In the headmaster's office—equal parts stately study and cozy living quarters—a white-bearded old man in shimmering silver pajamas and a tasseled nightcap turned away from the moonlit window.
As he strolled toward a round-backed chair, he muttered, half amused, "At least tonight I didn't have to help him dodge Filch. Practice really does make perfect with that boy."
There was a playful lilt in his voice, as if he'd just witnessed a particularly entertaining scene.
Of course, this old man was none other than Albus Dumbledore, the master of Hogwarts and, by all accounts, the most formidable wizard alive.
As headmaster of the greatest magical school in Britain—and perhaps the world—Dumbledore couldn't claim to know every last thing that happened within these ancient walls. But when he chose to keep an eye on someone, it was almost child's play.
Just last Thursday night, he'd had a not-so-formal—but very necessary—private chat with Qin Yu. Ever since, Dumbledore had occasionally used a bit of magic to observe the boy's actions from afar.
Of course, he was careful not to pry into anything too personal. He only watched "from a distance"—an old wizard's discretion.
Which was why he'd mostly steered clear of Qin's interactions with young Hermione—after all, too much sweetness could be dangerous for an old man's health. (Diabetes, you know—though perhaps that's just a myth.)
Back to the point: Dumbledore had watched, with great interest, the night Qin Yu had cloaked himself in magic to "communicate" with Draco Malfoy.
He'd had no choice, really. The magical ripples from Qin's spellwork were impossible to hide from someone of Dumbledore's caliber.
So he'd hurried over, cast his own Disillusionment Charm, and watched from the shadows as Qin—well, "guided" was perhaps kinder than "hoodwinked"—counseled, encouraged, and prodded young Draco.
Watching Draco Malfoy—pulled from despair to breakdown, then back to hope again by a talking pile of enchanted leaves—Dumbledore had found himself thoroughly entertained. (Well, perhaps "enthralled" is a more dignified word.)
As a seasoned educator, Dumbledore knew the value of "teaching according to the student." He didn't object to Qin's less-than-conventional methods of "helping" Draco. In fact, compared to the cruelty the world so often showed, Qin's approach was positively gentle—almost sentimental.
So, when midnight came, Dumbledore had planned to see how Qin would further instruct the boy.
He even went out of his way to nudge Filch away from Draco's path, ensuring the Slytherin heir reached the rendezvous point unimpeded. Then he waited with the boy—all night, as it turned out.
But Qin never showed.
Truth be told, just after midnight, Dumbledore had an inkling the boy wouldn't appear. Still, he'd clung to a sliver of hope—surely, someone so young wouldn't employ the kind of sly tactics only an old fox like himself might use.
Yet as dawn broke, dew soaking his beard and Draco's face clouded with disappointment, Dumbledore had to admit: Qin had played the game—and played it well.
"I really did underestimate that boy," he'd mused, standing not far from the old oak tree.
It wasn't Qin's magical prowess he'd underestimated—far from it. The boy's talent and dedication were already among the most impressive Dumbledore had seen in a lifetime of prodigies.
No, what surprised him was Qin's temperament. That kind of patience, that keen insight into human nature—such depth was rare in someone so young. To call him "calculating" might be a stretch, but not by much.
Draco Malfoy was, by nature, restless. Even from a distance, Dumbledore could sense the boy's inner turmoil.
That, he realized, was why Qin had skipped the meeting. This "midnight appointment" was a test—a lesson in patience, tailored for Draco's impulsive heart.
So, though Dumbledore had stood beside Draco through a long, fruitless night, he found himself smiling on the walk back to the castle.
He admired Qin's methods. In them, he saw reliability. He saw hope for the future.
Of course, it was far too soon to pin all his hopes on one child. That would be unfair to anyone.
But still, Dumbledore's estimation of Qin had risen considerably.
So, over the next few days, whenever work allowed, Dumbledore kept a subtle watch on both Qin Yu and Draco Malfoy.
Draco, for his part, remained stubbornly devoted to the "midnight date." Every night after curfew, he'd sneak out—narrowly dodging disaster, thanks in part to a certain headmaster's covert assistance—and wait under the oak tree all night long.
And what about Qin Yu, the instigator of it all? He was busy as ever: studying, eating, resting, playing, and—most importantly—spending time with little Hermione. According to Hagrid, he'd even been experimenting with a special "birthday noodle" recipe. A quick glance at the student records revealed that Hermione's birthday was coming up.
So while Dumbledore was standing vigil with Draco, Qin Yu was racking his brains to make a little girl smile?
Dumbledore couldn't help but want to say: "For Merlin's sake, Qin—do something useful!"
Well, something along those lines. (Author's note: Blame me for being a chronic shipper.)
Still, Dumbledore wasn't just grumbling. From what he'd seen, Draco was already changing—finding a measure of inner calm amid his usual storm of anxiety and doubt.
"At the very least, he's gotten much better at dodging Filch," Dumbledore chuckled to himself.
That, too, was progress.
After sitting in his chair a while, collecting his thoughts, Dumbledore decided to finally head to bed. After several nights spent shadowing Draco, he was more than a little tired.
But just as he stood, he caught sight—through the window overlooking the inner courtyard—of another figure moving through the corridors.
This one was taller than Draco, but still clearly a student.
Judging by the direction he came from, he must be from Gryffindor Tower.
Who could it be?
Speak of Merlin, and he appears!
A smile crept into Dumbledore's eyes, and his fatigue vanished.
Old men need less sleep anyway. Why not see what the night has in store?
…
…
After saying goodnight to Hermione, Qin Yu returned to his dorm.
As usual, he settled in for a bit of meditation before bed.
But just as he slipped into the trance Professor Swinton had taught him, a strange feeling swept over him—a sudden, inexplicable urge.
And then he sneezed. Twice.
"One sneeze means someone's thinking of you, two means someone's cursing you… So someone's cursing me?!"
Qin Yu drew a very magical conclusion.
He thought for a moment. He didn't have many enemies. Who would be cursing him?
He mentally ran through the list of suspects, and one name floated to the top: Draco Malfoy.
After all, Draco probably held the biggest grudge against him these days.
First, as himself, Qin Yu had "oppressed" the boy plenty.
Second, as his mysterious alter ego, he'd stood Draco up for days on end. Being cursed was only natural.
A double dose of resentment.
Actually, Qin Yu hadn't forgotten about the midnight appointment—he'd just been waiting to hear news of Malfoy getting caught.
Sneaking out to the greenhouses at midnight wasn't easy. After several nights, it was only a matter of time before Draco was caught.
Letting the Slytherin experience "minus fifty house points" would be a lesson in itself.
If Draco could take it in stride, he'd be ready for the next step.
But Qin Yu waited and waited. Days passed, and still no word of Draco getting caught.
Tonight, after two sneezes in a row, he wondered if he should check things out himself.
From what he'd heard from Hermione, Harry, and Ron, Draco had probably been going to the oak tree every night.
After leaving the boy hanging for so long, Qin Yu did feel a twinge of guilt—though only a small one.
So, just before midnight, he slipped out of the Gryffindor common room, crept through the castle, and made his way toward the greenhouses.
The familiar path, the soft grass beneath his feet—everything was silent. Too silent.
"What if the kid didn't show up? That'd really let me down!" he muttered, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
Just then, he thought he heard a twig snap somewhere nearby. But when he listened, he couldn't pinpoint the source—only the distant howls of some beast in the Forbidden Forest broke the midnight stillness.
Probably just his imagination. Qin Yu shrugged and moved on.
Soon enough, he spotted the great oak tree—and the golden-haired boy sitting beneath it.
The boy sat there quietly, his pale face cast in moonlit shadow.
Qin Yu almost wanted to say the kid looked perfect for a ghost film.
But now wasn't the time for jokes.
The boy, of course, was Draco Malfoy—right where Qin Yu had told him to wait.
Draco had kept his promise, again and again.
But even now, Qin Yu had no intention of revealing himself.
He simply watched for a while, then turned and melted away into the night.
"Uncut jade cannot be made into anything of worth," he murmured, his tone unreadable—was it satisfaction, or disappointment?
Either way, his shadow soon vanished among the ancient stones of the castle.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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