Wyzett nodded thoughtfully. After a moment's reflection, he seemed to understand. "So… Headmaster Dumbledore, you still plan to take Professor Quirrell to see Nicolas Flamel?"
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Yes. Quirrell needs to learn alchemy—he must come to understand the Philosopher's Stone, to master it."
"He needs to direct the Stone's power to purify his body, not passively accept its transformation. Surrendering to it would be dangerous."
Wyzett asked quickly, "Headmaster Dumbledore, what's the difference between the two approaches?"
"Let's use Baruffio's Brain Elixir as an example." Dumbledore gave a sly wink. "You're quite familiar with that potion, aren't you?"
Wyzett grinned. "Yes! Madam Pomfrey never tires of warning me to stay away from Baruffio's Brain Elixir."
Dumbledore explained, "That's the perfect case of passive transformation. If a wizard relies on Baruffio's Brain Elixir for too long, they'll grow dependent… and it only gets worse."
"Over time, the potion's effects diminish. To keep that feeling of clarity and sharpness, the wizard increases the dose—until they're completely lost."
Wyzett swallowed. "Completely lost?"
"Exactly!" Dumbledore confirmed. "When the elixir's effects are all but gone, the wizard can't bear to return to their ordinary self. They lose all autonomy."
"Quirrell's soul has been purified. I don't want him to become dependent on the Philosopher's Stone—to walk down a path of no return. He must become the master of the Stone, not its puppet."
Thinking back on Quirrell's determination just two days ago, Wyzett replied with conviction, "I believe in Professor Quirrell… He can do it."
Dumbledore nodded gently. "So do I."
...
A sudden silence fell between them. Dumbledore laced his fingers together, his blue eyes gleaming in the candlelight.
Wyzett rubbed his eyes. Ever since the Quidditch final that morning, he hadn't rested. Now, finally back at Hogwarts and warmed by the glow of candlelight, a wave of fatigue washed over him.
Abruptly, Dumbledore asked, "Wyzett, would you like to know about my history with Voldemort? About what he said in the underground chamber…"
Wyzett nodded. "Headmaster Dumbledore, if you don't mind sharing—and if it won't be too painful—I'm ready to listen."
Meeting Wyzett's calm, clear gaze, Dumbledore gave a soft cough. "Voldemort believes I made him what he is… Perhaps, in some ways, he's right."
"He grew up in an orphanage. Before I delivered his Hogwarts letter, I spoke with the matron to learn more about him."
"Even as a child, he could control his magic. He used it to cause trouble—cruel incidents, really—at the orphanage."
"Cruel incidents?" The word "orphanage" struck a chord with Wyzett, reminding him of his own past.
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. The other children were terrified of him. If anyone crossed him, bad things happened…"
"For example, he once hanged a classmate's rabbit from the rafters. Or he'd lead children into a cave, and afterwards, they'd be left dazed and frightened, as if they'd seen something dreadful."
"In short, my first impression of him was very poor. I saw no kindness in him—evil already seemed to fill his heart. That's never a good sign."
His voice was slow and deliberate, brow furrowed, gaze intent as he watched Wyzett's reaction.
After hearing just a few sentences, only one phrase came to Wyzett's mind: born evil.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, if that's the case… When he finished at Hogwarts, did he go back to the orphanage? What happened to the other children? Were they still at risk?"
"Yes! What about the other children?" Dumbledore's brow relaxed a little. "That's what led to what happened next—and why he thinks I 'created' him."
"I met Voldemort, and I knew about his little schemes—he'd stashed away all sorts of stolen toys. At the time, I had my own worries… I didn't handle things well."
"I warned him, burned the cupboard where he hid his things, then restored it. I made him return the toys, or I wouldn't let him come to Hogwarts."
Wyzett asked, "Headmaster Dumbledore, when was this?"
"The summer of 1937. I remember it perfectly."
Wyzett nodded. Those "worries" must have been about Gellert Grindelwald.
At that time, Grindelwald's followers were growing ever stronger. No wonder Dumbledore said he hadn't done well—he must have been consumed with other troubles, unable to give his full attention to teaching.
Seeing Wyzett's steady expression, Dumbledore relaxed a little.
He went on, "I also warned Voldemort: Hogwarts does not tolerate theft."
"I truly didn't handle it well. When he wanted to go to Diagon Alley alone, I didn't insist on going with him, even though I should have."
"I disliked his cruelty, his secrecy, his domineering nature. I was always wary of him."
"Maybe it was precisely that wariness that nurtured his nature, letting it grow and fester—until he became the Voldemort we know."
As he spoke, his voice grew heavy, and the light in his eyes dimmed, as if weighed down by old regrets.
Maybe it was just Wyzett's imagination, but he thought he saw something in Dumbledore's gaze—a look he'd seen before, in the eyes of parents reuniting with lost children at the orphanage: a deep, inescapable guilt.
"Perhaps I truly… can't do anything right." Dumbledore managed a bitter smile. "I failed as a teacher—Voldemort has always hated me."
"I failed as a brother, as a friend. So many people died because of me. Aberforth was the one who bore the family's burdens… I've been a failure, haven't I?"
Wyzett frowned slightly and glanced back at the towering Mirror of Erised.
He remembered Aberforth's hints at the Hog's Head, and with Dumbledore's strange mood tonight, he could piece together the rest.
Letting out a quiet breath, Wyzett said, "Headmaster Dumbledore, I haven't told you about my time in the mirror world, have I?"
"Would you share it with me?" Dumbledore turned, and in the moment it took to blink, managed to avoid looking directly at the Mirror of Erised.
Wyzett nodded. "There was a respected former Guardian in the mirror world. He helped me understand something…"
"No matter how eloquent the storyteller, we can never truly know what they've lived through."
"Their pain and joy—their story—belongs to them alone."
"That's why you and Professor McGonagall let me discover the soul for myself… because everyone's soul, everyone's journey, is unique."~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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