[Chapter Size: 2200 Words.]
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"Severus, investigate the situation, and then notify the Ministry of Magic to deal with it."
"Very well."
Snape agreed and turned back toward the castle. Once no one could see his expression, his face gradually darkened.
"These little snakes, they've grown completely undisciplined lately. They're even more foolish than giants."
Professor Snape could never have imagined that such a serious accident would occur within his own school.
Professor McGonagall did not forget to remind him as he walked away.
"Hogwarts must take responsibility for the safety of its students. This is the most serious incident we've faced in the last ten years… Severus."
Once Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape had left, Dumbledore seemed far more at ease. He turned to Amanda with a gentle smile.
"Mrs. Merlin, may I invite you to the Headmaster's office?"
The office was located in a small separate tower, its entrance guarded by a massive stone beast.
"Zizzybee Taffy."
At Dumbledore's command, the stone creature slid aside, revealing a spiraling staircase that rose. At the top stood a gleaming oak door with a golden brass knocker set in the center.
As they opened the door and entered, the griffin-shaped knocker opened its mouth and twisted its neck with a growling motion.
Amanda stepped into one of the most extraordinary rooms in Hogwarts, second only to the Room of Requirement.
The walls were lined with portraits of former headmasters, though at that moment, most of them appeared to be dozing in their frames, drained of energy by their long years of service.
In one painting, an elderly man yawned lazily and cracked open an eye.
"Ah, so this is our new Slytherin, what a marvelous addition to the house!"
He winked mischievously at Amanda.
Dumbledore waved his hand.
"Phineas, this doesn't concern you. Go back to sleep."
"Hmph… Albus, don't think you can dismiss me as though I were a beggar."
Dumbledore, robed in deep purple embroidered with golden stars, settled himself behind his desk.
"Miss Merlin, please make yourself comfortable. Would you care for a treacle tart?"
He spoke lightly, as though the grave incident that had just shaken the school had already slipped from his mind.
Amanda politely thanked him, accepted a slice of treacle tart, and sank into a nearby cushioned chair, letting her gaze wander across the legendary office.
On the desk dozed an old bird, its feathers sparse and dull. To anyone else it might have looked pitiful, but Amanda recognized it immediately, it was Fawkes, the phoenix.
The Sorting Hat rested on a nearby shelf among an array of curious silver instruments, one of which resembled a silver swan gliding across water.
Further along stood a tall, dark cabinet, which Amanda guessed must contain the Pensieve.
"Miss Merlin, I ought to have invited you here long ago."
"Professor Dumbledore, what can I do for you?"
Amanda asked cautiously.
"Miss Merlin, your surname, Merlin, is rare, even among Muggles. You grew up in a Muggle orphanage. Did you never notice anything unusual about your origins?"
"All the Muggles assumed it was just a nickname the orphanage gave me. Strange things always seemed to happen around me anyway."
Amanda shrugged.
"Very well. Then allow me to tell you some truths you may find difficult to accept."
Dumbledore's wise, gentle eyes rested on her.
"I hadn't planned to reveal this to you so soon, but after today's events, I see no reason to delay. Better this, than watching someone with great potential spend half her life chasing shadows."
His words left Amanda puzzled.
Could there really be a hidden secret in her past?
Was she the abandoned child of the mysterious Merlin family? Or perhaps the sole surviving orphan of a once-great line, thought to be extinct?
"Professor, I… I don't quite understand."
"Miss Merlin, you are not a person of the modern age."
The answer struck Amanda like a thunderbolt. She had never once considered such a possibility.
"What does that mean?"
"Your birth," Dumbledore said softly, tapping his fingers against the desk, "was a beautiful accident."
"The Merlin family disappeared centuries ago. It was believed they perished in the witch hunts and resistance movements of the Middle Ages. Everyone thought so, and indeed, they were not entirely wrong."
"I thought the Merlin family had hidden themselves away somewhere no one could find them."
"Even in seclusion, the presence of a wizarding family always leaves traces in the world. Could they truly have gone hundreds of years without marrying, studying, working, or trading?"
The golden starlight embroidered on Dumbledore's robes caught the glow of the candle flames, sparkling in Amanda's confused eyes.
Adjusting his spectacles, he began to share a piece of history no one else knew.
"It all began with my dear friend Nicolas Flamel."
"At that time, Nicolas was still a young, gifted alchemist. While traveling across Europe with his wife, he encountered another legendary figure: Livia Merlin."
"Though only a young girl, Livia had already reached an astonishing mastery of magic. She, in turn, was fascinated by Flamel's talent for alchemy."
"They traveled together for a time, then parted ways, though they remained lifelong friends."
"But it was a grim era, at least for wizards. For us, it was an age of darkness."
"Across Europe, the persecution of witches and wizards grew ever more violent. Some risked their lives to aid Muggles, working as spies or secret protectors. During one such campaign of extermination, tragedy struck the Merlin family."
"At the time, Livia was pregnant. When news reached the Flamels, they hurried to her side, but they arrived too late."
"They searched the ruins of her home and found only one survivor, hidden deep beneath the rubble: a newborn baby."
"The sight was horrific. The infant was bloodied and barely clinging to life, with scarcely an hour left to survive. Desperate, the Flamels sealed the child's soul inside a magical vessel, hoping to preserve it until a way to restore it could be found. And so the baby slept there, for centuries, until eleven years ago."
"In a twist of fate, the Flamels discovered that a small device they had created could rebuild a body around the soul."
"The Philosopher's Stone?" Amanda gasped.
Voldemort, who had once possessed Professor Quirrell, had infiltrated Hogwarts in his quest for that very stone, to forge a new body of his own.
"Miss Merlin, you are very perceptive. Though I don't know how you discovered the Philosopher's Stone, it is true—the Flamels used its power to rebuild a body for you."
"I read about it in a book. It is their greatest achievement," Amanda explained.
"If that's the case, then why was I sent to an orphanage?"
"The Flamels are extremely old. It would not have been wise to place your care in their hands."
Dumbledore's words carried a certain logic.
To most, the Flamels were ancient beings who had lived for centuries. To ask them to raise an infant was simply unrealistic.
"At the time, the wizarding world was in grave danger. Under Voldemort's shadow, every wizard lived in fear. No one was willing to take in a child of mysterious origin. Moreover, to prevent anyone from uncovering your identity and exploiting you, it was, at my own suggestion, that you were sent to the orphanage in Osenna."
"Unfortunately, the secret of the Stone's ability to create a body eventually leaked."
"My dear Miss Merlin, I fear Voldemort already knows. For years, he has plotted to return and rebuild his own body, just as the Flamels once did for you…"
Amanda couldn't help but interrupt.
"Then… you hid the Philosopher's Stone in the right-hand corridor on the fourth floor, didn't you?"
"Miss Merlin, I've told you quite enough already."
Dumbledore smiled kindly, but gave no further explanation.
Amanda nodded. She understood it would be rude to press further.
"As for Miss Parkinson… I believe she will face the punishment she deserves, likely several years in Azkaban." Dumbledore glanced at the watch on his wrist. "I expect the Ministry of Magic has already arrived."
"Yes, Professor."
Silently, Amanda reflected on the lesson she had learned from her own arrogance and overconfidence.
Earlier that day, Daphne had provoked her outside the dormitory. In her pride and blindness, Amanda had gone alone, hoping to persuade Pansy easily. She hadn't even considered informing the Head of House, or confiding in Draco or Harry.
But unless one makes mistakes, one can never truly see human nature clearly.
She had underestimated Pansy's stubbornness and selfishness.
Yet every failure teaches wisdom, only makes one stronger.
Through his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore's wise eyes gleamed.
"Miss Merlin, I must remind you of one last thing. It is not our abilities that define us, but the choices we make. They shape our destiny."
"You are Harry's friend, and I believe you can help guide him along the right path."
"..."
Amanda nodded seriously, though a trace of awkwardness remained.
It seemed that even Dumbledore had heard the rumors, that she and Harry were destined to become the "third generation of Dark Lords."
Yet Dumbledore's words contrasted with her own philosophy. She had once told the Slytherins in their common room that strength was what determined fate, that they should improve their abilities and unite under common interests, so that they could seize their own destiny and earn true honor, rather than depending on others.
Dumbledore, however, insisted that choices determined destiny.
His words carried a clear warning: not to follow Voldemort's path.
But there was more. She feared that only three people in the world knew the truth—herself, Snape, and Dumbledore.
She admired Dumbledore deeply.
Yet she also knew what he had already decided: Harry was fated to die.
Harry would die with Voldemort.
From the very beginning, Harry had been a pawn.
Why else would Dumbledore send him to live with Aunt Petunia rather than the safety of Hogwarts? He had feared becoming too emotionally attached to Harry.
Snape had once accused him outright: "You are raising him like a pig for slaughter."
But Amanda could not question him.
On a larger scale, Dumbledore's decision was a moral dilemma.
Does one sacrifice a single life, or risk the lives of many? Like the trolley problem, there was no perfect answer.
In the original story, during the Battle of Hogwarts, Voldemort's Killing Curse destroyed only the shard of soul within Harry's scar. By sheer chance, and the complex allegiance of the Elder Wand, Harry survived and Voldemort was defeated.
But that had been nothing more than luck, a chain of coincidences.
This time, the world had changed. Her very presence had altered it.
She did not know what the future would bring in the next seven years.
But one thing she knew with certainty: she did not want anyone around her to die.
Therefore.
She must take upon herself the responsibility that had once belonged to Harry. If Harry could not kill Voldemort, then she would.
It was her duty.
A true Slytherin takes responsibility for their actions.
And Voldemort stood as the greatest obstacle in her path.
To kill him, and replace him, was, at this moment, Amanda's deepest desire.
She was not willing to spend her life as an ordinary professor, nor to accept a minor post at the Ministry of Magic, nor to marry, bear children, and live quietly like so many other witches.
The happiness of ordinary people, that was not what she wanted.
She would not walk Voldemort's road. His path was narrow and doomed to isolation. Hers would be broad, supported by the allegiance of all witches and wizards.
She dreamed of becoming the center of power, leading the wizarding world toward a brighter future.
She longed to be the kind of person who could, single-handedly, shake the very foundations of the magical world.
She wanted every witch and wizard to walk proudly in the sunlight.
No more hiding in the shadows. No more fearing Muggles' persecution. One day, perhaps, magic and technology together would bear even greater fruit.
She had come from a time where technology was more advanced than much of the magic here.
There was still so much left for her to do.
When Amanda finally left the Headmaster's office, she paused, then turned back to say:
"Be careful of Professor Quirrell."
She did not know how Dumbledore would respond, but Voldemort was at his weakest. It would be best if Quirrell and Voldemort were dealt with in advance.
Still, her words came out rather abruptly.
Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles, suspicious.
"Why do you say that, Miss Merlin?"
Amanda realized she was making an accusation against a fellow professor, so she quickly added:
"At the start-of-term feast, when Harry looked at Professor Quirrell, his scar began to hurt. I suspect it may be connected to Voldemort."
Dumbledore's silver brows furrowed slightly, as if he were considering something.
After a moment, he said, "Thank you for the warning, Miss Merlin."
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