Kapitel 149: Review with Dumbledore
The night outside was dark, but the lights in the Headmaster's office were warm and bright. Fawkes was gently pecking at the tip of the Sorting Hat, while Dumbledore sat behind his desk, wearing robes woven with golden stars. His long silver beard and half-moon glasses gleamed in the candlelight.
"Welcome, Henry," Dumbledore said. "Thank you, Minerva, Severus."
From the moment Anthony's slippered foot stepped into the Headmaster's office, Fawkes flew to the top of a cabinet. Anthony's cat, now perched in his arms, followed the bird's flight with intense curiosity, its yellow eyes shining with interest.
"Albus, not Henry," Professor McGonagall said firmly. "He—"
But Dumbledore interrupted her with a smile, cutting off Snape, who was about to speak as well. "I don't think it's Henry either." His eyes twinkled as he glanced at Anthony, noting the dust and blood staining his clothes. "If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to him alone."
"Just a reminder, Headmaster," Snape said coldly, "The Devil's Snare proves only one person went down."
Snape and McGonagall left, closing the office door behind them.
…
After devouring half a plate of biscuits, Anthony finally finished recounting the night's events, stifling a yawn as he absentmindedly stroked his cat, now napping in his lap. The armchair in Dumbledore's office was surprisingly comfortable, and his pajamas, dressing gown, and slippers were all clean again, thanks to the Headmaster.
"Oh, dear," Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Henry, I never imagined things would unfold quite this way. To put it simply, Quirrell is actually Voldemort."
"Wha—what?" Anthony stammered.
"Quirrell is serving Voldemort," Dumbledore repeated. "The third-floor corridor was meant as a trap… well, not exactly. Quirrell was cautious, always suspecting it was a trap. Severus made sure he believed we were hiding something important. I must admit, Henry, we even had our doubts about you at one point. We originally intended to trap Quirrell in a small, empty room—fortified walls, no students nearby. Perfect for capturing someone."
"But I stopped him from getting to the last room," Anthony mumbled, finally understanding the gravity of the situation. He had let Voldemort go.
In the next breath, he couldn't help but blurt out, "Wait, you knew he was a problem all along? You were planning to capture Voldemort at the school?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Minerva predicted you'd ask that. Don't worry, Henry, we had enough evidence to show that Voldemort wouldn't dare harm any students in the corridors or classrooms. He had more pressing desires here. His greed, you see, was our greatest advantage. Once he entered the final room, he would never want to leave."
"And what's in the last room?"
"As Quirrell told you, the secret to immortality," Dumbledore said easily. "And a mirror—a magnifying glass of desire. A perfect cage, crafted just for him."
"Oh..."
"I believe Voldemort was desperate to rid himself of the unicorn curse," Dumbledore continued thoughtfully. "You see, sometimes I don't quite understand what he's thinking. Instead of going to Madam Pomfrey, he attacked a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest."
"Speaking of unicorns… I think he went to my office." Anthony paused, recalling the mess. "When I returned from the pet rescue center, my office was wrecked, and Quirrell was injured. Later, I found out it was because my cat scratched him."
Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. As I said, he was being reckless."
"Do you think…" Anthony hesitated. "Do you think he killed the unicorn because he got scratched by a cat?"
He couldn't stop the flood of "what ifs" from rushing through his mind. What if he had realized Quirrell's odd behavior sooner? What if he hadn't talked about resurrection and souls? What if he hadn't followed him tonight? Every decision, every missed moment felt like it could've changed the outcome.
Sensing his thoughts, Dumbledore said gently, "I doubt it, Henry. Voldemort is weak now, which is why everything at Hogwarts holds such appeal for him. Even without your cat..." He smiled at the ginger cat, still curled up peacefully in Anthony's lap. "I don't think he could've held out for long. He would have chosen to kill an innocent creature eventually. It was only a matter of time."
"When the unicorn died, did you know—did you just know?"
"No, I must say, I only had some suspicions at the time," Dumbledore replied. "But, you see, as people get older, they sometimes have such doubts... I often worry that my suspicions might be too severe. Then again, I also have an old friend who's even more suspicious than I am, and he often scolds me for trusting others too much."
Anthony was momentarily speechless, but luckily his mouse woke up and crawled out from an orange wizard's hat that Dumbledore had placed on the table. Dumbledore offered it half a cookie. The mouse politely hugged it but did not eat.
"Henry, you handled things perfectly," Dumbledore said, taking a bite of the remaining half of the cookie. "If there was any issue, it was that Quirinus, unfortunately—or fortunately—ran into you. You exceeded our expectations. I probably should have told you more, but..." He shook his head with a smile, adding, "It doesn't matter. Having you by our side in the future is our greatest gain this term, perhaps even more significant than catching Voldemort."
Anthony still couldn't quite believe it. "But Professor Quirrell—Quirrell... I thought Voldemort was dead?"
Ever since he had entered the magical world, all the history lessons he'd had during tutoring told him that. To him, Voldemort was nothing more than an old, distant figure, like a goblin rebellion from centuries ago.
Coco, the cat, chirped as if testifying that he'd never imagined eating lamb stew with the disheveled Lara.
"Yes, I suppose he's a bit tougher than people think," Dumbledore said, nodding. "He even managed to send me an urgent letter from the Ministry of Magic to divert me—otherwise, we would have caught him sooner."
"At this time?" Anthony asked, finding it hard to believe Dumbledore would fall for such a childish trick.
Dumbledore replied quietly, "Once you've dealt with the Ministry for a while, Henry, you'll realize that the timing of the letter only adds to its credibility."
…
After calming Anthony's remaining doubts, Dumbledore spent some time trying to analyze what had happened. However, Anthony resisted; he didn't want to recall why he hadn't simply swallowed the weak Voldemort whole, leaving him trapped like some magical toffee in his stomach.
Moreover, Anthony found it difficult to put the experience into words. It wasn't enough to just say, "I felt like I was that troll" or "I felt like I could devour life instantly." He'd have to describe something that lay between what was edible and inedible, something that felt like it was growing beyond Hogwarts' recipes.
And, there was a simpler reason—he didn't want to admit that he had almost consumed another person. Even now, thinking back to when he had tried to pull out Quirrell's soul filled him with more dread than the fact that Voldemort had escaped.
So he just told Dumbledore that he had used "necromancy" and other means to scare Voldemort away. Faced with Dumbledore's seemingly all-knowing gaze, Anthony felt that the old man could probably see what he was intentionally hiding, but he repeated, guiltily and firmly, "Undead magic."
"Okay, undead magic," Dumbledore sighed. "Before I truly face death, I don't think I have much to say about it. But, if I must, I believe Voldemort must have been frightened by you, Henry. When he's forced to confront what he has desperately tried to escape, I hope it shakes him a little."
Then, like a bolt of lightning piercing the dark night, Anthony suddenly understood the meaning behind the research topic Dumbledore had given him. He realized why Dumbledore had asked him about his progress so many times, and why he encouraged Anthony to share his ideas each time.
Dumbledore always believed Voldemort would return.
"You told me to study resurrection!" Anthony said, angrily.
"Yes, Henry."
"—But I should have been studying immortality!" Anthony exclaimed, "They're not the same thing at all!"
…
"I lost control for a moment," Anthony reflected. "It was dangerous. I had sworn to myself that I wouldn't, but in that moment, I think I almost forgot. I don't know if I would've been able to wake up like last time. I can't rely on chance."
"Last time?" Dumbledore inquired.
"You investigated it," Anthony said. "The community I was with before my resurrection—the one that made the Ministry of Magic think I was a dark wizard crawling out of the ground to scare Muggles. There was a man named Mr. Wright in the community, and I almost hurt him when I lost control. I think I almost killed him—only waking up just in time." He added helplessly, "I know necromancy can be terrifying. It's far too efficient at killing."
"I sincerely hope not all necromancers possess such abilities," Dumbledore said. "Fortunately, from a historical perspective, you do seem to be somewhat unique. While I'm not an expert, I'd wager that most necromancers aren't quite so challenging for living creatures to confront. Unfortunately, this means you must find your own way."
"I understand."
The sky outside the window had lightened from thick darkness to deep blue, with faint hints of dawn near the horizon. Birds from the Forbidden Forest began their morning songs.
"If you don't mind me asking," Dumbledore continued, "from what you've described, when you lose control to undead magic, do you lose your mind entirely?"
Anthony knew what Dumbledore was worried about. "I have strict rules for myself not to harm humans," he explained.
"But today…?" Dumbledore pressed gently.
"Yes, I lost control a little today," Anthony admitted. "But—if I may defend myself—in that moment, he didn't seem fully human to me."
"Even so, Henry. Even so," Dumbledore said gravely.
Anthony conceded, "Yes, even so. Do you have any advice? Should I be more cautious in restraining myself, or should I strive to understand my abilities better?"
"Ah, an excellent question," Dumbledore mused. "Learning to live with oneself is a challenge many spend their lives grappling with. But your situation is different. You mentioned before that you practiced necromancy with restraint?"
Anthony nodded. His cat, now awake, stretched lazily and scratched a few holes in Dumbledore's gown before hopping down, walking around Anthony, and settling on the armchair's leg, sharpening its claws as if nothing had happened.
Unfazed by the sound of scratching, Dumbledore calmly continued, "While practicing, try to understand the magic itself. Magic is not stagnant; it flows, it lives, it has energy—even lost magic like necromancy."
Anthony lifted the cat into his arms, ignoring the scratches on his own arms. "I thought you might suggest I resign."
"What? Do I have that option?" Dumbledore asked, feigning surprise before chuckling. "No, Henry, not when you've done nothing wrong, and not while you're still searching for your path. Hogwarts is a school of magic, and in some ways, you're still a first-year student."
Anthony looked at him curiously as Dumbledore added gently, "Hogwarts welcomes every lost wizard."
…
"You know, some have accused you of harboring dark wizards and dangerous magical creatures," Anthony mentioned before leaving. "Sometimes, I wonder if I should even be here, considering how dangerous I might be."
Dumbledore responded calmly, "I know, but this is a strong castle, and I am its headmaster."
"And you're a tough old madman," Anthony remarked thoughtfully.
"Oh, half right," Dumbledore smiled. "Don't worry, Henry. Having a dedicated professor is far more beneficial to the castle than constantly changing the snacks in the common room. It's even better than having a dragon in the backyard."
Anthony blinked in surprise. "How—how did you know, sir?" he asked. They had been discreet, and Dumbledore hadn't been at the school when it happened.
Dumbledore grinned mischievously. "You don't think I really have that many meetings, do you, Henry?"
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