"Not entirely," Dumbledore explained gently. "Being an Obscurial doesn't just mean you're dangerous—it also means… you come from the Muggle world."
"Some pure-blood families still haven't realized that blood purity is nothing but a foolish comfort. Wizards will never rule this world, no matter how much they wish it."
"To assert their own uniqueness, these families have become increasingly exclusionary—hostile to all Muggles, and to any wizard born of Muggle parents."
"But what they've forgotten is that pure-blood wizards are dwindling. Even in the magical world, most witches and wizards are now half-bloods or have Muggle heritage. That's the new norm."
Wyzett couldn't help but smile at the absurdity. "Pure-blood theory… it really is ridiculous."
The so-called pure-blood theory was painfully similar to the "racial theories" he'd learned about in his previous life. It even reminded him of the infamous "one-drop rule."
Thank goodness that, at Hogwarts, such ideas only thrived within Slytherin. Maybe that was why Slytherin so often stood apart from the other houses.
"Yes, a laughable notion," Dumbledore agreed. "And it's falling further out of favor in our world. But that's why, in their desperation, the pure-bloods made one last, reckless bid for power—and from that, Voldemort was born."
Wyzett stared at him in disbelief. "Voldemort… was chosen by the pure-blood families?"
"Their relationship is… complicated." Dumbledore shook his head. "Voldemort's upbringing was unique, and it led him to become a champion of pure-blood ideology."
"When he began to rise, the pure-blood families recognized a kindred spirit. They threw their support behind him, hoping to preserve their own power and privilege."
"Their philosophies aligned, so they joined forces and grew stronger together. Voldemort became 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,' and many pure-bloods became his Death Eaters."
"Our world endured a time of darkness until Voldemort was defeated by Harry Potter and vanished. Only then did peace return."
He paused, his eyes grave. "But now I must tell you… Voldemort has returned. He's not just after Harry Potter—he's set his sights on you as well."
Wyzett felt his heart skip. "Me?"
"Yes." Dumbledore nodded, his expression serious.
"So… the troll was his doing? But why?" Wyzett frowned, a suspicion forming. "Is it because I'm an Obscurial?"
Dumbledore's lips curled in satisfaction. "You're very perceptive."
He noted how, instead of panicking at news of Voldemort's return, Wyzett immediately began to reason things out, arriving at the truth with remarkable calm. It was a rare quality—one of the reasons Dumbledore valued him so highly.
In Wyzett, he saw echoes of many people… not just Ariana, but also himself.
Since Wyzett had honored Snape's trust, Dumbledore decided to share even more.
His tone grew solemn. "Wyzett, there's something else you need to know. I hope you're ready."
Sensing the shift in mood, Wyzett straightened, meeting his gaze. "Of course."
"It was only after speaking with Quirrell that I became certain of Voldemort's return. In other words… it's very likely that this latest attack was carried out by Quirrell himself."
"Professor Quirrell!" Wyzett blurted, eyes wide, swallowing hard. "How could it be him?"
He struggled to imagine that the professor who had so patiently taught him could be involved with Voldemort—could even put him in danger.
Dumbledore sighed, a note of regret in his voice. "It's all too easy to lose one's way. Many do, at one point or another."
The words sounded like comfort for Wyzett, yet also as if Dumbledore was speaking to himself.
"I've been watching Quirrell. Ever since he returned from his travels, his behavior has grown stranger, more withdrawn. He barely speaks to anyone anymore."
"I feared he was beyond saving, that he'd rush headlong into darkness. But then… a turning point appeared."
Wyzett pointed to himself. "Me?"
"Exactly." Dumbledore smiled. "You and he are both Ravenclaws—a rather marvelous coincidence, don't you think?"
"But why Professor Quirrell?" Wyzett still couldn't wrap his head around it. "If Voldemort wants me gone, why would Quirrell teach me anything?"
"It was from him that I first learned how Dark Magic can stir up the Obscurus's malice. He even suggested I study Occlumency to protect myself."
"Precisely!" Dumbledore's smile returned. "Contradiction is the seed of change. Maybe you haven't realized it, but your actions are different from most."
"You treat every professor with equal respect. That respect, that sincerity—those are things Quirrell has always longed for, but rarely received…"
"He's lost his way, but your sincerity has made him hesitate. It's the key to saving him."
Wyzett frowned, still troubled. "What should I do?"
Dumbledore spoke slowly, his words deliberate. "Hold on to that respect and sincerity. For someone as sensitive as Quirrell, special treatment would only make him more uneasy."
"Act as if you know nothing. Influence him gently, little by little… You can keep attending his private lessons, or you can choose to walk away."
He let out a long breath, his voice grave. "But above all, you must look after your own safety."
At that moment, Fawkes let out a gentle trill, swooped down from his perch, and landed beside Wyzett.
"Of course I haven't forgotten you," Dumbledore said warmly, stroking Fawkes's feathers. "If you're ever in danger, call for Fawkes. He'll come to your aid."
Fawkes nodded with uncanny intelligence, then plucked a blazing red feather from his wing.
The feather floated into Wyzett's palm—and vanished.
Wyzett turned his hand over, searching, but saw nothing. Only the lingering warmth told him that what had happened was real.
He sensed, somehow, that he and Fawkes were now connected. All he had to do was call out in his mind, and the phoenix would answer.
"Fawkes really does like you," Dumbledore explained. "That's his mark. As long as you're within the castle, he'll always be able to find you."
"We still have some time. Take as long as you need to think things over. If you ever need help, you're always welcome here. Professor Flitwick knows the password."
Wyzett stood up at once, his voice steady and his eyes unwavering. "I'll keep going to Professor Quirrell's lessons. I'll do everything I can to change him."
Dumbledore laced his fingers together, lowering his head so Wyzett wouldn't see his eyes.
In those clear, brilliant blue eyes, a thin veil of tears shimmered in the candlelight…
[No new terminology introduced in this chapter. All magical concepts referenced are canonical or previously established.]
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