Dumbledore looked as unshaken as ever, as though nothing that had been happening in Hogwarts lately could touch his composure in the slightest. His aged face carried its usual kindly smile as he ate his dinner with quiet elegance, watching over the students filling the Great Hall with something like affection.
As if sensing Altair's eyes on him, Dumbledore turned his gaze slightly, met Altair's look, and gave him a smile and a small nod.
Altair returned the gesture politely.
"What a fine boy."
Dumbledore couldn't help but remark.
Beside him, Professor McGonagall, who had been lost in her own worries, looked up at the comment and, seeing that Dumbledore's attention was on Altair, allowed herself a smile as well.
"Yes, Altair is a kind and courteous boy, and his talent is the finest I've seen in all my years teaching. I imagine his achievements in Transfiguration will one day far surpass my own. But, Dumbledore, that boy's gift for the Dark Arts runs deeper still."
Professor McGonagall's expression turned troubled.
"I argued against his placement in Slytherin from the start, you know. A child's environment shapes who they become as they grow."
"And with a family like his... if Altair ever became like that man, I fear it wouldn't just be a loss for the wizarding world. It would be a catastrophe."
Professor McGonagall held enormous hopes for Altair's future.
In her eyes, whatever Altair achieved one day would be no less than Dumbledore's own legacy.
Because his talent was simply too great, great enough that it frightened her. If Altair ever turned into a Dark wizard, she suspected he would end up more dangerous than Grindelwald and Voldemort combined.
"There's no need to worry, Minerva. Altair's convictions are firm. He won't be swayed so easily. One day he'll become a wizard in the mold of Merlin himself. Whether it's Slytherin or Gryffindor, in the end they're both simply part of Hogwarts."
Dumbledore, for his part, wasn't the least bit concerned.
Altair's gaze was clear, his heart genuinely kind, fundamentally nothing like Voldemort's. That the boy had ended up in Slytherin owed a great deal to the fact that he carried the very traits Slytherin himself had prized.
Cleverness. Resourcefulness. An unshakable will. And a certain disregard for rules that didn't suit his purposes.
Take, for instance, the way he'd used a spell to seal Pansy's tongue and choke off her throat on his very first day, Slytherin against Slytherin, and all because Pansy had gone after Hermione, who Altair considered his own.
All told, Dumbledore felt fondness for Altair, admiration even, but not the faintest trace of wariness.
Professor McGonagall, however, felt mostly worry where Altair was concerned.
As his Transfiguration professor, and the one who had personally taken him to buy his first wand, she understood better than anyone just how frightening his talent truly was.
Any piece of Transfiguration, he could master in an absurdly short span of time, and push straight to its very limits.
And Transfiguration, as everyone knew, played the dominant role in combat among high level wizards. Combine that with a gift for the Dark Arts that no one else could match, and it meant Altair would one day wield a kind of combat strength that people would have every reason to fear...
"He won't disappoint you."
Dumbledore, knowing exactly what weighed on her, offered the reassurance with a smile.
"If Altair were in Gryffindor, I wouldn't worry in the slightest."
McGonagall muttered.
Across from her, Snape set down his knife and fork and shot her a cold look.
"I believe I'll manage to raise Altair just fine, Professor McGonagall. Perhaps you've forgotten that Gryffindor has produced its own share of infamous Death Eaters."
McGonagall opened her mouth, then closed it again without a word.
She knew exactly who he meant. Sirius, the man still locked away in Azkaban, whose betrayal was the reason the Potters had met their end in the first place.
It was a wound in Snape that had never healed.
Seeing that McGonagall had nothing further to say, Snape gave a short, satisfied huff and turned his face away with a touch of wounded pride.
"That's enough, Minerva. I think the real concern right now isn't these children. It'll be years yet before Altair truly comes into his own, and what we need to focus on is making sure the children get to grow up without a shadow hanging over them."
Dumbledore gave a light clap of his hands, drawing both McGonagall's and Snape's attention, then lowered his voice.
"With the students seeing us here eating together, it should go some way toward easing the nervous atmosphere. That said, there are matters I'd rather not discuss out here. Come by my office in a while, both of you."
With that, Dumbledore let his gaze rest, just for a moment and none too subtly, on Quirrell hunched over his plate, before rising and taking his leave.
McGonagall and Snape fell silent after that, hurried through the last of their meal, and left one after the other not long after.
Once Dumbledore had gone, Altair and Hermione finished their own dinner. They chatted a while longer before saying their goodnights and parting ways. Back in his dormitory, Altair lay on his bed and took out the Ithil-stone.
He wanted to see just what Dumbledore already knew. He couldn't shake the feeling that the old man had gotten his hands on something important.
Ripples spread across the crystal's surface, and an image of Dumbledore's office took shape.
Snape and Professor McGonagall sat across from Dumbledore, the three of them deep in conversation.
"Newt tells me this man-eating creature has been alive for at least a century, maybe more. It shares no bloodline with trolls whatsoever. And judging by certain of its characteristics, it likely makes its home somewhere in the tropical rainforests, though no one has ever actually laid eyes on one."
"Newt intends to set aside some time to travel to the rainforest himself and see what he can find."
Dumbledore took a sip of his tea, then went on.
"And of course, there's another important matter."