"Kiwi pudding."
In front of the stone gargoyle at the entrance to the Headmaster's office, Professor McGonagall spoke today's password. The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside, and the wall behind it split in two, revealing a spiral stone staircase.
The staircase moved upward on its own, carrying them to the entrance of the Headmaster's office.
"Please, come in." Dumbledore's aged voice came from within before anyone could knock, as if he knew they were coming.
Professor McGonagall pushed the door open and entered, with Marcel and Snape following behind.
"What is the situation?" Dumbledore asked, smiling at Marcel before looking to Professor McGonagall.
"The students have all returned, and the troll has been dealt with—by Mr. Maclean." Professor McGonagall glanced at Marcel and then recounted the specific details to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore nodded as he listened. When Professor McGonagall had finished, he finally spoke.
"Oh, yes, I understand," Dumbledore said. "Minerva, you should go and continue the search. See if there are any other students wandering about."
"Severus, please go and help Professor Quirrell dispose of the troll."
"I see no need. Quirrell can handle it alone," Snape said, his face still a mask.
"I think it is necessary," Dumbledore said, looking at Snape.
"...If you insist," Snape said, staring at Dumbledore for a moment before turning sharply and leaving.
Marcel realized he was now alone with Dumbledore, which made him feel a little uneasy, though he didn't let it show.
"Would you care for some kiwi pudding?" Dumbledore asked with a smile.
"Er, why not?" Marcel said, composing himself and trying hard not to let his mind wander.
It had to be said, the Headmaster's taste was quite good this time. A moment later, a pudding had found its way into Marcel's stomach. Throughout this, Dumbledore had simply watched him with a gentle smile, not saying a word.
"Mmm, tastes good," Marcel said awkwardly after another moment of silence.
"I think so too," Dumbledore finally spoke. "So, how are you finding your studies at Hogwarts?"
"It's very interesting, very fulfilling, and I've made quite a few friends," Marcel said, trying to choose the most optimistic answers he could, though he didn't know if it would work.
"Honestly, you are the most intelligent child I have ever met, bar none," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, seemingly unconcerned with Marcel's answer. "No one has ever learned so much by the age of eleven. Not during my time as a teacher, not one. And there is no record of it in Hogwarts' history."
"Er, thank you for the compliment, but... isn't that a bit of an exaggeration? For example, my Transfiguration is very average," Marcel said, trying to recall his own performance.
"I don't think so," Dumbledore said. "I have been watching you since your first magical outburst. Given your actions and experiences, I believe we can communicate as two relatively equal adults."
This time, Marcel really couldn't keep his composure. "Magical outburst?" he asked in astonishment. "I've been wanting to ask about that ever since I received my admission letter. I don't remember ever having a magical outburst."
"Oh, yes. That is because your magical outburst occurred at a most inopportune time," Dumbledore sighed. "Though I don't know if I should be the one to tell you—"
Marcel froze, then shot to his feet. "Was it my mother... at that time?"
"Yes. During the car accident, your magic suddenly erupted and protected you," Dumbledore said, looking at Marcel kindly, a trace of pity in his eyes.
"That means, even if she hadn't thrown herself over me..." Marcel murmured in a trembling voice, slumping back into the armchair as if all his strength had left him.
Dumbledore watched Marcel in silence, perhaps feeling regret, or perhaps observing his reaction.
Suddenly, Marcel came back to his senses and let out a heavy sigh.
"What's past is past... It is for that very reason that I desire the power to protect others all the more," Marcel said, raising his head and looking directly at Dumbledore for the first time with firm resolve.
"That is your true nature. I can feel it," Dumbledore nodded in satisfaction, his gentle and wise smile returning. "Death is usually the end of a life, but it can also be the beginning for others. Remember, death itself is not to be feared."
Marcel knew that Dumbledore had seen a shadow of the young Voldemort in him. Thankfully, he truly had no evil intentions and had passed this test.
Dumbledore and Snape were, in fact, the same type of person. They lacked neither power nor ambition, but they would give up everything for "love," including their own lives. The difference was that Dumbledore's love was for all, while Snape's was reserved for Lily alone.
And Marcel wondered, what kind of person would he be?
That night, Marcel lay in bed, his mind racing. So much had happened today, and he had learned a shocking truth from Dumbledore. His thoughts swirled, and it was not until late at night that he finally fell into a deep sleep.
…
As November began, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school were gray and covered with ice and snow. The lake was as cold and hard as tempered steel. Every morning, the ground was covered in frost, and students had to watch their step to avoid taking a nasty fall.
Marcel sat at the dining table, eating his breakfast, surrounded by a crowd of people.
Someone had spread the word—it was probably Ron. In any case, more than half the school had now heard of Marcel's glorious deed: he had single-handedly taken down a twelve-foot mountain troll! It was simply incredible.
Marcel had now become a celebrity. Many students came up to talk to him, and a few first-year girls even asked for his autograph.
Marcel found that he quite enjoyed the feeling of being surrounded by people. It wasn't just vanity; he also found it genuinely warm.
The Quidditch season had begun. Hagrid was busy de-icing the brooms on the pitch, wrapped in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit-fur gloves, and enormous beaver-fur boots.
To be honest, Marcel really wanted to join the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, but unfortunately, he had been too busy. Besides, the team generally didn't accept first-year students.
"Harry's case must have been an exception," Marcel thought, looking over at the Gryffindor table where Harry and Ron were whispering to each other. Marcel guessed they were talking about this very thing.
However, what concerned Marcel was that he hadn't heard any news about Harry joining the Gryffindor team as Seeker. Could it be that the Gryffindor captain, Wood, was planning to keep Harry as a secret weapon?
"Good security measures," Marcel mumbled through a mouthful of food.
However, when match day arrived, Marcel was a bit dumbfounded to see Harry, just like him, heading towards the spectator stands.
"What's going on?" Marcel stared blankly as Harry disappeared up the stairs to the Gryffindor stands, his face a mask of undisguised astonishment.
"What's wrong? What are you looking at, Sir Knight?" Charlotte slung an arm over Marcel's shoulder with a grin. "Gazing at your Princess Granger?"
"Er, ah, no," Marcel shook his head, glanced one last time at the Gryffindor stands, then turned and climbed the stairs to his own section with Charlotte.
The Quidditch match was exciting, but Marcel didn't have much heart for watching it.
He kept glancing at the teachers' stand. Without Harry in the match, he didn't know how Quirrell's plans might change.
The match ended without any incident. Without Harry playing, it seemed the root cause for Quirrell to make a move had been eliminated. But Marcel couldn't be sure that he wouldn't find another opportunity to target Harry.
"At least one certain crisis has been averted. That's a good thing, right?" Marcel wasn't sure if this was true, and for now, he had no leads on the matter.
The Gryffindor versus Slytherin match was over. As he was leaving, Marcel glanced at the scoreboard: sixty to two hundred and ten. When the scores had been tied, the Slytherin Seeker caught the Golden Snitch, ending the tense match.
Marcel had no time to care about this. After a quick look, he walked over to the crowd of Gryffindors.
"Hey, Harry!" Marcel tried to sound as normal as possible. "Don't worry, the season's not over. This is just the beginning."
"Oh, yeah. But it's still not great to lose to Slytherin," Harry sighed.
It seemed that even without being on the team, he was still very fond of the sport.
"Hmm," Marcel said, organizing the thoughts he had been mulling over during the match. He then asked, "I heard that Neville almost fell during your first flying lesson. Is that true?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah! If Madam Hooch hadn't reacted so quickly, Neville would have definitely ended up in the hospital wing, I'm sure of it."
"Yeah! He shot up so high!" Ron added, laughing and making a gesture with his hands.
"And what happened after? Did Malfoy give him a hard time?"
"Oh, yeah, he did. That git is always mocking people. I wish I could hit him with a Bat-Bogey Hex!"
"The duel that night was because we had an argument in class," Harry added angrily.
"Yeah, that guy is really no good."
As Marcel casually agreed, he slowly pieced together the cause and effect. So that's how it was!