"What?!"
"You're saying that shadow just now… was Voldemort?!"
"The one whose name must not be mentioned, whose mere utterance would bring about the end of the world, cast the universe into chaos, the ultimate… mysterious man?!"
"And more importantly, he didn't actually die—that was just an avatar?!"
Inside the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, gasps of disbelief rose louder and louder, each exclamation more shocked than the last!
Dumbledore wiped the sweat from his brow and quickly explained, "It's not that his name must not be mentioned—it's just that he placed a curse on it. If anyone speaks his name, he can sense it. It's really not as exaggerated as you're making it sound."
Harry responded with a casual "Oh," clearly disappointed that Voldemort didn't quite live up to the blazing, earth-shattering image he'd imagined.
He even gave Dumbledore a glance that seemed to say, You couldn't even manage to kill off that weak little thing?
The great headmaster Albus Dumbledore felt a pang in his chest.
But then Harry's eyes lit up with excitement and he muttered to himself, "All who utter my name—evil spirits retreat, Hell shall not claim me, and eternal life shall be mine! Damn, this feels even more badass than the Desolate Heavenly Emperor!"
Dumbledore shot him down without hesitation. "Wake up. Stop dreaming."
"Professor, I want to learn that spell," Harry said.
"That spell isn't actually that impressive. Why do you even want to learn it?" Dumbledore tried to dissuade him.
"At the very least, it'd save on phone bills. Think about it—no matter where in the world you are, just saying someone's name can contact them. No long-distance charges, no roaming, works across countries and continents." Harry was already fantasizing.
"That curse isn't as powerful as you think. At most, it only lets you sense when someone says your name. You won't know who it is or what they're saying."
Harry was disappointed. The spell sounded so cool, but turned out to be basically useless.
"You called it a curse. What kind of curse?" Harry suddenly caught on.
"It's actually a bad-luck hex. At worst, it might make someone drop a Galleon or get a slug in their food... But Voldemort later improved it and applied it to his own name."
Hearing that, Harry's interest was piqued again. "Professor, I really want to learn this."
Dumbledore's face twitched. Was everything I just explained for nothing?
He didn't want to drag this topic on any further. "Fine, I'll teach you."
...
...
After a lengthy explanation...
Harry batted his long lashes and looked at Dumbledore with an innocent gaze. "Headmaster, why are you telling me all this? Horcruxes, the Dark Lord's resurrection, war... I'm just a first-year student! Well, soon to be a second-year. Shouldn't dangerous stuff like this be handled by you? As long as you're around, Voldemort and his gang of losers will flee in terror. I just need to relax behind you and enjoy the show."
Dumbledore felt a pain in his liver.
This really is an eleven-year-old child? Merlin help me, why does he feel more like a shameless rogue?
Harry noticed the headmaster's pale expression. Did I stress him out too much?
He quickly straightened up, face full of righteous fervor, and declared, "Eliminating evil is the sacred duty of our generation! I am but a brick—wherever I'm needed, that's where I'll go!"
Dumbledore looked at the boy, eyes shining with conviction like a hero ready to sacrifice everything for the cause. Is this really the same shameless brat from a moment ago? Merlin, you've got to be kidding me.
"But Professor, I'm just too weak," Harry said mournfully, like a patriot ready to die for his country, only to discover the empire had already fallen. "I have the heart, but not the strength."
The professor finally saw through him. This little brat is such an actor.
With a cold snort, he said, "Hah, and here I heard you've already self-studied up to seventh-year coursework."
Harry widened his eyes like he'd been wronged. "Are you talking about me? I'm just a slow learner! There's no way I could be that advanced!"
"You do realize Madam Pince records every book you borrow, right?" Dumbledore said, smiling without warmth.
"Uh…" Harry's face changed instantly. He straightened his robes and said seriously, "Well, since you found out, I won't hide it. Yes, I am a once-in-a-millennium magical genius!"
Dumbledore: "…"
...
...
Just as their awkward conversation was wrapping up, Dumbledore suddenly reached out his hand.
Harry looked confused. "Need money? How much? I don't have much, just saying."
"The Philosopher's Stone," Dumbledore said, beard practically bristling with irritation.
Panic flashed in Harry's heart, but he kept his face blank. "Huh? Didn't you say you stored the Stone inside the Mirror of Erised? Why are you asking me for it?"
Dumbledore shot back, "And how do you think I knew something was wrong with Quirrell and rushed back to school?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out a crystal ball.
"Look—just the latest kids' toy on the market."
Harry's face darkened.
The crystal ball clearly showed the scene in the fourth-floor hall: the chaos, the scorched remains, and flames still burning on the stone.
Dumbledore smiled smugly.
"This is a paired set of crystal balls. The other one is mounted in the hall ceiling. Heh."
"And here's the strange part—just a few days ago, I saw a little boy and two girls enter. And that boy looked just like you. With that long hair, the resemblance is uncanny. Not many students wear their hair that long, do they?"
Damn it. Gotta get a haircut as soon as break starts.
Harry cursed inwardly. But he knew full well that Dumbledore had already figured out he'd taken the Philosopher's Stone.
So he didn't bother denying it. "Yeah, I took it. But honestly, it just looked like a broken old rock. I tossed it somewhere on my way out. How was I supposed to know it was the Philosopher's Stone?"
Dumbledore didn't press him any further, to Harry's surprise.
After a pause, his expression turned somber. "He's dead."
He didn't say who—but he knew Harry would understand.
Harry hadn't realized that the Stone's owner, Nicolas Flamel, had already died.
Dumbledore explained, "It happened not long after I took the Stone. He was murdered. I took it to protect him as well as the Stone, but in the end, even without it, Voldemort still didn't spare him."
Harry's eyebrows twitched slightly.
For the first time, he felt a strong dislike—true hatred—toward Voldemort.
He had always known Voldemort was the villain, but he'd only viewed it objectively, without any personal involvement.
He had no grudge against Voldemort. If he killed him one day, it would just be incidental.
Oh, Voldemort's a bad guy? Then he should die.
That was all.
He'd never felt any obsessive need to hunt him down.
But now, because of the Philosopher's Stone, he had a connection to the old man.
He had become a part of the story. And Voldemort and his Death Eaters—those bastards deserved to die.
That was the thought rising in Harry's heart.
Even though Flamel's death had nothing to do with him, he still felt a pang of guilt. "The Philosopher's Stone…"
"If it's lost, then it's lost. My old friend had long since prepared himself for death. I only wanted the Stone as a keepsake to remember him by. But no matter. I still have some of his things—his notes, photographs…"
...
After leaving the office, Harry felt like he'd forgotten something.
He thought carefully. Didn't Dumbledore promise to give me the Mirror of Erised?
But how could he bring that up now? Oh hey, not only did I steal the Philosopher's Stone, but I'd also like to walk off with the Mirror, thanks.
Too shameless.
Well, forget it. What a pity though…
With light steps, Harry walked away.
The school year was finally coming to an end.
--
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