Snape lifted his teacup and took a measured sip. "Occlumency?"
"This is the Sorting Hat we're talking about," replied Dumbledore, dropping sugar cubes into his tea—one after another, as if lost in thought. "For Wyzett, Occlumency is crucial."
"If he can master his emotions, control them at their extremes, then even the so-called Obscurial outbursts will become manageable..."
Before he could finish, Snape cut him off with a cold refusal. "Don't come to me."
"I wasn't planning to," Dumbledore said, smiling as if he'd expected this all along. "I have someone else in mind who's far more suitable."
"Who was the intruder?" Snape shifted the conversation abruptly, his gaze sharpening. "What exactly is hidden in the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor? Don't tell me... the Dark Lord has returned?"
"We can't say for certain yet." Dumbledore let out a soft sigh. "I've only caught whispers, picked up a few clues. We need hard evidence."
"Evidence?" Snape's eyes glinted, deep in thought. "Does this have something to do with the thief who broke into Gringotts? What was stored in that vault?"
"An alchemical artifact tempting enough to lure Voldemort himself—worth risking everything, worth causing such a commotion."
"The Philosopher's Stone! That's the only thing that could attract the Dark Lord's attention!"
"Severus, you're far too perceptive for your own good... It makes it rather difficult for me to keep sharing information with you."
"That's your choice," Snape replied dryly, "but I must repeat myself—Hogwarts is just so 'safe.'"
Dumbledore chuckled, playing along with the sarcasm. "Such safety is something we must all maintain, and I'll need your help more than ever."
His smile was that of a hunter who'd just cornered his prey. "Besides you, I'll be asking other professors to help strengthen Hogwarts' security."
"Perhaps I should have stayed away," Snape muttered, his face darkening. "The moment I knocked on your door, I made a mistake."
"You came at exactly the right time," Dumbledore replied, eyes narrowing with a twinkle. "Even if you hadn't come to me, I'd have come to you—with a most earnest request."
"I get the feeling you're not telling me everything..." Snape eyed him warily. "What else are you planning? Have you found out who the intruder is?"
"Not yet. But whoever it is will slip up eventually." Dumbledore shook his head gently. "It's late—the new term has begun. Let's all do our best."
Late at night, a woman's portrait in the headmaster's office suddenly spoke: "Just as you expected—someone did go to that room."
Still working at his desk, Dumbledore looked up. "Ms. Wilkins, who was it?"
"Quirinus Quirrell," said Ms. Wilkins. "He didn't try to open the door directly, but kept probing it with magic."
"A true Ravenclaw—clever approach," Dumbledore commented, though his tone carried a note of disappointment. "But this isn't his usual style. Things are taking a turn for the worse... The final candidate is confirmed." He picked up his quill and wrote the last name on a list.
The list now included not only Quirinus Quirrell, but also Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Rubeus Hagrid, and others.
At dawn, as the first rays of sunlight streamed through the window and into the dormitory, Wyzett opened his eyes to a chorus of snores and sleep-mutterings.
His mind felt strangely empty, as if he'd absorbed too much information and none of it would stick.
"One, two, three... Yesterday I kept up Custodis Meditatio (Guardian's Meditation) for at least five hours."
It was the longest he'd ever managed.
With the meditation's help, he'd spent a magical night, fully immersing himself in everything Hogwarts had to offer.
Internally, Custodis Meditatio helped him rein in his emotions, keeping the Obscurial force contained at his core.
Externally, it sharpened his senses—even boosted his spellcasting speed. It was a technique that balanced attack and defense.
But for now, he had to watch how long he used it—he couldn't keep his senses heightened all day.
A piece of parchment lay on his desk: his class schedule, neatly written in a grid.
He glanced over it. Two Potions lessons in the morning, and History of Magic in the afternoon.
Wyzett wandered the dormitory for a while, soaking in the lingering ancient magic, before heading for the washroom.
After washing up, he made his way to the common room, intending to review his textbooks—an old habit from his previous life.
It wasn't even seven o'clock, yet the common room was already bustling. Students sat with books of every shape and size, reading with rapt attention.
"Morning! Sleep well?" Cho Chang called from a corner, her voice gentle. "Getting used to things?"
"Pretty well," Wyzett replied, nodding. "I'm actually looking forward to Potions and History of Magic today. They both sound fascinating."
"I hate to burst your bubble," Cho teased, "but you'd better brace yourself. For both classes."
"Professor Snape has a habit of appearing out of thin air right behind you—don't let him startle you. And as for History of Magic, if you see people asleep, that's completely normal."
Wyzett was intrigued. "History of Magic? Why's that?"
"Professor Binns is the oldest teacher here. He's a ghost—supposedly the only History of Magic professor Hogwarts has ever had," Cho explained.
"He drones on and on, and that classroom is... well, extremely comfortable. Even I've nodded off once or twice."
Wyzett grinned. "Sounds magical in its own way."
He lingered in the common room a bit longer, but when his stomach started rumbling, he decided it was time for breakfast.
He hadn't gone far down the corridor when a sudden hiccup sounded—and he nearly collided with a woman reeking of alcohol.
She was impossibly thin, with thick, oversized black-rimmed glasses that magnified her eyes to an almost comical degree. Her neck was weighed down by countless beads and chains, her bony arms adorned with bracelets and rings—a walking picture of a fortune-teller.
At least, that was his judgment from his previous life. In this world, magic was very much real.
Dawn had barely broken, and Wyzett was certain the corridor had been empty. The woman had simply appeared out of nowhere.
He quickly straightened, speaking calmly. "Sorry, ma'am. I didn't see you there."
"Hic!" The woman hiccuped again, the stench of alcohol swirling around her. "No worries... It's fate's guidance."
Her voice was weak and slurred. "Yes, I saw it already. I knew I'd bump into someone this morning. Saw it in my crystal ball."
Wyzett was left speechless, unsure what to make of this rambling woman or why she was at Hogwarts.
"Well, if you're all right, I'll be on my way," he said politely, eager to move on.
But the woman's eyes suddenly widened, her pupils spinning wildly.
Her mouth stretched open in a grotesque, trance-like grimace.
Instinctively, Wyzett took two steps back—but the woman darted forward with unnatural speed, her spidery fingers clamping onto his arm.
She rasped out a prophecy, her voice like a saw on bone:
"The Dark Lord who donned the hero's armor to defeat the revolutionary... he has found the rising star... the star makes him remember the past...
He shall pass on armor and sword... the Dark Lord of old will return, the disguised Dark Lord must defeat the Dark Lord of old... the rising star gives the disguised Dark Lord a reason to cast off his shackles...
Will the Dark Lord of old bring down ancient terrors... or will the disguised Dark Lord bring forth new calamities... the future is uncertain... but the rising star's ascent... will light the road ahead..."
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