Fred strode forward and knocked on the door knocker. The oak door opened silently.
Dumbledore's office was truly wondrous, its walls covered with portraits of former headmasters. Some were sleeping, others eyed them with interest, and some were just empty frames. The long-legged table was cluttered with strange silver instruments, rotating and puffing out small wisps of smoke. The Sorting Hat lay on a shelf, seemingly asleep, letting out soft snores.
Perched high on a gilded stand behind the door was an exceptionally beautiful bird. Its feathers were gold and red, and though somewhat sparse, they were still dazzlingly beautiful. It looked down at everyone with remarkably intelligent eyes.
"Oh my!" 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 hooked nose. He wore a deep purple robe embroidered with irises. He sat in a high-backed chair, his light blue eyes gazing at them kindly.
"Welcome, children. I hope my office hasn't bored you."
"Bored us? This place is fascinating, Professor!" Fred boldly and cheerfully said.
Dumbledore chuckled softly and said, "Your letter mentioned—something very important you wanted to tell me? You may speak now."
They exchanged glances, urging each other with their eyes. Hermione, too, hesitated, as she had been forced to break the rules and was reluctant to confess.
Finally, Wade stepped forward and recounted the conversation he had overheard earlier. The others chimed in, adding their own speculations.
Michael's face gradually paled. He hadn't expected them to be discussing such a serious matter at the Headmaster's office. He looked from one to another, feeling as if he were the only one shocked in the room.
After patiently listening, Dumbledore showed no surprise. His gaze, seeming to pierce through people's thoughts, turned to Wade. "Are you certain he didn't detect you when you overheard that conversation?"
"I had used a Fire Charm before that, so I'm not sure if he noticed traces of the spell. But as soon as Professor Quirrell entered, I hid, and he couldn't see me from the window's angle."
Wade meticulously explained, "Before he left, I made sure I didn't make any sound, didn't use magic, and had no discernible scent. I waited outside the window until dawn before returning. On my way back, I ran into Griffiths's portrait and Professor Murray. Afterward, in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Quirrell didn't pay me any special attention, and his attitude showed no obvious change."
Dumbledore nodded slightly and added, "For now, it seems he hasn't discovered anything. But I want you to remember one thing—from today onwards, try not to dwell on this, and avoid making eye contact with Professor Quirrell, understand?"
Wade nodded silently.
"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. Carroll," Dumbledore patiently said. "In fact, at the beginning of this term, I noticed some unsettling changes in our Professor Quirrell, and the information you've brought confirms my worst suspicions—but it's not yet time to expose him. However, rest assured, I've asked a very reliable person to monitor him, and I will ensure the students' safety."
"So, Professor... he really is..." George asked softly.
"I believe so," Dumbledore confirmed their suspicions. "Voldemort has returned to this school, in a state no one could have imagined. But he probably never thought that his brilliant disguise would be discovered by a few children like yourselves—he always tends to underestimate those less powerful than him—oh, in fact, you've all performed exceptionally well."
"But—didn't everyone say Voldemort was killed by Harry Potter when he was just a baby?" Fred asked.
"He was indeed badly wounded on the night he tried to kill Harry, and he vanished from public view. But he didn't truly die; I've always been certain of that," Dumbledore said. "Voldemort is currently in a rare state, one that even the Killing Curse cannot easily defeat."
Fred looked confused, 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 yet unequivocally.
"But—"
"Given that Voldemort killed Harry's parents, I don't think it's a good idea to let him know his enemy is right before his eyes," Dumbledore said. "Harry probably wouldn't be able to handle it with the same calm and rationality as you, and it would put him in great danger. So I need you to keep this absolutely quiet, especially from Harry—can you do that?"
They all nodded together.
Fred grumbled, "But He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named still wants to kill him! To ensure his safety, should Harry leave the team?"
"Wood would cry," George forced a smile. "He says Harry's the best Seeker he's ever seen—he's pinned all his hopes for winning the championship on Harry."
"Oh, about that—"
Dumbledore clasped his hands and smiled, saying, "I don't believe we should give up the joy of Quidditch just because of lurking danger. So, yes, Harry doesn't need to leave the team. I will ensure his safety."
Upon receiving his assurance, the Gryffindors immediately felt relieved—in the hearts of the young lions, who could be more reliable than Dumbledore?
The group happily prepared to take their leave. As they reached the door, Ryan hesitated and stopped.
"Professor Dumbledore—"
"What?"
"There's one more thing—" Ryan stammered, wavering.
"Go on, Mr. Carroll."
"Professor Quirrell—" Ryan gathered his courage and looked up, asking, "What will happen to Professor Quirrell after you drive away He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"
"—Will he be okay?" 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 terrible things to him to be able to possess him—truly terrible—they formed a wicked symbiotic relationship. When Voldemort leaves, Quirrell is bound to die."
Everyone fell silent.
For these eleven-year-old children, watching someone around them irreversibly head towards death—even if it was a bad person—they began to feel a sense of sorrow.
"Children, your sympathy for him, even your desire to save him, is a very noble quality."
Dumbledore lowered his eyes and said, kindly but coldly—
"However, when Quirrell sold his soul to Voldemort due to greed and ambition, this outcome was already predetermined."
Leaving the Headmaster's office, everyone felt a mix of complex emotions.
"Dumbledore really does know everything," Fred said. "Did you see him? He wasn't surprised at all."
"It's hard to imagine," Ryan said. "We're only first-years, and we're already dealing with this kind of stuff—war, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, death. I thought those things would be far 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 a blanket of silver snow. Some young Wizards were shouting and playing snowball fights in the yard, and Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were among them.
"Dumbledore was right," Hermione suddenly said.
Wade was puzzled. "Hmm?"
"We shouldn't tell Harry the truth." Hermione looked at Harry with a compassionate gaze, filled with what felt like maternal love. "Otherwise, the heavy reality and hatred would suffocate him."
"—Let's not talk about it," Wade reminded them. "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, hesitating to speak. Wade's eyes questioned him, but Michael just shook his head and said nothing.
It wasn't until they returned to the common room in the evening that Michael, avoiding everyone, whispered, "I thought you'd resent Dumbledore—he knew everything, yet he let students face danger—you almost died, Wade."
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