“You’ve turned a teaching demonstration into the school’s latest gossip,” he said to Artoria.
“It was not my intention.” Artoria was cutting a piece of steak, her movements elegant and efficient.
“Your students simply have too much free time.”
“Could you not have told me beforehand that you intended to attack me physically?”
“If I had told you beforehand, you would have been mentally prepared.
A defense with mental preparation is not a true defense.”
Zhang Wen couldn’t argue with that.
From a pedagogical standpoint, she was right.
From the standpoint of his dignity—forget it, better not to think about it.
“Professor Zhang.” A voice came from beside him.
Zhang Wen turned to see Snape sitting three seats away to his left, looking at him expressionlessly.
“Is there something I can help you with, Professor Snape?”
“I heard you held a…
combat demonstration with your assistant in class today.”
“It was a teaching demonstration.”
“The distinction seems negligible.” The corner of Snape’s mouth curled down by a fraction—which, in his repertoire of expressions, likely counted as “mockery.” “Your assistant seems more adept at combat than you are.”
Zhang Wen couldn’t deny it.
“Everyone has their own specialty,” he said.
“She handles the practical demonstrations; I handle the theoretical instruction.
It’s a division of labor.”
“An interesting division.” Snape picked up his goblet of pumpkin juice and took a slow sip.
“Usually, the professor is stronger than the assistant, not the other other way around.”
“Usually, professors don’t have Voldemort’s face growing out of the back of their heads.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Zhang Wen regretted them.
That sentence struck directly at Professor Quirrell—the poor soul who had been possessed by Voldemort the previous year.
And Snape was one of the few people in the school who knew the truth behind it.
Snape stared at him for three seconds.
In those three seconds, Zhang Wen felt as if an invisible scalpel was scanning him from head to toe.
“You know a great deal, Professor Zhang,” Snape’s voice dropped half a pitch.
“Enough to be concerning.”
Zhang Wen picked up his pumpkin juice and didn’t respond.
Damn it.
He’d let it slip.
He had to be more careful.
Snape wasn’t like Dumbledore, who used smiles to mask his suspicions.
Snape would remember every discrepancy and then lay them all out at once when the time was right.
He had no classes in the afternoon.
Zhang Wen locked himself in his office, grading fourth-year assignments while reflecting on the morning’s blunder.
Mentioning the relationship between Quirrell and Voldemort in front of Snape was an error he shouldn’t have made.
That information was a secret known only to a very few in this world.
As a new professor with an unknown background, Zhang Wen shouldn’t have been privy to it.
As he was thinking, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
The door opened.
Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway, wearing a purple robe embroidered with moons and holding a paper bag.
“Good afternoon, Professor Zhang.” Dumbledore walked in with a smile.
“I’ve brought some Lemon Drops.
Would you and Miss Pendragon care for some?”
Zhang Wen’s guard immediately went up.
Dumbledore delivering snacks in person?
This was either pure friendliness or he had something to say.
Considering Dumbledore’s personality, it was likely both.
“Thank you.” Zhang Wen took the paper bag.
“Please, have a seat.” Zhang Wen offered him a chair.
Dumbledore sat down, took out a Lemon Drop, and slowly unwrapped it.
“Your classes are very popular with the students, Professor Zhang,” he said, his tone as light as if they were discussing the weather.
“Especially the physical training and the combat demonstrations.
I haven’t seen the students this enthusiastic about Defense Against the Dark Arts in quite some time.”
“Thank you, Headmaster.”
“Professor McGonagall told me you submitted a very detailed syllabus.
I appreciate your diligent attitude.”
Pleasantries.
The preamble.
Zhang Wen waited for the real point.
Dumbledore bit into the Lemon Drop, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles.
“However, I didn’t come here today just to deliver sweets.”
Here it comes.
“I wanted to discuss a small matter with you,” Dumbledore said.
“You’ve recently hung some mirrors in the castle corridors.”
Zhang Wen’s heart skipped a beat.
“Yes.
I am researching defensive spells based on the principles of reflection.”
“Professor Flitwick mentioned that to me.
He is quite interested in your direction of study.” Dumbledore paused.
“But I noticed that the placement of your mirrors is very deliberate.
The second-floor corridor, the path to the library on the third floor, the fourth-floor landing—these are areas with the highest student traffic.”
Zhang Wen remained silent.
“If it were just an experiment, any wall would suffice,” Dumbledore’s tone remained gentle.
“But you chose specific locations.
That leads me to believe your mirrors serve a purpose beyond academic research.”
The office fell silent for a few seconds.
Artoria’s hand moved imperceptibly toward her waist.
Zhang Wen signaled her to relax with a glance—Dumbledore wasn’t an enemy.
“Headmaster,” Zhang Wen chose his words carefully, “do you believe in precautionary measures?”
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
“What I mean is,” Zhang Wen continued, “some protections aren’t put in place because something has already happened, but just in case.
Much like the castle’s protective enchantments—they weren’t set up because someone was currently attacking Hogwarts, but to prevent potential threats.”
“Mirrors as a precautionary measure?”
“Yes.”
“Against what?”
Zhang Wen went silent for two seconds.
“To prevent students from being harmed by things they cannot see around corridor corners.”
The statement was extremely vague.
But Zhang Wen bet that Dumbledore could read between the lines.
Dumbledore looked at him, his blue eyes deep and calm.
A long silence followed.
Then Dumbledore smiled.
“Precautionary measures.” He nodded.
“I have always been a supporter of precautions.
As long as they do not harm anyone.”
He stood up.
“I’ll leave the Lemon Drops for you.
Miss Pendragon seems quite interested in them.”
Zhang Wen glanced at Artoria—she was staring at the paper bag, her expression unchanged, but the focus of her eyes gave her away.
Dumbledore walked to the door and looked back.
“Professor Zhang, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Severus tells me you have a rather…
deep understanding of certain historical details of Hogwarts.” You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Zhang Wen’s heart sank.
Snape had already reported to Dumbledore.
“He suggested I keep an eye on you,” Dumbledore said.
“But I told him that a man willing to hang mirrors in corridors to protect his students does not need to be watched.
He needs to be trusted.”
He smiled and left.
After the door closed, the office remained quiet for a long time.
Zhang Wen leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath.
“He knows,” Artoria said.
“He doesn’t know the specifics.
But he knows I’m guarding against something.” Zhang Wen rubbed his temples.
“Dumbledore…
he won’t force you to reveal the truth.
He gives you space and lets you decide when to speak.
But he will always be watching you.”
“Is that trust or surveillance?”
“Both,” Zhang Wen said.
“To Dumbledore, the two aren’t contradictory.
He trusts your good intentions while monitoring your actions.
If your actions align with those intentions, he continues to trust.
If they don’t—”
“He will take measures.”
“Exactly.”
Zhang Wen thought for a moment.
“He’s like Merlin.”
Artoria was taken aback.
“You know Merlin?”
“Merlin was my Court Mage,” Artoria said matter-of-factly.
“He is exactly like that—always smiling, always knowing more than he lets on, always observing everyone from the shadows.
Extremely annoying.”
Zhang Wen couldn’t help but laugh.
The King of Knights calling Merlin “extremely annoying.” That was likely the most unique evaluation of the wizard in the entire universe.
“At least Dumbledore is on our side,” Zhang Wen said.
“He knows I’m taking precautions, and he’s allowed it.
This means that when the Chamber of Secrets incident occurs, he won’t be an obstacle.”
“He might even be an asset,” Artoria added.
“Provided we don’t do anything to disappoint him.”
Artoria nodded.
Then she picked up a Lemon Drop from the paper bag.
“Is this good?”
“It’s Dumbledore’s favorite candy.
He thinks so.”
Artoria unwrapped the paper and took a bite.
A tiny change appeared in her expression—the corners of her mouth tightened slightly.
“It’s too sour.”
“Dumbledore has unique tastes.”
Artoria looked at the candy in her hand and took another bite.
“It is sour, but acceptable.”
“You don’t have to eat it.”
“Wasting food is unacceptable.”
She finished the entire Lemon Drop without changing her expression.
Zhang Wen felt that this was likely the toughest battle Artoria Pendragon had faced during her time at Hogwarts.
Tougher even than facing a Basilisk.
After all, Basilisks weren’t sour.