Chapter 935: Disbelief
Chapter 935: Disbelief
In the morning, Dumbledore sat at his desk, sipping a cup of steaming morning tea. He scrunched up his face as the strong flavor exploded on his tongue.
His gaze fell on the parchment in front of him, and after taking another large sip of tea, he set the cup down with a disdainful look. His eyes, which had been slightly weary, now regained their usual sharpness.
"It's quite unusual for you to be drinking strong tea this early in the morning," came a lazy, mocking voice from the right-hand portrait.
Dumbledore paid no heed to Phineas' taunt and murmured to himself, "To be honest, it's not easy for a centenarian who often suffers from insomnia to get up early."
"It seems you have an important guest this morning?" asked the silver-haired old witch.
"A student."
"Now, that surprises me," said Phineas, clad in his sleeping robe, with exaggerated theatrics. "Let me guess, is it your beloved savior, Harry Potter, or that greedy little Gryffindor, Albert Anderson?"
"Oh, give it a rest, Phineas," yawned the large, red-nosed wizard. "I recall you showing him respect by addressing him as Mr. Anderson last time."
Dumbledore ignored the usual bickering among the former headmasters' portraits and turned his attention back to the parchment. The sender, Albert Anderson, had requested a visit at 9 am on the weekend.
In Dumbledore's impression of Mr. Anderson, the young man wouldn't usually take the initiative to seek him out. Most of the time, it was Dumbledore who invited him over for tea. For Anderson to proactively request a visit meant that something important must have happened.
Before long, the oak door to the headmaster's office was knocked on punctually.
"Come in," Dumbledore said, raising his voice slightly.
"Good morning, Professor Dumbledore," Albert said as he pushed open the door and entered.
"Ah, good morning, Mr. Anderson. Please take a seat. Would you like something to drink?" Dumbledore asked with a smile, all traces of fatigue gone from his face.
"A cup of tea, please."
Albert reached out to take the steaming cup of tea that Dumbledore had conjured out of thin air and took a sip before getting straight to the point. "My intuition tells me that the third task of the Triwizard Tournament will be dangerous."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows slightly but remained silent, choosing to listen quietly as Albert continued.
The portraits in the headmaster's office, feigning sleep, pricked up their ears to eavesdrop on the conversation.
"As you know, I can make prophecies, and in some matters, I trust my intuition," Albert said, looking up at Dumbledore. "This year's Triwizard Tournament is highly unusual, with the appearance of a fourth champion. While there haven't been any accidents so far, it suggests that the biggest accident will occur during the third task."
"You're prophesying that something dreadful will happen during the third task?" Dumbledore chose his words carefully.
"It's an inevitable outcome, and I believe you can guess as much," Albert said calmly, meeting the gaze of the elderly wizard. "And this matter may involve me and even endanger my life, which is why I've come to you."
"To be honest, that surprises me," Dumbledore said, a bit taken aback. He asked tentatively, "Have you made a prophecy?"
"I didn't dare to," Albert replied softly. "Some things can turn for the worse once you prophesy about them."
"So, you felt your life was under threat and came running to Dumbledore for help?" Phineas' lazy voice drawled from his portrait.
"I don't know when you lost your basic manners, Phineas," said a witch with a sharp gaze, brandishing an unusually thick wand.
"You can think of it that way," Albert said, unperturbed by Phineas' jibes. "After all, my wonderful life has just begun, and there's no need to throw it away for a tournament championship."
"Since when did Gryffindor become synonymous with caution?" Phineas dodged the witch's swinging wand and continued his mockery.
"Caution can help me live longer," Albert said with interest as he watched Phineas being chased around by the witch. "Besides, this has nothing to do with the house; it's just my personality."
"The Triwizard Tournament cannot be canceled."
Dumbledore pondered Albert's words, not doubting that he was telling the truth. Like Nicolas Flamel, Albert could sense impending danger, and his reluctance to make a prophecy was likely due to a fear of foreseeing his own death.
This situation was dire, to say the least.
"I need to strengthen my abilities," Albert stated decisively. "I want to learn combat techniques from you—your experience and skills in battling Dark Wizards."
"As far as I know, you're already quite adept in that regard," Dumbledore said, not immediately refusing but surprised that Albert had come to him for this reason.
"I do possess a fair amount of magic, and I consider myself to be fairly capable," Albert said, looking at the elderly wizard. "However, knowing magic and being able to use it skillfully in combat are two different things. My lack of experience due to my youth is currently my biggest problem. It prevents me from fully unleashing my abilities, and it would be irresponsible to go into a battle unprepared."
"Battle?" Dumbledore arched an eyebrow. "I think you're making this matter sound more severe than it is, Mr. Anderson."
"Severe? I don't think so," Albert said nonchalantly as he sipped his tea. "I've never believed that the third task of the Triwizard Tournament could pose a threat to me. After all, it's just a competition, and even if it's dangerous, it's within a certain scope. Otherwise, the other champions would have perished already."
"However, the fact that I now sense a threat to my life in the third task can only mean that there are external factors at play. This isn't difficult to guess," Albert continued. "The reason undoubtedly lies in Harry Potter becoming the fourth champion, and anything involving Potter will inevitably draw in Voldemort. I believe that this threat originates from Voldemort and his followers."
"I doubt Voldemort is foolish enough to barge into Hogwarts himself." Dumbledore shook his head.
Albert looked calmly at the elderly wizard before him, a hint of displeasure in his eyes. Sometimes, there was no need to beat around the bush when speaking to an intelligent person, unless you thought them a fool.
How could he not know it wasn't likely to be Voldemort?
Dumbledore's meaning was clear, and although he hadn't held any expectations from the start, he still felt a twinge of disappointment. Just like Voldemort, the headmaster was a treasure trove of knowledge, and if he were willing to teach, Albert's progress would surely soar.
What a pity.
"The mysterious figure wouldn't dare intrude upon Hogwarts, that much is certain. After all, it's common knowledge that he fears you."
"You give me too much credit," Dumbledore said calmly.
"No, it's not flattery. As the most powerful wizard in the wizarding world, your strength is unquestionable." After finishing his tea, Albert stood up and said, "I apologize for the disturbance. I wish you a pleasant weekend."
"Why don't you seek out Professor Moody? I think he'd be more suitable to teach you combat techniques; it's an Auror's specialty, after all." As Albert prepared to leave the office, Dumbledore called out, "I assume you're aware of Professor Moody's situation?"
"Professor Moody is indeed a good choice, but..." Albert turned and closed the door to the headmaster's office. "...I don't trust him."
"You're being rather foolish, Dumbledore!" Phineas stared at Albert's departing figure and then at Dumbledore, who was sipping his strong tea. "I dare say that boy will hold a grudge against you."
"Mr. Anderson is not as petty as you think," Dumbledore said calmly.
"Honestly, I don't understand why you refused. That boy operates on a quid pro quo basis." Phineas's expression turned strange. "I've interacted with him enough to know that if you're willing to teach him some combat techniques, he'll surely be willing to reciprocate."
Dumbledore remained silent, deep in thought.
"I just don't want to bring him harm."
"Harm?" Phineas drawled, emphasizing the word. "How hypocritical..."
"Shut up, Phineas. Dumbledore has his reasons," the witch snapped, brandishing an unusually thick wand and smacking it against Phineas's head, causing him to rub his head in pain.
"It's unusual for you to be so concerned about Mr. Anderson," the red-nosed wizard remarked.
"That boy will soon secure a seat in the Wizengamot," Phineas said, rubbing his head. "Anderson is indeed remarkable. Even at Dumbledore's age, he couldn't have achieved what Anderson has, and he even helped my unfortunate great-grandson."
"Sounds like a true Slytherin," the witch scoffed.
"Don't you think it's strange that he wouldn't seek out someone else to teach him combat techniques after you refused?" Phineas ignored the witch's comment, feeling that Dumbledore was being foolish. "A genius like Albert would undoubtedly be worth cultivating. He gave you an opportunity, and you let it slip by. Are you getting senile?"
"I'm not the right person to teach him," Dumbledore shook his head and said.
"If not you, then who? That Auror-chasing-after-Dark-Wizards Moody?" Phineas asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, Alastor would be more suitable."
"How hypocritical."
Phineas didn't bother to continue the discussion and decided to return to his nap.
This wasn't an excuse. Dumbledore's fighting style didn't suit Albert. At most, he could teach Albert some magic he didn't already know. As a former Auror with extensive battle experience, Alastor Moody seemed like a better fit to Dumbledore, but Albert's response had been, "I don't trust him."
In truth, Dumbledore overlooked one thing: How could Albert not have considered Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody, the old Auror?
Dumbledore rose from his seat and walked to the fireplace, tossing in a pinch of Floo powder. He spoke to the rising flames, "Severus, please come to my office."
A few minutes later, the Potions master stepped out of the green flames in the fireplace, his brow furrowed with irritation.
"What is it?"
"Mr. Anderson feels that the third task may pose a threat to his life," Dumbledore explained directly to Snape. "He wishes for me to teach him combat techniques, but I'm not the right person for that. You know I'm already..."
"My cauldron is still brewing a potion, so please be brief," Snape interrupted impatiently.
"I'd like you to instruct Mr. Anderson in combat techniques. You know he's very young and lacks experience in this regard," Dumbledore explained to the Potions master.
"That boy doesn't need anyone to teach him," Snape said, despite his dislike for Albert.
"He lacks experience in dueling with other wizards."
"Then you should suggest he seek out Moody. He's more suitable," Snape said, intending to return to his potion.
"He doesn't trust Alastor," Dumbledore said helplessly.
Snape's face twitched as he softly repeated, "He doesn't trust him?"
"Yes, he doesn't trust Alastor," Dumbledore confirmed.
"Perhaps he also finds Moody suspicious," Snape said, a slight smile playing at his lips.
"So, what do you say?" Dumbledore asked. "With Anderson's talent, I don't imagine he'll take up too much of your time."
"I can't guarantee how much a Gryffindor oaf will be able to learn, even if he is one of the smarter ones among them," Snape finally agreed.
(End of Chapter)
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