Ch: 58-66
Chapter 58: The Choice
Draco took a deep breath and spoke slowly, "I will go back with Father."
Lucius showed a smug smile. "Then we shall take our leave, Albus, Professor McGonagall."
As he spoke, he gestured to Dobby. "Dobby, Apparition."
"Yes, Master."
Dobby's hands touched Draco and Lucius.
In the next second, everything before them twisted and spun; the Headmasters Office at Hogwartsvanished.
Draco returned home with his father.
Dobby had already withdrawn.
In the foyer, Narcissa stood at the foot of the stairs.
Her face was pale and complex, a mixture of fear for her husband, worry for her son, and an undisguisable sense of shame and disappointment.
She wanted to step forward but stopped dead in her tracks under the cold glare Lucius shot her way.
"To the Study," Lucius said coldly.
"Now."
Then, without looking at anyone else, he walked straight toward the Study.
Draco followed.
The Study door shut heavily behind them.
With a click, it was as if the outside world had been completely sealed off.
Lucius pointed with his wand.
All of Draco's belongings related to Hogwarts, and especially to Gryffindor—
—his school robes, Tie, and Badge all vanished silently, as if they had never existed.
He stood before the Fireplace, his back to Draco. "You have made our family a laughingstock, Draco. An absolute laughingstock, the likes of which has not been seen in a thousand years."
In the corner,
Narcissa finally couldn't help but let out a tiny, suffocated gasp.
She suddenly looked up at Draco.
Those blue eyes, usually cold and reserved, were now filled with undisguisable, deep pain, fear, and a hint of desperate pleading.
He didn't know what she was pleading for.
Was she pleading for her son not to choose the worst option?
Or pleading for her husband not to be so overbearing?
Perhaps, she was just pleading for this torment to end quickly.
Lucius took in his wife's loss of composure, but he showed no reaction, only turning around slowly and with extreme elegance.
There was no ferocious rage on his face, only a bottomless, icy calm.
His eyes, like two cold diamonds, sized Draco up from head to toe.
That gaze was not that of a father looking at his son, but rather like someone assessing a family heirloom that had developed a severe flaw and had to be dealt with.
"Now," he spoke again, his voice carrying a hint of judicial finality, "there are only a few paths laid out before you."
He took a step forward, the silver tip of his snake-headed walking stick making a soft "tap" on the polished floor.
"Choose."
The last word was uttered softly, yet it carried the weight of a thousand pounds.
"First," Lucius's voice was as steady as if he were reciting a business contract, "we will announce to the public that during the Sorting, due to travel fatigue and nervous tension, you suffered a temporary lapse in judgment, interfering with the Sorting Hat's decision."
"This was an unfortunate accident. You will 'voluntarily' take a year's leave of absence to receive treatment and rest at the manor."
"Afterward, you will transfer to Durmstrang."
Durmstrang.
The school renowned for its harsh Northern European climate and its curriculum leaning toward the Dark Arts.
That meant leaving Britain entirely, leaving everything at Hogwarts behind.
Everything would be cast aside, replaced by colder winds and snow, and a more unpredictable future.
"Second," Lucius continued, his gaze sharp as a knife, "from this moment on, you will 'disappear' from magical society. Suffering from a severe illness, seeking medical treatment overseas."
"In reality, you will be sent to an unknown location to undergo long-term, thorough re-education."
"Only when you have been completely transformed, and the outside world has entirely forgotten this 'joke' of the Malfoy family, will you be allowed to return—with a brand-new identity."
A complete disappearance.
To be "hidden away" and "remolded" by the family.
Draco felt a chill surge up from the soles of his feet.
The old man's methods were indeed ruthless; it was like an internet-addicted youth being sent to a rehab center.
Lucius paused for a moment, a very slight, almost cruel mockery flashing in his eyes.
"Third," he said slowly, his tone even carrying a strange hint of "tolerance," "if you find that tattered hat and your newly made... friends so hard to part with, we can issue a public statement respecting Hogwarts' Sorting result."
"But given that this result conflicts severely with family tradition, the House of Malfoy will strip you of your status as the formal heir and cut off all public support for you."
"You can go back and enjoy your Gryffindor life as a 'Malfoy' who has been semi-abandoned by his family. Of course," he added, his voice as cold as a Siberian wind.
"You will need to publicly apologize to the family, to Slytherin, and to everyone who has been shamed because of you."
A public severance.
Complete exile.
To become a laughingstock abandoned by his family at Hogwarts, ostracized by both the Lions and the snakes.
Actually, Draco could have accepted this choice, but when his gaze swept over Narcissa...
...he saw her in the corner, her fingers tightly clutching her skirt.
A pang of pity flashed through Draco's heart, and he decided to try something else first.
Narcissa opened her mouth as if to say something, but in the end, she said nothing.
Lucius's gaze fell back onto Draco.
In that gaze, there was no expectation, no warmth, only cold assessment and a final command.
"Choose."
He repeated, his voice devoid of any emotion.
Chapter 59: I Reject the Choices You Provide!
Draco didn't rush to make a choice, but instead asked, "Father, isn't everything you and Mother do for the sake of the legacy?"
Lucius sneered. "Since you know that, why act so willfully?"
He walked slowly to the desk, his snake-headed walking stick tapping lightly against the surface with a crisp sound.
"You think this is just about Sorting? No." Lucius's voice was deathly cold. "These are four blades thrust into the heart of Malfoy."
"The first blade: politics." His eyes swept over Draco's pale face. "The Carrow family sent a letter 'expressing concern' about the fairness of the Sorting, the Nott family is silent, and Mrs. Chabney has begun discussing 'bloodline and education' at her tea parties."
"The political network I spent years building has developed its first crack because of you; my position on the Board of Governors is now a hot potato."
"The second blade: social standing." A mocking curve pulled at the corner of his mouth.
"The Parkinson family cancelled their dinner party, the Greengrass family declined the concert, and that idiot Bulstrode publicly said 'the Hat knows more about courage than some people.' What your mother and I received were not invitations, but 'condolences.' Every fake smile says: Look, the Malfoy family has become the biggest joke."
"The third blade: economy." He lowered his voice, making it sound even more dangerous.
"The way the Gringotts Goblins look at us has changed, our partners in Knockturn Alley want to 're-evaluate risks,' and those top-tier businesses built on the 'Malfoy' brand—magical creatures, antiques, cross-border trade—are avoiding us like the plague. Galleons will flow away because the brand is now engraved with 'Gryffindor'."
He leaned forward, his shadow looming over Draco.
"The final blade, the fatal one." He spoke almost directly into Draco's ear.
"Our greatest reliance, the legitimacy of our pure-blood status, the glory of Slytherin, has been smashed by your own hands."
"The entire wizarding world has seen: the Malfoy heir is a Gryffindor at his core."
"When the Dark Lord returns," he spat out the name,
"what is a Malfoy with a Gryffindor son? A traitor, a stain, rubbish that needs to be cleared away first."
"At that time, politics, social standing, wealth... all will be burned away in Fiendfyre. The surname Malfoy might very well end there."
He straightened up, regaining his cold posture.
"So, Draco, to answer your question. Of course we do it for the legacy. But you have lit four fires that will burn that legacy to the ground."
"Do you understand now? What you are 'choosing' is not your own path, but the path of this family, the millennium-old 'Malfoy' name—whether to continue surviving, or to slowly die in disgrace."
Lucius returned to his original spot, his back to me, as if he had already delivered the final verdict.
"Father."
Draco's voice sounded exceptionally clear in the silence.
"You are right, we are currently the target of everyone's scorn. Every gaze is like a knife."
After a pause, Draco met the hint of frozen scrutiny deep within his father's gray eyes.
"But when has the Malfoy family not walked on the edge of a blade?"
A nearly cold-blooded clarity was torn open by Draco.
"Perhaps... this 'disgrace' can become our best smokescreen."
Lucius's brow twitched imperceptibly.
"Let everyone—opponents in the Ministry of Magic, wavering allies, even... more dangerous enemies—"
Draco's voice was very low now, his expression becoming just like Lucius's when he spoke.
"Let them all think the Malfoy family has made a blunder, has weakened, is in internal chaos."
"While everyone is staring at the Gryffindor joke, while we are 'forced' to keep a low profile, and while I am 'forced' to undergo 'correction'..."
A very faint light flashed in Draco's eyes at this moment.
"Who will notice that in the shadows, Galleons are flowing toward more critical channels? Who can guard against a seemingly 'troubled' Malfoy who is re-weaving more secret alliances?"
Draco concluded, "Let them laugh, Father. When they have laughed enough and let down their guard, that is when we will be ready to 'return' in a way they absolutely never expected. That will be the optimal time."
The study was terrifyingly quiet.
The light from the hearth jumped on the walls, as if providing an accompaniment to Draco's words.
Seeing his father remain silent, Draco shifted his perspective, his tone even colder.
"Or, look at it another way. Father, the empire you've built is solid, but no matter how sturdy a Castle is, one must know which bricks are loose."
"This incident... is like a powerful Prior Incantato, illuminating all the faces hidden in the shadows."
"Carrow's 'concern,' Nott's silence, Chabney's gossip, the Parkinson family's cancelled dinner..."
Draco listed them one by one.
"Every one of them has written their stance on their faces. This 'list' is something we couldn't buy no matter how many Galleons we spent normally."
"Now we know who to guard against, who to win over, and when to..." Draco paused, spitting out cold words, "repay certain people."
"Trading temporary cold shoulders for the chance to see the true faces of all our 'friends'—to avoid being stabbed in the back at a fatal moment in the future. This price,"
Draco looked up, staring directly at Lucius.
"is perhaps worth it."
The study fell into an even deeper silence.
The fire burned in the fireplace, light and shadow dancing on Lucius Malfoy's statue-like profile.
He didn't speak for a long time, merely using those eyes that could see through everything to re-examine the son standing before him, thoroughly and anew.
This eleven-year-old boy was pale and thin, having just experienced an overnight upheaval.
But the words he spoke now were like those of a strategist who had been steeped in the field of power for half a lifetime.
Lucius finally moved.
He walked slowly to the desk, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface as if feeling the temperature beneath the cold wood.
Then, he turned, his gaze falling once more upon Draco.
In that gaze, the severity remained, but the previous pure, offended rage seemed to have been replaced by something more complex.
Evaluation.
Weighing.
And a very faint, almost twisted... interest.
"Smokescreen," Lucius repeated the word slowly, his voice echoing in the silence. "Touchstone."
He was silent for a moment, and a tiny crack appeared in the ice within his eyes.
"It seems," Lucius finally spoke, his voice still cold but with less of the tone of a sentencing, "that tattered hat at least didn't completely strip away your ability to think."
His words were a sort of grudging affirmation.
In the corner, Narcissa shook her head gently.
She looked at Draco, her eyes full of complex emotions.
Pride!
Fear!
And a deep sense of powerlessness!
This was not the son she wished to see!
Chapter 60: Comforting Mother
"Father, you are right."
Draco's voice rang out again in the silence, "What I smashed was more than just glass; it was the load-bearing wall. Reputation and relationships—those two pillars have already cracked. Malfoy Manor is shaking."
Draco continued, "We have to fix it. But how?"
"Hiding me away is just applying a plaster."
Draco looked at Lucius, his eyes showing not a hint of evasion. "Everyone will remember that there was a break here; they will come to pick at this scar."
"It's better to choose a different way to repair it."
"Let this hole stay open."
"But let everyone see—that from the hole in the Malfoy family, the most poisonous thorns can grow."
"Let me return to Hogwarts, back to the center of that hole. I won't hide."
"I will be the most conspicuous sting you have nailed in front of the enemy's formation."
"Whoever laughs, whoever touches it, whoever watches from the shadows—you will be able to see them all clearly," Draco lowered his voice.
"My living there will be your eyes and ears."
"Using everything you've taught me, I'll prick people like a thorn and squeeze useful things out of a desperate situation."
"If... I can gain a foothold in that hell, and even start to make people feel wary..."
"Then one day, when this thorn is pulled out, or grows into the wall—"
"It will no longer be a hole."
"It will become a legend: 'Look, the Malfoys can turn even that kind of desperate situation around; they can even forge shame into a weapon.'"
"Hide me, and we will always have a scar."
"Use me as a poisonous sting, and we might forge a poisoned sword that no one dares to touch again."
"The risk is great," Draco concluded, "but for the family legacy... I am willing to take that risk."
"But if it succeeds, what we win back won't just be face."
"It will be a fear that chills everyone to the bone."
Lucius's pupils constricted almost imperceptibly.
In that instant, it seemed something deep within his eyes had been touched.
It wasn't tenderness, nor was it pity, but a cold interest born of being provoked.
Then, all emotion faded from his face, leaving only absolute coldness and a sense of settled determination.
"Very well." He nodded slowly. "You finally understand that as a Malfoy, your life has never belonged to you."
"Since you have chosen this path—this path named 'Loyalty' but in truth 'Purgatory'."
He paused, looking at Draco with a very sharp gaze, "Then, as you wish."
"Remember, Draco."
His voice was so cold there was almost no fluctuation in it.
"From now on, every breath you take at Hogwarts is not for yourself. You are the Malfoy sting among the pride of lions, my eyes extending into the darkness. Your pain, your loneliness, will all be fuel offered to the family altar."
"You will receive no public protection."
"You must survive in absolute isolation and become... useful."
"Succeed," his lips curled into an almost cruel arc, "and you might earn the qualification to be 'accepted' once more."
"Fail..."
After a pause, Lucius said heartlessly, "You will be regarded as a self-broken, useless sting. The Malfoy family will erase all traces of your existence, as if there had never been an heir sorted into Gryffindor."
"This is your choice."
He looked down at Draco, "And your destiny."
Having said that, he turned to Narcissa, who had been sitting silently in the corner: "Prepare his luggage, prepare for his return to Hogwarts."
Narcissa's body had jolted violently when she heard 'I am willing to take that risk'.
Now, she raised her eyes; in those beautiful blue eyes, there was only a hollow, unbelievable despair.
She watched her husband sacrifice their son with the most flowery words, and watched her son nod calmly, as if they were discussing an inconsequential business contract.
Then, she stood up extremely slowly, like a marionette.
She didn't look at Lucius, but only gave Draco one last deep, desperate look with eyes that seemed to hold a shattered galaxy.
In that look was love, heartbreak, fear, and even more, a deathly sorrow after maternal instinct had been completely stifled.
She wanted to say something, but in the end, she said nothing.
She was like a wandering spirit, preparing to leave the study noiselessly.
"Mother."
Draco called out to her.
Her footsteps faltered for a moment, but she did not turn around.
"Don't worry."
Draco tried to soften his voice as much as possible to comfort his mother. "Father's task is very difficult. If I rely on brute force, I won't survive the first semester."
Draco walked up to her and looked directly into those moist blue eyes.
"I will be a silent observer."
"Like a painting on the wall, I will only record and not participate. I'll find the quietest corner, attend classes, complete my homework, and then disappear, giving no one a reason to target me."
"Spells are my last card," Draco lowered his gaze, "I won't play them unless it's absolutely necessary."
"As for the'sting'..."
Raising his head again, a very faint smile curled at the corners of Draco's mouth.
"I will make it an 'inaccessible, worthless thorn.' Only by becoming a reactionless, flawless urban legend will I be forgotten. To be forgotten is to be safe."
"I will write to you regularly," Draco continued, "about the weather, the classes, the pumpkin juice in the Great Hall."
"So, don't worry about whether I 'can fight'."
Draco's voice grew even softer, "Please look forward to whether I can perfectly execute this 'Silent Survival Rule'."
"I might not become an 'outstanding Wizard', Mother."
Draco looked at her firmly, "But I promise to become the most inconspicuous student, making everyone forget my existence so that I can live safely."
"Please believe me," Draco said finally, "I'm not going there to be a hero. I'm going there to be... a ghost."
There was no other way; he could only comfort his mother this way.
Draco couldn't let such a mother live in constant fear and trepidation every day.
Chapter 61: Settled
The fire crackled in the fireplace, its leaping light reflecting on Draco's pale face, a play of light and shadow like an ink wash painting steeped in the night.
In a calm, almost chilling tone, he spoke of that set of 'Silent Survival Rule' with measured eloquence.
Every word was as cold as spring water flowing from beneath a sheet of ice.
For the first time, a crack appeared on Lucius's originally frozen face.
It was a flash of shock.
It was as if he had never imagined his eleven-year-old son could speak such far-sighted words.
But as the shock faded, it was replaced by a deeper scrutiny.
"Silent Observer... The Forgotten Thorn."
He repeated slowly, with a trace of imperceptible interest.
"An interesting perspective," Lucius said. "This shows you at least understand the first principle: survival and observation, rather than pointless confrontation. This is more useful than a hundred hexes."
He sat back in the high-backed chair, fingers interlaced, tapping the tabletop with a crisp sound as if grading his son's words.
"'Being forgotten' is an art," Lucius continued. "Being too deliberately low-profile will itself become a focus. You need to be like a drop of water into the Black Lake—silent, without a ripple."
After a pause, his eyes became extremely sharp again.
"This requires patience, restraint, and a grasp of human weakness."
"Can you do it?"
Draco did not answer.
He simply looked at his father quietly.
Lucius gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
"Then, as you wish," he said. "You may attempt your 'Ghost' strategy."
He stood up, walked to the desk, picked up a seal, and pressed it lightly onto a paper.
"The family will not publicly support you," Lucius said. "But we will not publicly deny your 'necessary' self-defense either. Your wand is your trial; waving it means breaking the 'silence.' Think clearly about the consequences."
Draco nodded.
"Letters are fine," Lucius continued. "Use the most neutral phrasing."
He glanced at Narcissa, who was standing in the corner with a pale face.
"Your mother will know how to interpret them."
He walked to the window, his back as straight as a sword.
"You have chosen a longer, lonelier, but perhaps more profound path for yourself."
"Don't disappoint me, Draco."
"And don't let yourself... become a true Ghost."
Narcissa was already weeping silently.
She didn't make a sound, nor did she tremble.
She just stood there quietly, tears like broken strings of pearls sliding down her pale, beautiful cheeks and dripping onto the dark carpet without a sound.
She stepped forward and, with cold hands, gently adjusted Draco's collar, which wasn't actually messy.
The movement was as soft as stroking fragile glass.
But it carried a ritualistic sense of parting.
"Write letters regularly," her voice was very, very soft. "Use the plainest Parchment and the most ordinary ink."
Her fingers trembled slightly.
"Remember, you are a Ghost."
"But to my memory... you will always be my Little Dragon."
Her voice choked up.
"Now, go and do what you must."
Draco looked at her, a warm current rising in his heart.
"Mother," he called out softly, "I will always be your Little Dragon. That is an unchangeable fact."
Narcissa's departing footsteps came to a sudden halt.
Her back stiffened instantly.
She didn't turn around immediately.
But her shoulders began to shake uncontrollably and violently, like the last trembling leaf in a cold wind.
The cold hand that had just adjusted his collar gripped her own robes tightly.
A few seconds later, she turned around extremely slowly, as if using every ounce of her strength.
Her face no longer held that hollow sorrow or forced composure from before.
Instead, it was a surging love that almost threatened to submerge Draco.
Tears rolled down in silent streams.
She looked at Draco, her lips trembling, wanting to say something but unable to make a sound.
In those eyes that were always elegant and restrained, there was now only a sea of broken stars drowned in tears.
Narcissa completely abandoned her poise as Mrs. Malfoy.
She lunged forward a few steps, pulling Draco into a tight embrace with a force that seemed intended to fold him into her very blood and bone.
This embrace was filled with an almost primal, maternal protective instinct.
She buried her face in her son's still-slender shoulder, sobbing into his ear with suppressed, broken breaths:
"My Little Dragon... my Little Dragon... remember... you must remember..."
"You are not a tool, not a thorn, not a Ghost..."
"You are my son... always..."
Draco also embraced this 'cheap' mother of his.
A great deal of warmth couldn't help but grow in his heart.
If it were only that Old fogey Lucius, he wouldn't have to worry about anything; after all, he would surely understand in the end.
But Narcissa was different.
In the little details of life, Draco could feel her meticulous care.
Although most of the time she was a traditional woman who had to listen to Lucius's words.
But who told him to transmigrate into this world, to transmigrate into Draco's body?
The embrace didn't last long.
Because Narcissa knew Lucius's rules well, and she knew the family's current situation well.
She quickly forced herself to let go.
She wiped the tears from her face haphazardly with her sleeve, her movements unusually rough.
Then, she cupped Draco's face in both hands, forcing him to look into her tear-blurred eyes.
She gave Draco one last deep look.
That gaze was as if she wanted to brand his current appearance forever into the depths of her soul.
Then, she turned.
She left the room with steady steps.
The door closed gently.
After his mother left, Draco looked at the Old fogey: "I'm going back, Father."
Draco informed his father.
Lucius nodded.
"Mm."
His voice was still cold.
"Go and do what you must."
[Ding! Persuaded parents, luck value increased by 20!]
Chapter 62: Confessing to Dumbledore
Draco left his father's study, and at the corner, he saw Dobby.
That House-elf was shrinking into the shadows, his ears drooping and his eyes wide open, looking like a frightened bird.
"Dobby heard!" Dobby said fearfully, his voice high-pitched but kept very low. "Dobby didn't mean to eavesdrop, but the walls were talking and the floors were trembling!"
Draco stopped and looked at him, his gaze surprisingly calm.
"When big things happen in the house, the ancient magic architecture reacts. It's not your fault. It's not your fault for feeling it," Draco comforted him.
After a short pause, Draco added, "But since you know, you have a new responsibility."
Dobby froze, his ears perking up slightly.
"Your responsibility is: keep what you heard and felt safe," Draco explained. "Just like how you care for the silver—polish them, then lock them in the safest drawer of your mind, never to be opened for anyone."
"Dobby understands!" Dobby's voice was no longer shrill and panicked, but solemn. "Dobby has a new responsibility! The quietest, most secret responsibility!"
He clenched his right hand into a fist and pressed it lightly against his thin chest, preparing to make an Unbreakable Vow.
"No need for an oath," Draco stopped him. "I trust you. Now, take the young master back to Hogwarts."
"Dobby's little master is going back!" Dobby began to panic again. "Back to that... that terrible place where the Sorting Hat made a terrible mistake!"
The corner of Draco's mouth twitched imperceptibly. "Your master isn't a pushover, don't worry. But what about you, Dobby? While you're at home, Father hasn't made things difficult for you, has he?"
"Ma—made things difficult for Dobby?" Dobby repeated shrilly, his ears flapping in confusion.
"Oh no! Good master hasn't! Good master just... just made the walls quieter and told the floors not to talk nonsense! Dobby is very careful; Dobby didn't make a sound while polishing the chandeliers. Good master won't find out Dobby was listening!"
"That's good," Draco nodded. "Send me back now."
Dobby gave a standard bow. "Yes, Dobby's little master!"
He floated to the door first, using his long, thin fingers to quickly and lightly open the heavy manor gates, respectfully stepping aside.
"Dobby," Draco stepped onto the threshold and suddenly looked back. "Aren't we using Apparition?"
"Apparition is not very friendly to a Young Wizard," Dobby said seriously.
"Your master isn't just any commoner," Draco raised an eyebrow. "Taking a carriage to Hogwarts—wouldn't that take until nightfall? Let's just use Apparition."
Dobby hesitated for a moment. "Then, master, where should we target?"
"Dumbledore's office will do," Draco said flatly.
Dobby blinked, seemingly wanting to say something, but finally gave a heavy nod. "Yes, little master."
The next second, the world twisted and spun before his eyes. The outline of the manor stretched into bands of light, then vanished instantly.
Familiar spiral stairs, familiar walls, and the familiar slight itch of a Phoenix tail feather brushing against his cheek.
Draco stood in the center of Dumbledore's office, with Dobby standing respectfully behind him.
"Dobby, go back now," Draco said.
"Yes, little master." Dobby bowed deeply, and with a flash, he vanished without a trace.
Only Draco and Dumbledore remained in the office.
Dumbledore's gaze briefly fell on Draco's plain clothes, which bore no house emblem, before meeting Draco's eyes.
His gaze was very calm, as if he had known all along that he would return.
"Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said with a smile, "it seems you have decided to return and complete your studies with us."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Old Dumbledore, you don't seem surprised by my return?"
Dumbledore's gaze suddenly underwent an extremely subtle change.
That gentle observation seemed to become sharp in an instant, as if it could penetrate all disguises and reach the core.
But this sharpness was hidden so deep that it was almost undetectable unless one looked closely.
"Child," Dumbledore spoke slowly, "Hogwarts' duty is to welcome every student willing to learn here, regardless of how or in what state of mind they return."
"As for whether I 'knew'..." He paused. "I tend to believe it is the Castle itself that has a strange... gravity for those who truly need it and are needed by it. It calls them back, no matter how winding the road."
"So, welcome back, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco smiled. "Old Dumbledore, you seem to hold an inclusive attitude toward everything. Aren't you curious why I joined Gryffindor?"
"Inclusivity, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, "stems from respect for the choice itself and an understanding of the chooser's unknown journey."
His voice was gentle yet heavy. "Of course I am curious. But I am not curious about your thoughts the moment you sat under the Hat—that is your secret."
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his gaze seemingly able to see through one's heart. "What I am truly curious about is—"
"How will you treat the opportunity Gryffindor has given you?"
"How will you get along with your new classmates?"
"In this unexpected journey, what unforeseen qualities will you discover within yourself?"
Draco couldn't help but smile.
This was indeed very Dumbledore.
"Actually," Draco said slowly, "our goals are the same."
This sentence caused the eternally gentle expression on Dumbledore's face to undergo an extremely subtle change for the first time.
Not surprise, but a kind of rapt attention.
"That is truly a... thought-provoking statement, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said softly.
"By 'the same,' do you mean the hope that Hogwarts remains peaceful? The hope that certain people are protected? Or... the hope that everyone can have the freedom and safety to make choices that truly belong to them?"
Draco looked at him, his tone suddenly becoming serious. "You are dedicated to the struggle against Lord Voldemort and oppose pure-blood ideology. So am I."
The air seemed to be sucked out in that instant.
Dumbledore became absolutely still, his entire being seemingly radiating an invisible pressure.
After a long, suffocating silence, Dumbledore finally moved.
He shook his head.
"The struggle, Mr. Malfoy," he said slowly, "is not a state one can lightly claim to 'join.' It is a decision remade every day amidst fear and despair."
"You say'so am I.' Then please answer—"
"When your surname, your bloodline, and everything you know stand on the opposing side..."
"When the struggle might mean being completely abandoned by your world..."
"When and at what cost are you prepared to transform it into your first irrevocable action?"
At this moment, his gaze was both like something that could heal wounds and something that could peer into the soul. "I oppose Tom Riddle because I have witnessed the specific suffering his path brings. I oppose pure-blood ideology because I have seen how it ravages lives."
"So, before you can clearly describe to me—and to yourself—how your'struggle' will specifically protect someone or resist a certain shackle..."
"We may not be standing on the same battlefield, or even talking about the same war."
"Hogwarts can be a safe zone for practicing small choices. But the real struggle..."
He sighed slightly. "It begins at moments far heavier and lonelier than words."
"When you find that moment and make your choice, you will naturally know. By then, you may find there is no need to say'so am I' to anyone. Because your actions will become your own language."
Draco was silent for a moment.
Then, he suddenly laughed. "Forget it, Old Dumbledore. I won't beat around the bush with you anymore. Let's talk about some serious business."
Dumbledore seemed to raise an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.
He was a bit surprised.
Surprised that Draco, in such an emotional atmosphere, could actually attempt to steer the direction of the conversation.
"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said with a smile. "'Serious business' is always worth discussing as a priority. Please, tell me, what is this'serious business' you refer to?"
He nodded slightly, making an elegant gesture of "please go ahead."
Draco looked at him, his gaze suddenly becoming serious and cold.
"Old Dumbledore," Draco spoke slowly, "what if I said that Sirius is innocent?"
These words were like a giant boulder thrown into a previously calm lake.
The gentle atmosphere of listening to "serious business" around Dumbledore vanished instantly.
The light in his eyes condensed instantly, becoming like the coldest ice crystals, yet burning with a flame that could pierce through any mist.
The air in the office, at this moment, completely solidified.
Chapter 63: Old Dumbledore Proposes an Alliance
After a long silence.
Dumbledore spoke slowly, "Framed?"
He repeated it, a flash of imperceptible pain crossing his eyes—deep within that pain lay thirteen years of weight and regret.
"That is a very, very heavy word, Mr. Malfoy."
He walked to the window, his silhouette appearing exceptionally desolate in the firelight. "What it carries is not just a person's reputation and freedom, but thirteen years of time that can never be recovered, countless broken lives and trust, and a wound that has yet to heal."
Dumbledore turned around, his eyes shining as he looked at Draco. "So, when you use this word, I need to know if the 'framing' you speak of is based on some specific, verifiable information you've heard, or if it's based on some... personal inference and feeling you have regarding the House of Black, the Ministry of Magic, or that period of history?"
Draco smiled slightly, having already planned his move.
"Proving it is actually quite simple."
With a thought, Draco spent a few points to exchange for a Marauder's Map from the system's One-Yuan Store.
Draco then pretended to pull out a piece of seemingly blank, old Parchment from his person.
"What if I said... I've seen some names on here that... shouldn't be there?"
Draco stared into Dumbledore's eyes. "For example, someone everyone thought had been dead for over a decade."
Dumbledore's pupils contracted sharply.
He could no longer sit still, quietly setting down the Lemon Sherbet in his hand.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Spell Stasis!"
"Disillusionment Charm!"
A series of complex and advanced spells were cast silently from his hand, instantly enveloping the entire Headmaster's Office.
This was the highest level of security; even the portraits of past Headmasters were forced into a deep slumber.
[Ding—]
[Original plot added, luck value increased by 20!]
The usual calm and casual look vanished from Dumbledore's face, replaced by an expression that was a mix of sadness and relief.
"What you've seen is the key evidence of a thirteen-year-old injustice," his voice trembled slightly. "Your actions today might save an innocent person's remaining years, and might also bring the true criminal to justice."
"But this also means that from now on, you are inseparable from this matter."
Dumbledore's gaze became serious. "I will have to take action, and your name might enter the sight of certain people when they investigate the source of the truth."
"I need you to maintain absolute silence before this matter is made public—to your parents, to your friends, to anyone. Can you do that? This may be your greatest protection, and your greatest responsibility toward the truth."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "So, Old Dumbledore, you think I only just found out?"
Dumbledore was stunned for a moment, then a flash of realization crossed his eyes. "If you have been carrying this for a while, then choosing to speak out today might mean you saw a certain opportunity, or felt some kind of... responsibility that made you feel you could no longer remain silent."
Draco nodded. "It is indeed an opportunity, because meeting you is truly difficult."
Dumbledore also nodded slowly, his eyes showing admiration. "So, let us return to this map and that name. Your responsibility was to bring it before me, and my responsibility is to verify it and decide how to act."
"As for you... if you are willing, you can tell me before the operation begins: during the time this secret weighed on your heart, what was it that finally pushed you to take this step today?"
Draco looked at him with a calm expression. "It's simple, just as I told you before: our goals are aligned."
"First, I also want to end the tragedy brought by Lord Voldemort and the impact it might have on my family in the future. Peter Pettigrew could be a major help to Lord Voldemort in the future."
"Second, Sirius is also my relative. If he comes out, I think Harry will have a brand new life."
"Draco Malfoy."
Dumbledore addressed Draco by his full name, his tone carrying an unprecedented solemnity.
"What you've stated isn't just an idea, but a complete framework for action. I understand the weight of every layer within it."
"Ending the tragedy of Tom Riddle is our shared dark task."
"Considering the family's future is sober and necessary."
"Viewing Peter as a future threat shows strategic vision."
He paused, and his gaze toward Draco softened. "And you said 'Harry will have a brand new life'."
"This sentence is perhaps closer to the core of our 'aligned goals' than all your strategic calculations combined."
"Because the core of tragedy has always been the suffering of specific individuals."
"You saw this and used it as one of your reasons for action."
"This makes me believe that we might truly be standing on the same battlefield, even if we come from completely different directions."
"Based on this," Dumbledore's gaze gradually sharpened, "I, Albus Dumbledore, in the name of the Headmaster of Hogwarts and the founder of the Order of the Phoenix, accept your alliance in this matter."
[Ding—]
[Original plot added, luck value increased by 20]
"The operation will be led by me, but you will know the key progress. You need to fulfill your'sense of responsibility': maintain absolute silence and use your wisdom to protect yourself."
"If we succeed, this will be the first step in ending the tragedy, and perhaps it can clear the mist for your family's future. And Harry... perhaps he really can be one step closer to a 'brand new life'."
"Now," he gestured toward the map, "let us begin the first step."
Draco nodded heavily and activated the Marauder's Map.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
With this classic incantation, ink lines crawled across the originally blank Parchment like living things, and the full layout of Hogwarts instantly emerged.
Without even looking, Draco pointed his finger directly at a moving ink dot near Gryffindor Tower, clearly labeled beside it:
[Peter Pettigrew]
He then turned the map and handed it to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore didn't take it immediately.
He stepped forward, looking down, his gaze locked firmly onto that name.
The air froze for over ten seconds.
The eternal gentle aura around him vanished completely, replaced by a heavy, god-like stillness.
Finally, he closed his eyes extremely slowly.
When he opened them again, only cold determination and deep compassion remained.
He reached out and took the map, spreading it flat on the desk, his fingertip brushing over the names of "Peter Pettigrew" and the nearby "Ron Weasley" from a distance.
"Peter Pettigrew." His voice was as steady as reading a verdict. "Alive, at Hogwarts, beside the Weasley boy."
He looked at Draco, his eyes full of shock and lingering fear. "What you've brought is ironclad evidence enough to overturn the Wizengamot's witness stand, and it's also an imminent threat."
"Our 'first step' begins now."
"First, the map will be kept by me; it is the highest-level evidence."
Draco nodded.
"Second, forget tonight's conversation. You only need to remember 'I have handed the information to the Headmaster'."
"Third, return to your Common Room immediately. Nothing happened, and you know nothing. Especially regarding Ron Weasley and Harry Potter."
Dumbledore picked up the Elder Wand from the desk, the tip of the wand shimmering with a cold light. "I will ensure that Pettigrew cannot leave Hogwarts tonight and initiate the 'legal proceedings' that have been prepared for him for a long time."
"You have done very well. Now, hand the burden over to me. Remember your role: a silent witness, a protected ally."
"Go back and rest, Draco. I will face the coming storm, while you have earned the right to observe quietly."
Draco looked at him, a mysterious smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Old Dumbledore," Draco said softly, "Peter Pettigrew is just the appetizer."
After a pause, Draco released even more explosive news, "I'm afraid you'll be too shocked to sleep tonight."
Chapter 64: The Long-Winded Old Dumbledore
"...An appetizer."
Dumbledore repeated the word, his gaze suddenly sharpening.
"Then, what is the main course, Draco?"
This time, the usual composure was nowhere to be found on his face, and his voice lost its steady, well-like calm.
Draco smiled, his tone surprisingly calm: "I believe you probably know some information about Lord Voldemort. He has bewitched Professor Quirrell, right?"
Dumbledore neither admitted nor denied it.
"Professor Quirrell..." he said slowly, "is a colleague who has made considerable achievements in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but lately has indeed been... different."
"As for the word 'bewitched'," he changed the subject, "that is a very serious accusation, Draco! Especially when you link it with the most dangerous existence in the wizarding world."
"Lord Voldemort is currently possessing the back of Quirrell's head."
Draco tossed out this sentence nonchalantly.
This sentence, however, plunged Dumbledore into a deeper and more complete stillness than at any previous moment.
His entire being seemed to turn into a sculpture carved from both millennial wisdom and cold reality.
After a long time, he finally spoke: "The description is very specific, child. Disturbingly specific."
"Can you tell me the source of this information?" Dumbledore stared at Draco. "Did you see it with your own eyes? Did you hear it from a channel you cannot disclose? Or... is it based on your... special understanding or perception of the nature of certain Dark Arts?"
"Believe it and it exists; don't and it doesn't." Draco shrugged. "Everyone has their secrets. As for confirmation of the information—can't Peter Pettigrew explain enough?"
Dumbledore's gaze darkened a bit more.
"Very well, putting the source of information aside for now." His tone was serious, bordering on a command. "Does this information come from the same source as the information about 'Peter Pettigrew'?"
"And, more importantly—" He paused. "Have you, by knowing this information, already been exposed to 'his' perception? Even if only for a momentary, blurred notice?"
"I have never had contact with Professor Quirrell," Draco answered truthfully. "As for the source of information, it is indeed from the same source."
Draco added in his heart: 'It all comes from the same novel, so saying it this way isn't wrong.'
Then, Draco added a devastating detail: "That is why Professor Quirrell wears a faint purple turban."
These words were like an invisible thunderbolt, instantly striking Dumbledore.
His movements, even the fluctuations in his eyes, completely stopped.
It was as if the entire world, at this moment, was left with only that faint purple turban and the head beneath it, corroded by darkness.
After a long time, he slowly let out a breath.
"Then, your safety priority is equal to Harry Potter's, or even higher," Dumbledore said. "You must maintain the state of 'him' not perceiving that you know. The rules of survival I issued before—forget, do not test, report immediately—must be raised to an unprecedented height."
"As for the'same source' you mentioned..." His gaze seemed to penetrate Draco, looking at some invisible existence. "Whatever it is—protect it, nourish it, but never actively seek it out."
"You have already done enough. You may leave now. Return to the tower," Dumbledore said.
"Tonight you only had a brief talk about 'house adaptation'; Professor Dumbledore was very kind, and that is all."
"From tomorrow on, like every freshman, show appropriate impatience with Quirrell's stuttering lectures."
He finally placed his hand on Draco's shoulder, his palm warm and firm: "Remember, the lives you saved tonight may be more than you imagine. Now, go rest. You have earned it."
[Ding—]
[Original plot added, luck value increased by 20!]
Seeing Dumbledore being so solemn, Draco actually found it quite amusing.
"Don't be in such a hurry, Old Dumbledore," Draco said with a smile. "This isn't even the main course. I have even more explosive news, do you want to hear it?"
Dumbledore was clearly taken aback, then showed an expression of near helplessness.
Seeing Draco constantly being mysterious, Dumbledore almost wished he could use Legilimency on him.
But he held back, only speaking slowly: "Child, in your eyes, what deserves to be called a 'main course'? Is it the destruction of Hogwarts? The fall of the Ministry of Magic? Or... that all our knowledge so far of the world, of magic, even of our own existence... is wrong, and that 'correct' truth is a hundred million times more terrifying than anything you have already said?"
Draco blinked: "Do you want to know about Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes?"
This time, Dumbledore was truly stunned into numbness.
His breathing, in this instant, clearly missed a beat.
"Horcruxes..." he repeated in a low voice, his voice carrying an extremely complex emotion. "Splitting the soul to seek immortality. Hiding the fragments in containers so that even if the physical body is destroyed, one can linger on."
"You ask if I want to know." His gaze became incredibly deep. "Knowing it means being forever embroiled in the filthiest war regarding the nature of the soul..."
"Stop," Draco interrupted him unceremoniously. "Don't go on a long-winded speech, Old Dumbledore. Talking to you is really exhausting; every time I ask you something, you have to ask me back. Can't we just be more direct?"
Dumbledore closed his mouth extremely quickly, that trace of astonishment vanishing instantly.
He wasn't angry; instead, the corners of his mouth curved up almost imperceptibly.
It was a curve that combined helplessness, self-deprecation, and genuine amusement.
He even coughed lightly, as if clearing that unuttered 'long-winded speech' from his throat.
"...Be more direct," Dumbledore slowly repeated, no offense heard in his voice; instead, there was a trace of briskness.
He gave a crisp nod, the movement wider than usual.
"I do."
He said those two words clearly, without any embellishment, without any prerequisites, and without any counter-questions.
Then, Dumbledore even imitated Draco's manner, spreading his hands in a concise 'please begin' gesture, his face wearing a nearly playful, encouraging expression:
"Now, speak; regarding Tom Riddle's Horcruxes, I am listening."
Chapter 65: My Backing is Incredibly Strong
Draco met Dumbledore's burning gaze and responded, "The reason Voldemort cannot die is rooted in the fact that he personally created Horcruxes."
Dumbledore's eyes darkened suddenly, and he let out a long sigh. "I should have thought of that sooner."
The corners of Draco's mouth curled slightly, carrying a touch of composure from having foreseen everything. "Old Dumbledore, do you want to know exactly how many Horcruxes he made?"
Dumbledore's heart jolted, and he asked urgently, "He actually made many?"
"Exactly six," Draco said forcefully. "Furthermore, I know the whereabouts of every single Horcrux!"
Dumbledore's aura suddenly retracted, his gaze locking firmly onto Draco.
Shock and urgency surged in his eyes as he waited for him to continue, even his breathing unconsciously becoming lighter.
"Unexpected, isn't it?" Draco raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly.
Then, in a tone mocking Voldemort, Draco said, "He actually set up six layers of life-saving insurance for himself. This man is afraid of death to the extreme, which is the root of his crazed and paranoid actions. He is currently possessing Professor Quirrell; you should understand the reason now, shouldn't you?"
Dumbledore nodded slowly, his aged eyes full of gloom. He paced slowly to the fireplace, the firelight making his expression flicker between light and shadow.
"Insurance..." he repeated the word softly, his voice tinged with a trace of bitter irony.
"It's a most fitting Muggle metaphor—tearing a complete soul apart and hiding it within filthy objects, seeking only for the body not to perish and the soul not to scatter... Is this not the ultimate 'insurance' against death, a vain attempt to deceive the only end in this world that cannot be bought or avoided?"
Dumbledore suddenly turned back, moving closer to Draco.
The usual majesty of the Principal had completely vanished, leaving only the solemnity of an equal encounter. "You are quite right, Draco. The extreme fear of death is the source of all Tom Riddle's mad actions. Splitting the soul, possessing others, greedily seeking power and immortality that mortals are not entitled to... all these evils are echoes born from that abyss of fear."
"His possession of Quirrell is the most pathetic and dangerous continuation of that fear after his physical destruction," Dumbledore's voice grew even lower.
"A weak, resisting body, a tattered turban to hide his shame, and a lingering fragment of a soul that only seeks to survive in the world..."
"This is his most wretched and helpless state after his layers of 'insurance' have all failed. Yet, because of this, his actions have no bottom line; he is more unscrupulous and extremely dangerous."
He looked up at Draco, his gaze full of serious warning. "You must remember well: a soul consumed by fear to the point of madness is the most unpredictable and the most likely to head toward mutual destruction. What we face is never just a Dark Lord wielding the Dark Arts, but a pathetic soul coerced by his own fear, willing to drag the entire wizarding world down with him."
"Your insight is invaluable." After the serious lecture ended, Dumbledore's tone softened slightly.
Regaining some of his composure as Principal, he said, "This not only allows us to understand his past and see his present clearly, but also warns us to be on guard against his future."
As his voice fell, Dumbledore's gaze narrowed slightly as he added, "For example, the Philosopher's Stone."
Dumbledore ultimately couldn't hold back, taking the opportunity to advise Draco.
He could not stand by and watch such an exceptionally clever child only perceive the logic of dark power games while ignoring the tragic price behind them.
Furthermore, Draco possessed a startling talent reminiscent of a young Tom Riddle.
This similarity forced him to expend all his effort in guiding him, for fear that he might go astray.
Fortunately, Draco's willingness to share such a world-shaking secret showed that his character was fundamentally different from Tom's; he would certainly not step onto that path of no return.
Hearing this, Draco nodded and said, "Don't worry."
At the mention of soul-splitting, he curled his lip slightly, a look of disdain and contempt spreading across his brow.
"Soul-splitting would only turn me into something neither human nor ghost, a monster with a fragmented soul. I will not touch such wicked methods in the slightest."
Hearing these words from Draco, Dumbledore let out a long sigh of relief without realizing it. The tension that had gripped his brow for days completely smoothed out, and his face broke into the first truly warm smile of the day.
In that smile, all heaviness and calculation faded away, leaving only pure relief and bright warmth.
"'Neither human nor ghost'..." Dumbledore praised repeatedly, his tone full of undisguised admiration.
"Extremely well said, and perfectly accurate! It exposes the pathetic truth that all those who crave such evil immortality can ultimately never escape."
"Such actions do not make one stronger; on the contrary, they make the soul increasingly fragmented. Instead of gaining freedom, one is eternally bound and unable to find release within the cage of the Horcruxes they personally forged."
His posture became more relaxed as he patted Draco on the shoulder and smiled. "That you can see through this essence and explain it so thoroughly, Draco, puts me more at ease than any blood oath or vow."
"Old Dumbledore, you're off-topic." Draco raised a hand to lightly stop him, his tone carrying a bit of impatience, though he couldn't hide his smile. "We agreed to talk about Horcruxes."
Hearing this, Dumbledore laughed heartily for once, his laughter bright and sweeping away the previous gloom. "Good, good, good, it was my slip of the tongue. You continue, I am listening carefully."
"The first Horcrux is Tom Riddle's diary," Draco said directly. "This one, I will find a way to retrieve."
Dumbledore's smile vanished instantly, his expression returning to solemnity. "I must know if your 'way' requires assistance. More importantly, I must confirm whether this action will place you in a peril from which there is no return."
"That thing is currently in my father's hands," Draco said very calmly. "I imagine he must have stored it somewhere in a secret room within Malfoy Manor."
The moment these words were spoken, the last trace of gentleness on Dumbledore's face vanished completely, replaced by an unprecedented seriousness. "No, Draco, this is absolutely out of the question."
"Setting aside that the diary itself is an extremely dangerous Horcrux that could manipulate one's mind with the slightest lapse in caution..."
"Just the fact that it is in your father's hands, hidden within Malfoy Manor, means it is equivalent to being locked in the most dangerous vault in the wizarding world."
His brow was tightly furrowed, his tone full of worry.
"You have already angered your father because of the Sorting. If you were to deal with him again over this diary, the level of danger would be unimaginable."
Draco opened his mouth, about to argue, but Dumbledore had already raised a hand to cut him off.
"Therefore, I veto the proposal of 'you finding a way.' Your mission was successfully completed when you shared the secret of the Horcruxes. Leave the rest to me to plan."
"My father doesn't know that diary is a Horcrux," Draco spoke plainly, hitting the nail on the head.
Dumbledore's eyes brightened. He pondered for a moment before saying, "That does change many things, but it certainly doesn't mean retrieving the diary becomes simple or safe."
He stared at Draco with burning eyes. "Tell me, what exactly is your plan for this 'way'?"
"You don't need to ask about that, Old Dumbledore." Draco waved his hand. "You should worry about the other five Horcruxes instead."
"Besides, I'm afraid you have no way to retrieve that diary from my father's hands other than through me, right?"
Dumbledore was silent for a long time before finally nodding in agreement, yet he still pressed further. "Fine, but you must inform me of the general outline of your actions, and more importantly, establish a one-way emergency communication channel with me."
"From the day you begin your move, should you encounter any unforeseen danger, you must be able to send me a distress signal immediately, and I must be able to locate your position instantly."
Dumbledore emphasized repeatedly, "Your primary goal is always your own safety, not the successful retrieval of the diary. Remember, your life is the priority."
Draco raised an eyebrow and asked, "Then how should I send you a distress signal? And how will you locate me?"
Hearing this, Dumbledore reached into an inner pocket of his robes and took out a plain, unadorned silver box. It was about the size of a pocket watch, completely without engravings, and extremely simple.
He placed the small box gently on the table and tapped the surface with his wand; the lid slid open silently.
There was no physical object inside the box, only a swirl of soft light-mist, somewhere between silver-white and pearlescent. It rotated slowly, shimmering with a mysterious magical aura.
Dumbledore gestured and explained, "This is a magical projection of a 'Resonance Crystal.' The actual physical crystal is currently sealed in the most secret and secure place in Hogwarts, beyond anyone's reach."
"The projection and the original are linked by an ancient Vow Magic; they share life and death, and their senses are connected."
He pushed the small box gently toward Draco but did not let him touch it, continuing, "You do not need to carry any extra objects. The target of this Spell is you yourself."
"I will place an extremely hidden magical mark upon you. This mark will not manifest, will not interfere with your magic flow, and will not be detected by conventional detection Spells. No one else will know of it."
"Its sole function is to act as a trigger for 'resonance' when you actively and urgently wish to send me a danger signal."
Dumbledore explained in meticulous detail, "The specific usage involves three steps."
"First, clearly and completely recall my face and voice as they are now in your mind, without the slightest blurriness. Second, mobilize your own magic and lightly 'touch' the base of your left ring finger; that is where the mark resides. When you touch it, you will feel a slight warmth, meaning the mark has responded. Third, in your heart, with your strongest and most unmistakable emotion—fear, warning, or despair will all do—concentrate and silently recite my name: Albus Dumbledore."
"Once the three steps are complete," Dumbledore looked at Draco with sharp eyes, "the mark on you will create a powerful resonance with the projection on the table and the crystal original at Hogwarts."
"I will immediately perceive a clear mental touch and know that you are in peril."
"As for the positioning," his expression became even more serious, "this is not a tracking charm that can be turned on at any time. Such magic is too conspicuous and easily detected or shielded, which would only increase the risk."
"The positioning technique will only be activated after you have triggered the communication mechanism and I have already received your distress signal."
"At that time, I will immediately activate the original Resonance Crystal at Hogwarts. It will perform a reverse trace through the magical link with the mark on you. In an instant, it will inform me of your general location with unerring accuracy."
Changing the subject, Dumbledore said with a solemn warning, "However, this reverse positioning process will not be unfelt by you."
"Where the mark is located, you will feel a strong pulling and burning sensation. It will be fleeting, but enough to alert you."
"More importantly, this technique is extremely draining for the caster—that is, me."
"This is advanced magic that touches the level of the soul. Every time it is used, it will place a massive burden on my body and mind, depleting my mental energy."
"Therefore, unless I am certain you are in a desperate situation, on the brink of life and death, I will not easily activate it."
"And you must absolutely not use it casually as an ordinary distress signal."
"Every use is a violent shock to both of us, especially to the magical mark channel on you. If not careful, it could leave behind hidden complications."
After Draco finished listening, his heart suddenly skipped a beat, and a flash of undeniable joy crossed his eyes.
This method of communication was initiated by him; Dumbledore could not spy on his location at any time or place. It preserved his secrets while allowing him to summon a top-tier powerhouse like Dumbledore to back him up in a moment of crisis.
So, this was the feeling of having powerful backing and acting without restraint!
Even Harry, he suspected, had likely never enjoyed such treatment.
There was no need to worry that Dumbledore would tamper with this mark; with Old Dumbledore's character, he would certainly not do something so base.
Chapter 66: Educating Dumbledore
Although Draco possessed a system and would one day stand unrivaled in the magical world,
who in this world could refuse a super backer like Dumbledore, a pillar of strength?
With this mountain at his back, the path ahead would have fewer thorns and dangers.
"I accept."
Draco spoke.
Such an unexpected boon, both emotionally and logically, left no room for refusal.
Upon hearing this, Dumbledore did not respond immediately. Instead, he gazed deeply at Draco, his eyes seeming to pierce straight into the depths of the soul, intent on uncovering every thought and intention within the young man.
A few seconds of silence, amidst the gentle crackling of the fireplace, stretched on as if half a year had passed.
Then he slowly nodded, as if concluding a sacred pact.
"Good."
Dumbledore said solemnly.
He shed all previous probing and consideration, leaving only a ceremonial gravity and weight.
Rising and circling around the large desk, Dumbledore walked slowly to stand before Draco. Without his wand, he extended his right hand—weathered by time yet steady as a rock.
"Extend your left hand, Draco, the Ring Finger."
His words were concise and clear.
Draco raised his hand as instructed, his fingers slightly stiff but without a single tremor.
He steadily opened his left hand, revealing that Ring Finger.
Dumbledore did not touch it immediately. First, he closed his eyes, lowered his gaze, and began chanting an ancient incantation.
The syllables were strange and obscure, neither Latin nor runic, with a slow, distant rhythm as if flowing from primordial times.
The incantation carried the antiquity of Hogwarts' ancient walls, wrapped in the foundational magicdeep within the Castle's foundations, echoing softly in the office.
As the incantation began, the surrounding air suddenly grew still. The roaring fireplace seemed muted, instantly ceasing its crackling sounds.
Even the Phoenix Fawkes stopped preening his golden feathers, lifting his clear golden eyes to quietly watch this scene.
Soon, Dumbledore opened his eyes.
At this moment, his eyes were no longer their usual gentle azure.
His gaze had transformed into silvery-white light, profound and vast, with a hint of divine majesty.
With his glowing right index finger, he gently touched the base of Draco's left Ring Finger.
Draco felt no radiant light, no piercing pain, not even a distinct sensation of touch.
Only a faint, almost illusory warmth seeped from the point of contact into his skin, slowly ascending along the finger bone for about an inch before abruptly settling and dissipating, as if it had never arrived, leaving no trace.
Draco lowered his gaze to examine closely. The skin on his finger was smooth as before, without any Mark, yet he clearly sensed a strange connection had been forged within.
That connection was as delicate as a spider's thread, one end tied to the base of his finger, the other seemingly extending into the vast void, yet also firmly linked to the old man before him.
The silvery-white light in Dumbledore's eyes faded in an instant, returning to their warm azure, though deep within them lay an unfathomable weariness.
He took half a step back, his figure swaying slightly before steadying. Clearly, casting this ancient magichad drained a great deal of his mental and magical strength.
"The Mark is complete."
He instructed in a slightly hoarse voice, "Remember the activation method: visualize my appearance, touch this Mark, and silently call my name. Use it only in dire emergencies, when life hangs by a thread."
[Ding—]
[original plot increased, luck value increased by 20!]
Dumbledore's gaze swept over Draco's finger. "Now, regarding Tom's diary, you may proceed with your method. Remember to uphold our agreement, with your life as the priority."
"As for the remaining Horcruxes, we continue."
Shifting the topic, Dumbledore pressed on, "What is the second Horcrux? Where is it hidden?"
A smile curled at Draco's lips as he replied calmly, "The second Horcrux is Marvolo Gaunt's ring."
"The ring is hidden deep within the Gaunt Family's Old House. What requires extra caution is that Lord Voldemort has long placed an extremely malicious curse upon it."
"Old Dumbledore, you won't be careless, will you?"
Upon hearing this, Dumbledore slowly nodded, his expression grave yet clear. "I do have a desire to study strange and powerful magical artifacts, but with your warning, I will certainly not recklessly put it on, lest I become ensnared by the curse."
Draco shifted the topic again, revealing an even more shocking secret. "What if this ring is also set with the resurrection stone?"
As these words landed, they struck like a thunderbolt.
The color drained from Dumbledore's face, leaving it as pale as paper.
His usual composure, unshaken even if Mount Tai collapsed before him, shattered completely in an instant.
His eyes churned with shock, astonishment, and a trace of disarray at being utterly seen through, ultimately transforming into near-despairing realization.
"...The resurrection stone."
He murmured, his lips and teeth trembling slightly, as if unable to believe it, yet also as if he had long sensed it, merely unwilling to face this cruel truth.
"Yes."
After a long while, Dumbledore confirmed bitterly, a hint of endless sorrow flashing in his eyes. "If it's the resurrection stone... this is indeed something Tom would do—ruthless and insidious."
Then he looked up at Draco, his gaze extremely complex, astonished that the young man had uncovered such an ultimate secret.
"To set the most soul-tempting treasure among the Deathly Hallows onto a Horcrux bearing a fragment of soul... using humanity's eternal longing for reunion with loved ones to guard his own evil Horcrux—it is both cruelly extreme and ingeniously horrifying."
Dumbledore took a deep breath. "Thank you for telling me this, Draco."
"The temptation of this resurrection stone is far more deadly than any curse. What it covets is not life, but the softest, most fatal weakness deep within the human heart."
He smiled a self-mocking, icy smile. "Now I know. Facing this ring, what I must fear is not just Lord Voldemort's curse, but also the restless delusion deep within my own heart."
Dumbledore candidly admitted his own weakness.
"I swear again: I will not wear this ring, I will not recklessly touch it, and even... until I have a foolproof plan, I will not personally approach the Gaunt Family's Old House."
A brief silence fell in the office.
"Once again, you may have saved me."
Dumbledore finally spoke.
His gaze fixed deeply on Draco, filled with gratitude and emotion. "Not just my life, but my soul—spared from being devoured by delusion and falling into eternal damnation."
But inwardly, Draco thought: The resurrection stone merely amplifies human desires, conjuring illusory phantoms. How could it truly call back the dead?
I don't want Dumbledore to repeat the original plot's downfall.
If he falls because of this ring, wouldn't the heavy burden of defeating Lord Voldemort fall entirely on my shoulders?
I just want to live comfortably and idle away, not invite trouble upon myself.
"The resurrection stone merely amplifies the obsessions and desires in one's heart. What it manifests are all illusory phantoms, Not true."
Draco could finally turn the tables and educate Old Dumbledore.
"I don't want you to risk danger for this illusory thing. Hogwarts needs you, the magical world needs you."
Upon hearing these words, Dumbledore's eyes, still immersed in the sorrow and weight brought by the resurrection stone, suddenly focused sharply, gazing at Draco with shock and deep emotion.
The young man's gaze was clear and firm, like a warm sun piercing through the haze and fog shrouding his heart.
The weariness and heaviness on his face were mostly dispelled by this warmth. Though not entirely gone, they were replaced by a more complex, gentler expression.
There was surprise, the shock of being deeply understood, and a profound, almost paternal gratitude.
"Thank you, Draco. Thank you for awakening this Foolish person with such Sober words."
[Ding—]
[original plot increased, luck value increased by 20!]
Dumbledore's voice gradually regained its steadiness, and even a hint of gentle teasing curled at his lips. "Rest assured, I will not be confuse by illusory phantoms and lose my true self."
"Hogwarts still has too many Busy with trivial matters—like certain mischievous students who love to roam after curfew, like who Peeves will next drop a Bubble-Bean on, like..."
He paused, his gaze sharpening again as he looked at Draco. "Like the Horcrux secrets we haven't finished discussing."
He gave a slight nod and raised his hand in Indication. "Continue, Draco. What is the third Horcrux?"