I'm Old, Lyon, I'm Old

Lyon did not move at his words, calmly meeting Dumbledore's gaze.

The first time he met Dumbledore, Dumbledore had said something.

I am not your enemy.

Lyon had never understood what that meant.

He had not shown any stance at the time, so why had Dumbledore thought he was not his enemy?

The two fell silent for a while before Dumbledore spoke first.

"About Quirrell, I think you should have guessed some things."

"What do you want to say to me?"

Dumbledore stared at Lyon, and Lyon always felt as though his thoughts had been seen through.

After thinking for a while, Lyon decided to address the most important matter first.

"The Centaur Tribe rioted, Harry was nearly stabbed to death by a Troll's club, and the door to the Third Floor Corridor was open. Was this your plan?"

Dumbledore looked at Lyon in surprise. It seemed Lyon knew more than he had imagined.

"No."

Dumbledore shook his head and spread his hands. "As you can see, I am merely a useless old man. Why do you all insist on focusing your attention on me?"

Lyon fell silent. According to the plot of the original story, Dumbledore had arranged all these events, which was why Lyon had asked.

But Dumbledore's answer truly surprised him.

It meant that Dumbledore had not planned so many things. The Centaur Tribe's riot, the appearance of the Troll, and Harry nearly being stabbed to death had not been Dumbledore's intentions.

"This was not part of your plan? Including Quirrell?"

Dumbledore nodded gently. "I am indeed planning some things, but I am not the old bee you imagine, one who has every last detail arranged."

As he spoke, he blinked and picked up a Cockroach Cluster from the table, tossing one to Lyon.

Hearing Dumbledore's words sent a chill through Lyon's heart. He was certain Dumbledore had not used Legilimency just now.

Yet Dumbledore seemed able to see through others' thoughts with ease, even directly guessing that Lyon was wary of him.

"But what about Harry? If you did not plan anything, why did you let Harry enter Gryffindor?" Lyon asked again.

"Harry naturally belonged in Gryffindor. If it were not for your guidance on the train, which House do you think he would have entered?"

"I merely sent the right person to the right place."

What Dumbledore said seemed correct.

If not for Lyon's guidance, Harry should have entered Gryffindor directly.

But how did Dumbledore know about that?

Lyon felt as though he had underestimated this world, and underestimated Dumbledore.

Indeed, in the original story, no one had ever truly seen through Dumbledore. Everyone merely inferred causes from results, but were those causes truly real?

Not necessarily.

Dumbledore was not lying to Lyon. It was clear that he was speaking from the heart.

Lyon remained seated without reacting. He suddenly realized that he had always viewed this world through prejudice.

Because of the original story's influence, he had believed that everything in it had been within Dumbledore's expectations.

Otherwise, how could so many coincidences have happened to Harry alone?

But now, Dumbledore's few brief words had overturned his worldview.

"Lyon, you possess the foresight of a strategist and the talent of a genius. It can be seen in your spells and every subject. Yet as Britain's youngest godfather, you have always viewed the world through prejudice."

"I can sense that you are guarded against me, but I told you when we first met that I am not your enemy."

As Dumbledore spoke, a trace of weariness appeared on his face.

It suddenly made Lyon feel as though Dumbledore had aged more than ten years.

"I saw long ago that Wizarding Society's greatest enemy is not Voldemort."

"I confirmed this the first time I saw you."

Lyon frowned. "How did you confirm that?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Intuition."

"Intuition?"

"Yes. My intuition is right most of the time, and I do not believe our first meeting was an exception."

As if recalling something, Lyon spoke. "Then were the ones who killed my father Death Eaters? And has Grindelwald truly recovered his magic?"

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "Lyon, I told you."

"Do not always focus your attention on me. I am just an old man, and I may not know more than you do."

"I am old, Lyon. I am old."

The atmosphere in the office gradually quieted, and neither of them spoke first.

After a long while, a cry suddenly came from outside the window. Lyon turned his head and saw that it was a Phoenix.

The Phoenix, roughly half a man's height, squeezed through the window. Its fiery red feathers seemed even purer than those of a Unicorn as it came to Dumbledore's side.

"His name is Fawkes, my friend."

Dumbledore spoke and reached out to stroke Fawkes's head. Fawkes seemed to enjoy it.

Lyon suddenly felt that it was time for him to leave.

He rose to his feet and gave Dumbledore an elegant bow. "Headmaster, I understand. I should rest now, so I will be leaving."

It was already afternoon when he left the office. As he passed the Forbidden Forest, a dark shadow suddenly came to his side and leaped into his arms.

Looking down, he found that it was Little Black.

Little Black's life in the Forbidden Forest over the past few days must have been quite comfortable. Its body had grown a whole size larger, but it was still light as air, placing no burden on Lyon.

The moment it entered Lyon's arms, Little Black seemed to have found home. In the blink of an eye, it curled into an egg sac, as small as a badge, and slipped into Lyon's pocket.

When he returned to the Slytherin Common Room, it was packed with people. The instant he entered, he heard a group of first-year students chattering away.

The moment they saw Lyon, all the Slytherins seemed to have found their backbone. Neville was the first to come to Lyon's side and speak.

"Godfather Lyon, Harry... duel... Malfoy, Goyle, I..."

Marcus, standing nearby, speechlessly interrupted Neville and explained the situation to Lyon.

"Godfather Lyon, Malfoy and Harry are dueling tonight, but curfew is almost here. I heard they are near the Trophy Room."

Lyon frowned. "Why are they dueling?"

He remembered that Malfoy had only been discharged from the hospital a few days ago. Was he already causing trouble again?

He still needed another lesson.

"Godfather Lyon, this time it is not Malfoy's fault. This is because of Goyle and Weasley..."

From Marcus's account, Lyon roughly understood what had happened.

For some reason, Goyle and Ron had started fighting. Harry then helped Ron cast a jinx on Goyle, and Malfoy happened to see it.

A grudge that had begun between Goyle and Ron had somehow turned into a duel between Harry and Malfoy.

"Why did I not know about something like this?"

Lyon's expression darkened. Sensing his mood, everyone around him fell silent.

"Marcus, lead the way."

After a long while, Lyon suppressed the anger in his heart and spoke to Marcus. The group left the common room and headed toward the Trophy Room.

After passing through corridor after corridor, Marcus pointed toward the end of the distant hallway. "Godfather, the Trophy Room is at the end ahead. There..."

As he spoke, Marcus suddenly stopped.

Following Marcus's line of sight, Lyon saw a filthy gray cat standing in the corridor, staring straight at the two of them.

"Godfather, that is Filch's cat, Mrs Norris. If she is here, Filch cannot be far away. Let's run!"

Lyon frowned, waved his hand, and strode toward Mrs Norris.

(Recently, I have seen many small gifts from readers, and everyone has been very friendly. The author is a straightforward person and does not like empty pleasantries, haha, so I will thank you all through my actions. Starting tomorrow, I plan to post at least three chapters every day and try to squeeze out time in the evenings to write.)