‘Talent, is it?’
After attempting several spells from the beginner’s spellbook in succession, Harry had succeeded on his very first try every single time.
While grabbing a piece of bread from his tray and chewing on it, he observed the wand in his hand.
This wand—which Ollivander had described as tempestuous and stubborn, containing a dragon heartstring core—was remarkably gentle.
Compared to Harry’s former Sword of Triton, it was exceptionally well-behaved, performing its duty splendidly by guiding the magic from his body to work in tandem with the incantations for spellcasting.
Throughout this process, all he needed to do was communicate proper intent—for instance, conveying thoughts such as fainter, make it fainter to it.
‘So, I’ve already mastered all of the first-year Charms.’
Harry realized this fact in his mind.
In fact, with this wand, he might well be able to master second- and third-year Charms with ease.
So long as he pronounced the incantation correctly and performed the proper wand movements, it would readily assist him in channeling his magic, transmitting an eager, impatient sensation that yearned to cast even more spells.
It was almost as if it were alive.
“You seem remarkably diligent, Harry.”
A familiar voice rang out.
Harry turned his head helplessly to find Dumbledore standing behind him at an unknown point, those blue eyes peering directly at him through his half-moon spectacles.
“This feeling of being constantly watched isn’t pleasant, Professor Dumbledore,” he stated bluntly.
“You’re always so wary of me. Could you just tell me directly why that is? After all, I’ve shared quite a few of my secrets with you—including the fact that I’m a Parselmouth.”
“Would you like to trade secrets?”
Dumbledore stepped closer, taking a seat on the lawn as well, speaking in a kindly tone.
“If you wish, Harry, I am quite willing to trade secrets with you.”
Harry listened without speaking.
“Voldemort is not actually dead.”
Dumbledore stated this as he reined in his expression, speaking in a thoroughly calm tone.
“…Oh!” Harry replied.
“How shocking.”
He had known for a long time.
That fellow had been hiding inside his body.
Harry had killed him in his dream.
“Are you not afraid, Harry?” Dumbledore observed him closely.
“That is You-Know-Who, after all. I trust you are no longer the ignorant Muggle who knew nothing a month ago; you ought to understand what he represents.”
“I know—a reign of dark terror,” Harry recalled from the commentary in various newspapers.
“Cruel, insane—he and his followers ran rampant across Britain, murdering hundreds of wizards and, well, at least tens of thousands of Muggles. If The Quibbler hadn’t reported it, I wouldn’t even have known about it. The other newspapers never reported how many Muggles died; perhaps in their eyes, Muggles don’t count as people.”
“Though the descriptions were vague, I can roughly imagine that era. Wizards whose ideals clashed with his could be walking down the street when suddenly a flash of light would burst forth, a spell from nowhere, and they’d be dead—doesn’t matter if they were young wizards or grown adults.”
“And then there were the Muggles—plane crashes, train derailments, all sorts of explosions. He took pleasure in slaughtering Muggles, while the Muggles thought it was nothing more than natural disasters or accidents, not to mention those heavy foggy days.”
Voldemort, much like Blackbeard, was an exceptionally cruel brute.
“But I don’t have the capacity to worry about all that, do I?” Harry continued, stuffing the rest of the bread into his mouth.
“I’m just a young wizard. Even if everyone considers me the Savior, I know full well how much power I actually possess.”
At the very least, he had no confidence in facing Dumbledore right now, nor was he necessarily capable of taking on Professor Snape.
Well, perhaps he couldn’t even stand against the upperclassmen.
After all, the number of spells he knew was far too limited.
Furthermore, there was the sheer gap in magical power between a young wizard and an adult wizard.
Study.
Focus on studying in peace.
That was Harry’s sole objective.
Besides, Voldemort was already dead—though Dumbledore might not realize it.
“…Very wise, Harry. You have always been this clever,” Dumbledore replied, his voice tinged with deep emotion.
“The blood protection your mother left upon you—I have always believed that while it did not kill Voldemort, it undoubtedly dealt him severe harm, causing him to go into hiding.”
“Yes, he vanished. Everyone thought he was dead, but he had simply vanished, never to appear again.”
“I have been searching for him continuously, until I uncovered his trail in Albania. Yet he hides deeply, and I cannot locate him.”
He spoke as though telling a story.
Yet the content of this story caused Harry to furrow his brow, his chewing coming to a sudden halt.
“Albania?” he pressed further.
“When?” This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
“All along,” Dumbledore replied.
“From the very day he vanished, I have been searching for him. Over these years, I can be certain he has been in the forests of Albania. Though you may not realize it, Albania is a nation—a rather underdeveloped one—that boasts vast, untrodden forests.”
Harry fell silent, swallowing his bread.
This was not good news.
If Voldemort was in Albania as Dumbledore claimed, then who was the soul inside his own body that had been slain by the Sword of Triton?
That soul was hideous and evil.
He possessed almost every single trait that Voldemort should have had.
“Apart from those I trust implicitly, not a single soul knows of this—well, excluding those Death Eaters. I do not know whether they possess secret means of contacting Voldemort. So I hope that, now that you know, you can keep this secret, Harry.”
Dumbledore offered this caution before casting a probing gaze over.
“That is the first secret we have exchanged. So now, is there anything else you would like to trade with me?”
Harry thought it over, deciding to state his terms first.
“Perhaps you could speak first, Professor,” he said.
“I want to know: within this castle, do you truly have a way to guarantee our safety? At any moment, should someone launch an attack on me, can you arrive and rescue me immediately?”
Dumbledore did not answer right away, staring at him.
“Have you noticed something, Harry?”
Harry didn’t answer, silently finishing off the remaining slices of meat on his tray.
Dumbledore replied, “…Very well, I shall answer. If you mean guaranteeing the safety of every single student—I am sorry, but even I cannot accomplish that. However, this castle holds the magic left behind by the four founders; most of the time, it will protect you well.”
Harry pressed further, “And what about me personally?”
Dumbledore replied, “The protection I afford you is far greater than what is given to the other children, Harry.”
He had given no definitive answer.
“I’m not particularly satisfied with that answer. In that case, I’ll offer you a rather mediocre piece of intelligence,” Harry replied.
“Someone inside this castle wants to kill me.”
Dumbledore looked at him, making no move to interrupt.
“Not mere hostility—they explicitly want to murder me,” Harry continued.
“At present, we can basically rule out Professor Snape, Hagrid, and likely Professor McGonagall—oh, and the young wizards in my year.”