Harry Potter: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me from Studying

Fred strode forward and rapped the knocker, and the oak door opened silently.

Dumbledore's office was quite marvelous; its walls were adorned with portraits of past Headmasters, some sleeping, some observing them with interest, and some just empty frames. The long-legged tables were laden with bizarre silver instruments, spinning and puffing out small wisps of smoke. The Sorting Hat rested on a shelf, seemingly asleep, emitting a soft snore.

On a tall, gilded perch behind the door stood an exquisitely beautiful bird. Its plumage was gold and red, and though somewhat sparse, it was still dazzlingly beautiful, its intelligent eyes gazing down at everyone.

"Goodness!" Hermione whispered. "It's a phoenix! I read in a book that Professor Dumbledore has a real phoenix—"

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, a pair of half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose, wearing a deep purple robe embroidered with irises. He sat in a high-backed chair, his light blue eyes gazing gently at everyone.

"Welcome, children. I hope my office hasn't bored you."

"How could it? This place is absolutely fascinating, Professor!" Fred boldly and cheerfully exclaimed.

Dumbledore chuckled softly and said, "You mentioned in your letter—that you had something very important to tell me? You may speak now."

Everyone exchanged glances, urging each other with their eyes. Hermione, too, faltered at this moment, as she had also been forced to violate a prohibition and was reluctant to confess.

Finally, Wade had no choice but to step forward and once again recounted the conversation he had overheard. The others then added their own speculations, one after another.

Michael's face gradually turned ashen. He hadn't expected their visit to the Headmaster's office to involve such a serious matter. He looked from one to another, feeling as though he was the only one in the room who was genuinely shocked.

After patiently listening, Dumbledore showed no sign of surprise. His gaze, which seemed to penetrate people's thoughts, turned to Wade. "When you overheard this conversation, are you certain you weren't discovered?"

"I had used a Fire-Making Charm just before, so I don't know if he detected traces of the spell. But Professor Quirrell had barely entered the room when I hid. From the angle of the window, he couldn't see me."

Wade explained meticulously, "Before he left, I made sure I made no sound, used no magic, and had no discernible scent on me. I waited outside the window until dawn before returning, encountering Griffiths' portrait and Professor Morrie on my way. During the subsequent Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Quirrell didn't pay special attention to me, nor did his demeanor noticeably change."

Dumbledore nodded slightly and said, "For now, it seems he hasn't discovered you. But I want you to remember one thing: from today onwards, try not to think about this matter, and avoid making eye contact with Professor Quirrell, understood?"

Wade silently nodded.

"Professor!" Ryan couldn't help but ask. "Aren't you going to capture him? While he doesn't know he's been exposed!"

"Not yet, Mr. Carro," Dumbledore said patiently. "In fact, at the beginning of this term, I noticed some distressing changes in our Professor Quirrell, and the information you've brought confirms my worst suspicions—but now is not the time to expose him. Please rest assured, I have entrusted a very reliable person to monitor him, and I will also ensure the students' safety."

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

"I believe so." Dumbledore confirmed their suspicions. "Voldemort has returned to this school once more, in a state no one could possibly imagine. But I daresay he won't expect his superb disguise to be discovered by a few children like yourselves—he always tends to underestimate those less powerful than himself—oh, actually, your performance was quite outstanding."

"But—everyone says that Voldemort was killed by Harry Potter when he was still a baby, didn't they?" Fred asked.

"He was indeed gravely wounded on the night he tried to kill Harry, vanishing from people's sight. But he did not truly die; I have always been certain of this," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort is currently in a rare state where even the Killing Curse cannot easily dispatch him."

Fred looked puzzled, but Dumbledore showed no intention of explaining further.

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

"I think not, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said politely but unequivocally.

"But—"

"Given that Voldemort killed Harry's parents, I don't think letting him know his enemy is right before him is a good idea," Dumbledore said. "Harry might not be able to react as calmly and rationally as you, and this would put him in great danger. So I need you to remain silent, especially to Harry—can you do that?"

Everyone nodded in unison.

Fred grumbled, "But You-Know-Who still wants to kill him! To ensure his safety, should Harry leave the team?"

"Wood will cry," George forced a smile. "He says Harry is the best Seeker he's ever seen—he's pinned all his hopes of winning the Cup on Harry."

"Oh, about that—"

Dumbledore intertwined his fingers, smiling. "I believe one should not abandon the joy of Quidditch for the sake of unseen, covetous eyes in the shadows. So, yes, Harry need not leave the team; I will ensure his safety."

Upon receiving his assurance, the Gryffindors immediately relaxed. In the hearts of these young lions, who could be more reliable than Dumbledore?

The group happily prepared to take their leave. Just before heading out, Ryan hesitated and stopped.

"Professor Dumbledore—"

"Yes?"

"There's one more thing—" Ryan stammered, wavering.

"Speak your mind, Mr. Carro."

"Professor Quirrell—" Ryan mustered his courage, looked up, and asked, "What will happen to Professor Quirrell after you drive away You-Know-Who?"

"—Will he be alright?" Ryan pressed.

Facing this question, the usually composed Dumbledore's expression finally changed.

He looked deeply into Ryan's eyes, which were subtly moist.

"I'm afraid not, child."

Ryan's eyes widened.

"Voldemort did something truly terrible to him in order to possess him—something very, very terrible—they have formed a wicked symbiotic relationship. When Voldemort leaves, Quirrell will inevitably die."

Everyone fell silent.

For these eleven-year-old children, witnessing someone irrevocably heading towards death—even a bad person—they began to feel sorrow for him.

"Children, your sympathy for him, even your desire to save him, is a very noble quality."

Dumbledore lowered his eyes, saying kindly but coldly—

"However, when Quirrell, out of greed and ambition, sold his soul to Voldemort, this was already the predetermined outcome."

Leaving the Headmaster's office, everyone's mood was complex.

"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, and we have to experience something like this—war, You-Know-Who, death. I thought these things should be 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 covered in silver, and some young wizards were shouting and playing a snowball fight in the courtyard; Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were among them.

"Dumbledore was right," Hermione suddenly said.

Wade was perplexed. "Hm?"

"We shouldn't tell Harry the truth," Hermione said, looking at Harry with a compassionate, almost motherly gaze. "Otherwise, the heavy reality and hatred would suffocate him."

"—Let's not talk about this," Wade reminded. "Remember Dumbledore's words, we should try not to think about it, and don't make eye contact with that person... it's best to stay away from him."

Hermione nodded silently.

Michael looked at Wade, about to speak, but then shook his head, saying nothing.

Only later that evening, when they returned to the common room, did Michael pull Wade aside and whisper, "I thought you'd resent Dumbledore—he knows everything, yet he allows students to face danger—you almost died, Wade."