"Sorry, Harry. That night, I didn't know—"
In the hospital wing, Marcel stood before Harry's bed, a look of apology on his face.
"No, it's fine," Harry said immediately. "What you did afterward was the greatest gain of this whole affair. I should be the one thanking you!"
"Yeah! If you hadn't... oh! It's scary just to think about it," Ron chimed in, echoing Harry's words.
Besides Dumbledore, the person in the room who felt this most deeply was probably Ron. For a young wizard born into a pure-blood family, there was nothing more terrifying than the return of Voldemort.
"Indeed," Dumbledore also spoke up. "This time, it was truly thanks to Mr. Maclean. I was a step too late. If he hadn't used his intelligence to deceive Voldemort and acted decisively at the last moment, the outcome would have been completely different."
"Professor Dumbledore, what happened to the Philosopher's Stone in the end?" Harry seized the opportunity to ask.
"Mmm," Dumbledore smiled. "The Philosopher's Stone has been destroyed."
"As expected? It seems that hasn't changed," Marcel thought to himself.
"Destroyed?" Harry asked, puzzled. "But your friend, Nicolas Flamel, he—"
"Oh, you know about Nicolas?" Dumbledore asked, his tone sounding pleased. "You've really done your research, haven't you? Well, Nicolas and I had a little chat, and we agreed it's all for the best."
"But that means he and his wife will die, won't they?"
"They have enough Elixir of Life stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die."
Seeing the looks of astonishment on their faces, Dumbledore couldn't help but smile.
"I know that to one as young as you, it seems incredible," he said, "but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, very long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."
"You know, the Stone was not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all—the trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are worst for them."
Marcel listened from the side but couldn't quite grasp the deep meaning.
For him, what he lacked most was probably time. He had so many things to do, so many things to research... In his entire life, he would probably never be able to—
"No, perhaps death really is the beginning of another adventure."
Comparing it to his own winding life, Marcel suddenly had a vague understanding. Unfortunately, this concept was just as remote for him. Even though he had already experienced it once, he still knew nothing about it.
He glanced at Dumbledore and felt even more strongly that this white wizard was truly as unfathomable as the rumors said.
"By the way, Marcel, what was that battle chess challenge all about—" Ron suddenly asked, patting Marcel's arm.
"Hmm? The battle chess challenge?" Marcel looked blank, but Dumbledore laughed.
"That was a good one, wasn't it?" he said with a smile. "At my suggestion, Professor McGonagall replaced the original regular Wizard's Chess with the Wizard Battle Chess you invented. That was much more fun. I personally liked it a lot."
"Eh?" Marcel said, stunned. "Professor, while I'm glad you liked my gift, but..."
He wanted to say, was it really alright to casually change such an important challenge?
But Dumbledore continued, "Not only that, but inspired by you and Harry, I personally designed that final challenge. Yes, that's right, the legendary story of King Arthur..."
"Oh—I'm very sorry about that. It was I who let Voldemort discover its secret," Hermione said, a look of guilt on her face.
"But you showed great courage because of it, Miss Granger. I believe not many students could have done that."
"Oh, thank you, but—"
Marcel patted Hermione's shoulder and smiled at her. "It's alright. You did very well."
"Yeah! If it were me, I probably would have been trembling with fear," said Ron. "And if Quirrell hadn't thought to take you hostage at the end, you might have drowned in that water!"
But at the touch of Marcel's hand on her shoulder, Hermione took half a step back. Under Marcel's surprised gaze, she said in a low voice, "Oh, thank you..."
Marcel had no idea what he had done to her. In truth, he hadn't even noticed Hermione's presence at that moment. While it wasn't his fault, it had to be said that a young girl's heart was very sensitive.
Dumbledore watched their every move, a warm smile never leaving his wrinkled face.
Later, Harry brought up Snape again. Although he already knew the full story, he still couldn't let it go. However, Dumbledore told him that Snape had once owed Harry's father his life.
For Snape, there was nothing more unbearable than being saved by his rival. So, he hated Harry's father, and by extension, he hated Harry too.
"The human mind is a complex and many-layered thing, isn't it? Professor Snape could not bear to be indebted to your father... I believe that all this year he has worked to protect you because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father's memory in peace."
"And then he could go back to hating your father's memory with a clear conscience."
Harry tried to think about this, but it made his head throb with pain, so he stopped.
"Alright, that's enough questions. I suggest you start enjoying these sweets, my boy. Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans! I was unlucky in my youth to come across a vomit-flavoured one, and since then I'm afraid I've rather lost my liking for them—but I think I'll be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?"
"I wouldn't risk it," Marcel said, shaking his head as he looked at the bean in Dumbledore's hand. "I've never had a good one."
"My luck? An interesting turn of phrase," Dumbledore said, popping the golden-brown bean into his mouth. Then he was seized by a fit of coughing. "Pah! Unlucky... earwax... It seems my luck isn't very good after all."
Seeing Dumbledore wiping his mouth as he walked out, Marcel immediately followed.
"I have something to attend to. You guys chat."
In the corridor, Marcel exchanged a few words with Dumbledore, and they headed to the Headmaster's office together. But when he came out of the office again, there was a look of surprise on his face.
He stood at the entrance of the Headmaster's office and looked back.
"I never thought Dumbledore would be so easy to talk to."
…
That evening, in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, the end-of-term feast seemed particularly lively.
Marcel sat at the Hufflepuff table, listening to the complaints of Darren, the Quidditch captain and prefect, about his absence from the final match, and enduring the teasing and chatter of the great beauty, Charlotte. He couldn't help but feel a warmth that was like family.
What surprised him even more was that news of his outstanding performance had spread like wildfire. Many students knew the story of how he had cleverly fought Professor Quirrell and protected the Philosopher's Stone. Although no one knew about Voldemort's involvement, it didn't stop them from showing him respect and enthusiasm.
This not only moved him but also dispelled much of the gloom in his heart.
Even a small number of Slytherins cast looks of awe at him. After all, not just anyone could go head-to-head with a professor, even if everyone was a bit dismissive of Professor Quirrell.
Speaking of the little snakes, one had to mention the current appearance of the Great Hall.
The walls on the left and right of the hall were newly decorated with silver and green banners representing Slytherin. On the wall behind the head table hung a huge banner with the Slytherin serpent—this would be Slytherin's seventh consecutive year winning the House Cup.
Although Marcel's excellent grades had earned Hufflepuff a lot of points, one person's strength was ultimately limited. Hufflepuff was still in second place, just a tiny bit ahead of Ravenclaw.
After a good while, a late-arriving Harry stepped through the side door of the hall. And amidst the expectant gazes of everyone, Dumbledore also appeared.
"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast..."
As soon as Marcel heard this, he immediately tuned out the next few sentences. He only started listening again when Dumbledore finished his nonsense and began to talk about the House Cup.
"...Now, as I understand it, the House Cup needs awarding, and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and sixty-five points; in third, Ravenclaw, with four hundred and twenty-six; in second place, Hufflepuff, with four hundred and forty-two; and Slytherin, with four hundred and eighty-five."
A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table.
Marcel made a point of looking at the edge of the Slytherin table. Vylie Blois still had her usual calm expression, showing no reaction to the surrounding commotion.
He remembered that for a period before the exams, Marcel had often run into her in the school's greenhouses. But she would either ignore him or just walk away. Even when he tried to talk to her, she would just stand there quietly, answering his questions with one or two words, then turn and leave as soon as he was done. It was impossible to have a conversation.
If it weren't for the fact that Vylie occasionally came to him with a few questions, he would have really thought he had done something wrong to make the little girl angry.
As he was thinking, he found the little badgers around him suddenly erupting in excitement.
"What's wrong?" Marcel asked, pulling on Charlotte's sleeve.