Dumbledore

Fred strode forward and knocked the door knocker. The oak door opened soundlessly.

Dumbledore's office was remarkably strange. The walls were covered with portraits of former headmasters; some were asleep, some were studying them with great interest, and some frames stood empty. The long-legged table was crowded with odd silver instruments that spun and puffed out tiny wisps of smoke. The Sorting Hat rested on a shelf, seeming to be asleep as well, letting out a faint snoring sound.

Behind the door, an exceptionally beautiful bird stood atop a tall gilded perch. Its feathers were gold and red. Though somewhat sparse, they were still dazzlingly beautiful, and its lively eyes looked down at them all.

"Oh my!" Hermione whispered. "It's a Phoenix! I read about them in a book—Professor Dumbledore has a real Phoenix—"

Albus Dumbledore sat behind the desk, half-moon spectacles perched on his hooked nose. He wore a deep purple robe patterned with irises. Seated in a high-backed chair, he looked at them gently with pale blue eyes.

"Welcome, children. I hope you have not found my office boring."

"How could we? This place is fascinating, Professor!" Fred said boldly and brightly.

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Your letter said—you had something very important to tell me? You may speak now."

They looked at one another, urging each other on with their eyes. Hermione shrank back too; since she had been forced to break the rules as well, she was not eager to confess.

In the end, Wade had no choice but to step forward and recount the conversation he had overheard once more, while the others chimed in with their own guesses.

Michael's face gradually turned ghastly white. He had not expected them to have come to the Headmaster's Office to discuss something so serious. He looked from one person to another, feeling as though he were the only one there who was shocked.

After listening patiently, Dumbledore showed no particular surprise. His gaze, as though it could see through people's hearts, settled on Wade. "When you overheard that conversation, are you certain he did not discover you?"

"I had used the Fire Charm before that, so I don't know whether he noticed traces of the spell. But I hid as soon as Professor Quirrell came in, and he could not see me from the window."

Wade explained carefully, "Before he left, I made sure not to make a sound or use magic, and I had no noticeable scent on me. I waited outside the window until dawn before returning. On my way back, I encountered Griffiths's portrait and Professor Murray. During the following Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Quirrell did not pay any particular attention to me, and his attitude did not noticeably change."

Dumbledore nodded slightly. "For now, it seems he did not discover you. But I need you to remember one thing—from today onward, try not to think about this matter, and do not make eye contact with Professor Quirrell. Do you understand?"

Wade nodded silently.

"Professor!" Ryan could not help asking. "Aren't you going to arrest him? While he still doesn't know he has been exposed?"

"It is not yet time, Mr. Caro," Dumbledore said patiently. "In fact, at the beginning of this term, I noticed that our Professor Quirrell seemed to have undergone some distressing changes. The intelligence you have brought has confirmed my worst suspicions—but it is not yet time to expose him. Rest assured, however, I have asked a very reliable person to watch him, and I will ensure the students' safety."

"So, Professor... he really is..." George asked quietly.

"I believe so." Dumbledore confirmed their guess. "Voldemort has returned to this school once again, in a state no one could possibly imagine. But I doubt he expected his brilliant disguise to be uncovered by a few children—he has always been accustomed to looking down on those less powerful than himself. Oh, in fact, you have all performed exceptionally well."

"But—doesn't everyone say Voldemort was killed by Harry Potter when he was still a baby?" Fred asked.

"He was indeed gravely wounded on the night he tried to kill Harry and disappeared from the public eye. But he did not truly die; I have always been certain of that." Dumbledore said, "Voldemort is currently in a rare state, one in which even the Killing Curse cannot easily kill him."

Fred looked confused, but Dumbledore had no intention of explaining further.

"Professor, can I tell Harry about this?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"I do not think so, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, polite yet unquestionable.

"But—"

"Given that Voldemort murdered Harry's parents, I do not think it would be a good idea to let him know that his enemy is right before his eyes." Dumbledore said, "Harry likely cannot handle this as calmly and rationally as you can, and it would place him in great danger. So I need you to keep this absolutely secret, especially from Harry—can you do that?"

They all nodded together.

Fred muttered, "But He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wants to kill him too! To keep him safe, does Harry have to leave the team?"

"Wood will cry," George said with a strained smile. "He says Harry is the best Seeker he has ever seen—he has pinned all his hopes of winning the championship on Harry."

"Oh, about that—"

Dumbledore folded his hands and said with a smile, "I do not believe we should give up the joy of Quidditch because of eyes watching from the shadows. So yes, Harry does not need to leave the team. I will ensure his safety."

With his assurance, the Gryffindors immediately felt relieved—after all, in the hearts of those little lions, who could be more reliable than Dumbledore?

They happily prepared to leave, but just as they reached the door, Ryan hesitated and stopped again.

"Professor Dumbledore—"

"Yes?"

"There is one more thing—" Ryan stammered, unable to make up his mind.

"Go on, Mr. Caro."

"Professor Quirrell—" Ryan gathered his courage and looked up. "After you drive He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named away, what will happen to Professor Quirrell?"

"Will he—be all right?" Ryan pressed.

At that question, Dumbledore's steady expression finally changed.

He looked deeply into Ryan's eyes, his own faintly moist.

"I'm afraid not, child."

Ryan's eyes widened.

"In order to attach himself to Quirrell, Voldemort did something terrible to him—something truly terrible. They have formed an evil symbiotic relationship. When Voldemort leaves, Quirrell will inevitably die as well."

Everyone fell silent.

For these eleven-year-old children, watching someone near them irreversibly head toward death—even if he was a bad person—filled their hearts with sorrow.

"Children, it is a very noble quality that you sympathize with him, even wish to save him."

Dumbledore lowered his eyes and said, kindly yet coldly—

"But when Quirrell sold his soul to Voldemort out of greed and ambition, this became the inevitable outcome."

After leaving the Headmaster's Office, they all had complicated feelings.

"Dumbledore really does know everything," Fred said. "Did you see? He wasn't surprised at all."

"It's hard to imagine," Ryan said. "We're only first-years, yet we have to go through something like this—war, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, death. I thought those things should have been far away from us. And Professor Quirrell—sigh, I heard he used to be a good person."

They stood by the corridor. Outside, everything was blanketed in silver, and several young wizards were shouting as they played snowball fights in the courtyard. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were among them.

"Dumbledore is right," Hermione suddenly said.

Wade was baffled. "Hm?"

"We shouldn't tell Harry the truth." Hermione looked at Harry with pitying eyes that seemed full of motherly affection. "Otherwise, the crushing reality and hatred will leave him unable to breathe."

"Don't talk about it," Wade reminded her. "Remember Dumbledore's words. We should try not to think about it, and we should not make eye contact with that person... It would be best to stay away from him."

Hermione nodded silently.

Michael looked at Wade, seeming to want to say something but stopping himself. Wade questioned him with his eyes, but Michael only shook his head and said nothing.

It was not until they returned to the Common Room that evening that Michael avoided everyone else and whispered, "I thought you would resent Dumbledore—he knows everything, yet he lets students face danger—you almost died, Wade."