to an end.

Evening.

Twer watched Hagrid and a somewhat dejected young Harry leave the empty Leaky Cauldron. This time, he did not follow them.

Because when Hagrid bought the snowy owl, he had confirmed that the Philosopher's Stone was fake!

A faint smile curled at Twer's lips as he watched the Muggles passing along the street.

If a fake had been sent to Gringotts for strict safekeeping, and had even gone through one failed theft attempt—

Then no one would doubt its authenticity.

Dumbledore truly was worthy of his reputation.

The smile on his face grew ever clearer, while his eyes became increasingly indifferent.

He was really looking forward to life at Hogwarts.