Chapter 8: Dumbledore, Truly Remarkable
Watching Quirrell awkwardly exit the headmaster's office, Tver couldn't help but find him even more suspicious.
It was as if "I have a problem" was etched into the back of his head! Oh, and that problem was Voldemort, well, never mind then.
"Quirinus has always been a timid child, and for certain reasons, he's ended up this way," Dumbledore sighed. "He was a bright student at Hogwarts, I never expected him to face such difficulties."
Dumbledore expressed his regret but didn't dwell on the topic.
"Do you believe in the contents of this book?" He patted The Four Elements of Magic, and the magical residue on it dissipated instantly.
"I believe in Rowena Ravenclaw."
Tver hesitated to claim the book's contents were entirely accurate, but if Ravenclaw endorsed it, there must be something worth exploring within.
After all, Rowena Ravenclaw was revered as the embodiment of wisdom. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't have devoted so much attention to the book.
Dumbledore felt similarly. Historical accounts of Hogwarts' four founders were scarce, but each detail was worth profound consideration. Thus, he didn't linger on this and moved to his next question.
"How do you view dark magic?"
That would certainly keep me awake.
"Cautiously," Tver thoughtfully paused, not wanting to seem too forthright. "Any magic, if used appropriately, can be employed. But dark magic erodes the mind, so at Durmstrang, those whose minds are not prepared are forbidden from using it. So, I always treat dark magic with caution, harboring malice towards villains—isn't that justice?"
Tver's words were somewhat provocative, causing the old man before him to furrow his brows, yet he didn't directly contradict him.
"Meeting violence with violence is hardly justice—"
"Villains only need to commit evil, while the good are bound by rules. I wasn't aware you were so naive," Tver impolitely interrupted Dumbledore, but rather than annoying him, Dumbledore seemed more intrigued by Tver. He saw a bit of himself in Tver.
The young, ambitious Dumbledore. Or perhaps, Grindelwald...
The old man was lost in his memories, but it was only a brief lapse before he forced himself back to the present.
"This book shall stay here with me. If you have any questions about magic, feel free to ask at any time, and I will answer them one by one."
Compared to his teacher, Dumbledore had clearly accumulated more knowledge over time and maintained a "healthier" perspective—something Tver lacked.
Thus, upon hearing such an offer, Tver eagerly nodded in agreement.
Upon leaving Hogwarts, Tver finally breathed a sigh of relief. He had thought that Hogwarts was short on staff for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but the interview turned out to be more complex and challenging than he had anticipated.
Nevertheless, the outcome was favorable, and he officially became an assistant professor at this long-awaited school.
Checking his watch, Tver estimated it was about time, and with a "whoosh," he vanished from the spot.
When he stabilized, he found himself in a deserted alley instead of Hogwarts.
Taking a few steps out, Tver saw a grimy, narrow house with a crude sign hanging at the door—the Leaky Cauldron.
People hurried past on the street, never noticing this tiny house. It wasn't that they looked down on it; Muggles simply couldn't see this magical pub.
As Tver pushed the door and entered, the pub did not stir in the slightest, accustomed as it was to patrons coming and going.
"A guest?" A gaunt man behind the bar asked, "Or just passing through?"
As the owner of this small pub, he claimed to remember every wizard that visited, but Tver rarely figured in his recollections.
A man as distinctive as Tver was hard to forget.
In fact, Tver had visited a few times over the years, evolving from a brooding student into a refined gentleman.
From initially fearing death to now approaching the world with equanimity, his transformation was so profound it was as if he had become a different person.
After scanning the bar and not finding his target, Tver approached the bar owner, Tom.
"Could you tell me where Professor Quirrell is?" he asked with a smile, though he already knew the answer.
"I can't just reveal the whereabouts of a Hogwarts professor," Tom replied, grinning to reveal his rotten teeth.
"And what about Harry Potter? Has he left?" Tver asked nonchalantly as he moved away from the bar.
Tom "informed" him that the bar was dirtier than he imagined.
However, this question hushed the entire pub. A bald man nearby dropped his top hat to the floor and stared at Tver with a puzzled look.
"Strange guest, may I inquire first—well, Mr. Potter has not long entered Diagon Alley, likely enjoying his shopping spree," Tom's smile suddenly became obsequious as he bowed his hunched back.
The people in the bar felt nothing amiss and looked at Tver with admiration. This was not an Imperius Curse; Tver had no intention of starting his shift by landing in Azkaban. It was a Confundus Charm, enhanced with a touch of soul power to achieve this effect.
In their minds, they probably thought of themselves in the presence of someone as great as Dumbledore, though they would forget the specific person and this minor incident within five minutes.
"Thank you," Tver replied with a polite smile, swiftly making his way through the small courtyard door into Diagon Alley.
The bustling scene here was befitting of the heart of the British magical community. As a cobblestone-paved, winding long street, it was lined with a variety of quirky and exciting shops on either side.
The road was narrow—not an advantage, but it did allow Tver to spot his targets immediately.
Rubeus Hagrid and Harry Potter.
As a half-giant, Hagrid's towering figure stood out conspicuously on the narrow street, much like a fire dragon.
Tver had encountered many individuals with magical creature heritage, such as in France, where there were quite a few descendants of Veela and human unions.
As for a half-giant like Hagrid, no offense intended, but even the boldest Durmstrang student wouldn't entertain the thought of mingling with a giant.
To Hagrid's father, with the utmost respect.
Just outside Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, Hagrid suddenly rubbed his head and parted ways with Harry.
Harry entered the robe shop, while Hagrid headed towards Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.
The owner of the parlor was quite renowned, but Tver wasn't in the mood for greetings. Instead, he suppressed his excitement and slowly approached Hagrid, standing quietly by his side.
Yet everyone overlooked Tver's presence, just as Muggles wouldn't notice the Leaky Cauldron.
A coat pocket?
No.
A shirt pocket at the chest?
Yes.
Tver's eyes were fixed on the bulging pocket. If he wasn't mistaken, it contained the coveted Philosopher's Stone!
He refrained from making any rash moves. The laws of magic must be observed, and no one could fail to feel a hand slipping into their pocket.
Especially not a half-giant like Hagrid, who had a much stronger resistance to magical effects than humans.
Following Hagrid's gaze, Tver saw Harry experiencing the wonders of the magical world for the first time. He had felt the same wonder when he first came here.
Bizarre herbs, exquisitely crafted flying brooms, playful joke toys, and even the most mundane cauldrons seemed fascinating.
But all good times come to an end.
Dusk.
Tver watched as Hagrid and a slightly disheartened little Harry left the deserted Leaky Cauldron. This time, he did not follow.
For during the purchase of the snowy owl, he had confirmed that the Philosopher's Stone was a fake!
A smirk formed on Tver's lips as he watched the Muggles bustling along the street.
If a fake, after being tightly guarded at Gringotts and surviving a failed theft, could still pass unnoticed.
Truly a testament to Dumbledore.
His smile grew broader, but his eyes became more detached. He was truly looking forward to life at Hogwarts.
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