Qin Yu had long since realized that Dumbledore made no real effort to hide the existence of a "secret front" from him. After all, the headmaster had once used a holographic projection-like spell to map out the rise of the G.A., making it clear the wizarding world was far from harmonious and riddled with hidden dangers.
So, showing him a few pages of intelligence on a particular individual was hardly out of character.
Yet after reading those reports, Qin Yu was left at a complete loss for words.
"You want to know who this 'S' really is, don't you?" Dumbledore spoke up, voicing the question for him.
"That's right. I want to know who he actually is," Qin Yu replied, nodding.
Their words might have sounded similar, but Qin Yu's meaning was much more pointed.
"His current name is—Ian Stanley." Dumbledore supplied the answer, though a thoughtful look lingered in his eyes, as if there was more he couldn't—or wouldn't—say.
Of course, Qin Yu recognized the name. The intelligence had mentioned the nickname "Ruthless Stanley" as well. But what he really wanted to know was something far deeper than just a name.
"I saw a photo of Stanley in the paper!" Qin Yu said earnestly, meeting Dumbledore's gaze.
"Exactly. And if you've seen his photo, you'll have noticed—he looks exactly like Stephen Swinton. Just… much thinner now."
The way Dumbledore phrased it made Qin Yu frown. He couldn't help but press, "Looks like? So, is he Professor Swinton or not?"
"All I can confirm is that there's no essential difference between his appearance and Swinton's. But you know as well as I do—the Professor Swinton you knew would never do the things described in those reports."
Dumbledore gestured toward the pages in Qin Yu's hands.
Qin Yu instinctively glanced down at the papers, recalling the thuggish, almost gangster-like exploits detailed there. He found himself agreeing completely: that wasn't the Professor Swinton he knew.
"So…" Qin Yu faltered, unsure how to phrase what he wanted to ask.
"So, you won't find the answer you're looking for here. At least, not yet. I can't give you anything more definite," Dumbledore said softly, almost apologetically.
The implication was clear: Dumbledore himself wasn't in the know either—Swinton hadn't been sent off on some secret mission or undercover operation on his orders.
It made sense. When Swinton left Hogwarts (before the summer holidays), the G.A. had only just begun to surface. There was no call for him to risk himself as a lone agent.
"…Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. You've already cleared up a lot of my confusion," Qin Yu said sincerely, after a moment's thought. Then, with a touch of urgency, "I just wish I knew how I could help you get to the bottom of this—or help Professor Swinton."
If the headmaster was sharing these secrets with him, Qin Yu was sure there was a reason.
Dumbledore nodded, clearly pleased by his attitude.
"What you need to do is simple: study magic diligently, strengthen your skills, and keep working on the assignment Professor Swinton left you. Someday, it may prove more useful than you imagine—and it's something only you can do."
Qin Yu instantly understood what he meant by "assignment"—it was the "alchemical communication method" he'd recently made new progress with.
If that man truly was Swinton… well, maybe he could reach him. It was better than doing nothing at all.
"I will!" Qin Yu promised, his tone earnest.
"Good. And try not to let yourself get too wound up. Keep a relaxed mind—that's how you'll handle whatever comes your way. Remember how calm you were when Lucius Malfoy tried to make trouble for you?" Dumbledore smiled, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
Calm? Sure, it was easy to be calm when you knew you had a whole team of heavy-hitters backing you up!
Truth be told, it wasn't so much composure as it was confidence—confidence that came from having powerful allies. Otherwise, would he have dared to play games with Malfoy's father?
Thinking back, Qin Yu couldn't help but touch his nose and give a wry, self-deprecating smile.
"In terms of keeping my cool, I still have a lot to learn from you, Professor."
Dumbledore chuckled. "There's an old Eastern saying: people lose their composure over the things they care about. You care too much about this, that's all."
Just then, a knock sounded at the office door. Dumbledore called out for the visitor to enter.
It was none other than Professor Snape.
Catching Qin Yu's slightly surprised look, Snape shot him a cold, indifferent glance.
"Severus, did you bring what I asked for?" Dumbledore inquired.
"I did."
With a nod, Snape drew a slender, gleaming sword from within his voluminous robes.
It was his own alchemical rapier.
"Perfect. Hand it over to Qin—that'll save him the trouble of asking you for it. Qin, you should also let Professor Snape take a look at those pages."
Clearly, Dumbledore had anticipated Qin Yu would want to borrow the sword for his experiments, and had arranged for Snape to bring it.
As the Eastern boy took the sword in hand, Dumbledore gave a few more reminders about the intricacies of mental alchemy, assuring him that he was welcome in the headmaster's office with questions at any time.
"As for Professor Swinton, I've already set things in motion to try and make contact with Stanley himself. We may need one of you to speak with him eventually—that's another possible approach."
Qin Yu was told this just before leaving the office.
Clearly, someone in North America was already working on it.
He felt a little uneasy—not knowing what kind of encounter it would be if he truly had to meet that man face to face.
But remembering Dumbledore's words of comfort and encouragement, he decided there was no point in worrying himself sick. Better to face things head-on and focus on what he could control.
"If the sky falls, old Dumbledore will hold it up for us! I just need to keep a calm heart and remember I've got powerful friends behind me. No anxiety, no mental exhaustion!"
With that thought, by the time he returned to the Gryffindor common room, his mood had lightened considerably.
…
At that moment, Hermione was curled up on a roomy sofa, brow furrowed as she listened to Harry recount his "adventure" over the Christmas holidays.
She was full of curiosity about the magical Invisibility Cloak and the mysterious mirror, but also helplessly exasperated by Harry's nighttime escapades in the library's Restricted Section and other off-limits places. She'd never expected Harry to be so much trouble—and miraculously, he hadn't even lost any house points.
"Excuse me, young lady, may I sit beside you?" A muffled voice broke into her thoughts.
"Sorry, you'll have to find another seat. This sofa isn't big enough for two," Hermione replied absently, not even looking up.
"Oh, but it's such a spacious sofa—surely we can squeeze in?" The voice sounded oddly persistent.
"Hey, you—" Hermione finally looked up, ready to give this cheeky newcomer a piece of her mind.
Whoever this was, they clearly didn't spend much time in the common room—or they'd know exactly who "ran" this spot. If she told him the name, he'd be scared stiff!
But when she caught sight of the familiar, mischievous grin leaning in, her words caught in her throat.
Alright, fine—this place really is under his "protection."
Of course, all that internal bluster was just the wild exaggeration of a little devil muttering in the secret corners of her heart—the kind of devil that could roar like a dragon.
Miss Granger had clearly been targeted by a certain someone intent on mischief.
Which left her fuming, because this wasn't home—there were plenty of other Gryffindors around, and she couldn't retaliate on the spot.
All she could do was glare at him fiercely, wrinkle her nose, and let out a huff.
Then she scooted over on the sofa, making space.
"I've thought it over—maybe it really is a bit cramped for two. Perhaps I should sit somewhere else," he said, feigning seriousness with a smirk.
"…!"
Hermione's glare intensified, as if she could freeze him solid with a single look.
"So, what were you all talking about? Harry, Ron, how was your holiday? Any fun stories to share?" he asked, plopping down right next to her and shifting the conversation.
Hermione was left speechless.
So annoying! What if I really do want to bite this guy?
Her frustration only grew. While Harry launched into his holiday tale again, a small, nimble hand reached over—quickly and discreetly—pinched a bit of flesh at someone's waist, and gave it a sharp twist.
Watching him twitch at the corner of his mouth, struggling to keep his composure, Hermione felt much better.
She was just about to pull her hand away when, to her surprise, a larger hand caught hers, trapping it in place.
If she'd studied enough Eastern proverbs, she might have known the saying "like throwing a meat bun to a dog—it never comes back."
The little witch tried to wriggle free several times, but that hand held her fast. She had no choice but to let her small hand be captured, occasionally squeezed or teased.
So annoying! Just you wait until we're alone—I'll make you pay.
If there really was a little devil in her heart, it would be stomping its feet in a fit by now.
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