"So, you're doing all this for Quirrell?" Ivy asked, watching Dumbledore pull out his wand, slowly restoring the corridor, "And not for some boy who can't seem to die?"
"I... sigh..." Dumbledore sighed deeply, "How much do you know, Mr. Doom?"
"Not much," Ivy replied, noticing a trace of hesitation in Dumbledore's otherwise sharp face. "Like the three-headed dog in the classroom on the fourth floor? Or the treasure that Hagrid retrieved from Gringotts? As far as I know, Harry went along for that."
"Let me guess, is this some kind of test, or perhaps a reward? Or is it both?" Ivy observed Dumbledore's expression closely, who had regained the calm and wisdom of the greatest wizard of the 20th century.
"Can I trust you, Mr. Doom?" Dumbledore's blue eyes, even under the dim light, still gleamed. He wore a serious expression.
"Hogwarts will always be my home," Ivy repeated what he had once told Dumbledore in the Headmaster's office. "Also, my wand is made of silver lime."
Those who wielded a silver lime wand were often thought to be skilled in Divination and Legilimency. Ivy was reminding Dumbledore that he had already noticed him probing into his mind.
"Oh, sorry," Dumbledore blinked through his half-moon glasses. "I'm getting quite old and I forget many things. If I've offended you, I trust you, young man, will forgive me."
"I must remind you," Ivy said with an unassailable smile, "I'm already one hundred and forty-four years old."
"But you're still a first-year student at Hogwarts, so I'm sure you'll forgive your old, forgetful headmaster," Dumbledore directed the distant suits of armor to pick up the fallen helmet and resume their positions.
"As you wish." Ivy didn't intend to linger on the matter with Dumbledore. Sometimes, a small concession is made for greater gain.
"The time is getting late, and my stomach is growling," Ivy nodded slightly as if to take his leave. "I hope they've left me some food. If I can, I think I should go back to bed now. You know, being locked in a crystal for over a century, my body shrank. To avoid affecting my growth, I shouldn't stay up too late."
Dumbledore didn't respond further as Ivy turned to leave.
However, just as Ivy took his second step, Dumbledore's voice came from behind. "Ivy!"
He used a more familiar form of address, no longer calling him "Mr. Doom."
"Professor?" Ivy turned around, waiting for Dumbledore to continue.
There was a long and serious silence, but Ivy was always patient. After all, he was sorted into Slytherin for a reason—Slytherins are known for their patience.
"Ivy, how much do you know about Voldemort?" Finally, Dumbledore asked quietly.
"Oh, just what's in the books," Ivy referred to the Harry Potter series, though clearly, no one would understand his deeper meaning. "Including the Death Eaters, the Dark Lord, and of course, how he was killed by his own Killing Curse."
"Harry," Dumbledore's voice sounded deep. "His fate is intertwined with Voldemort's. And I believe that Voldemort is not truly dead."
Ivy noticed that Dumbledore's gaze was fixed on his wand and immediately understood that Dumbledore was referencing the prophecy. He followed Dumbledore's cue and responded, "So... a prophecy?"
"You are truly remarkable, Ivy," Dumbledore said again, locking eyes with Ivy. "I can't believe you've only been at Hogwarts for one year."
"You're not the first to say that," Ivy shrugged. "So, what do you need me to do?"
"Help him, help Harry. He's still just a child," Dumbledore said. "I will work on unraveling Voldemort's secret to immortality, so he doesn't bring more disaster to the magical world."
"If any of your other students heard this, they'd be very hurt by your favoritism," Ivy laughed, teasing, "So, let's talk about payment."
"As you've seen," Ivy slightly shook the Slytherin robes he was wearing, "I'm a Slytherin, and I take pride in it."
Dumbledore's expression visibly relaxed. "So what do you seek, Ivy?"
"I'm quite a greedy person," Ivy said, fully aware of himself. "Endless knowledge, absolute power, nothing more."
"That's hardly just 'nothing more'," Dumbledore said, his voice filled with surprise. After a pause, he realized Ivy wasn't joking, and continued, "The most powerful force I know is love."
"Of course, I understand," Ivy nodded.
"You understand?" Dumbledore asked, at one point, Ivy's gaze had reminded him of Voldemort or rather the young Tom Riddle.
"It's not just love," Ivy explained. "The power of ancient wizards originally stemmed from emotions—hate, disgust, jealousy, anger, sacrifice, yearning, devotion... these emotions amplify the strength of ancient magic. Over a hundred years ago, the ancient magical vault buried beneath Hogwarts held the collected emotions of ancient wizards."
"I see it in Harry, too." Ivy continued, not paying attention to Dumbledore's widening eyes. "It's a fiery and rich form of ancient magic, the kind tied to love."
"Since you've already..." Dumbledore stopped himself, "As for ancient magic, there's nothing more I can help you with."
"Don't forget, I've only been at Hogwarts for one year," Ivy smiled as he reminded him.
Dumbledore laughed, his white beard shaking with joy. "As you know, the password to my office is Lemon Drops, and I'm always happy to welcome you."
Ivy smiled too, and for a moment, the corridor was filled with a light, joyful atmosphere.
"Oh, by the way!" Dumbledore suddenly seemed to remember something. "That magical item that blew up this corridor—it was you who lent it to Miss Granger, right?"
The cheerful laughter abruptly stopped, and Ivy straightened his face, staring at him. "I've never heard of such a magical item."
"Whether it's yours or not, Ivy, I must warn you, don't use such powerful magic in the castle again," Dumbledore glanced around, then added softly, "At least don't let the other professors find out."