"The Mirror of Erised shows us the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts," Dumbledore said unhurriedly. "What you saw was yourself on a peaceful street..."
Dumbledore looked thoughtful, as if gently pondering how to help Damian interpret the vision.
"Professor, I think—perhaps because of my past—I long for peace and tranquility from the bottom of my heart. That must be why I saw myself on a quiet street."
Damian seemed lost in memory as he spoke slowly. "When I was chatting with Harry and Ron in the common room, I heard Harry talk about his life before he came to Hogwarts."
"Actually, my experience is quite similar to his. After my parents were killed by Death Eaters, I lived with my aunt's family for a long time."
"Fortunately, my aunt and uncle—like Harry's—are Muggles, but they don't reject magic. They love me dearly and treat me very well."
"At the same time, when it came to the magical world, I was safely guided by the enchanted portraits of my grandparents."
"So, even though I lost my parents when I was young, my childhood was still full and happy."
"Oh—I am sorry. I didn't know, my boy. You can always look to Hogwarts as your home; you are always welcome here." Dumbledore patted Damian's shoulder, offering gentle comfort.
"I'm fine now, Professor. But regarding what you just said..." Damian smiled, choosing not to dwell on whether Dumbledore truly hadn't known his background. "Could I take that to mean, if I can't find a job after graduation, I can just come straight to Hogwarts for employment?"
Dumbledore blinked, sidestepping the direct question with a twinkle in his eye. "I do not believe an outstanding Hogwarts graduate would ever fail to find work."
Damian seemed to relax a little and continued. "Professor, do you know much about the Middle East conflicts in the Muggle world?"
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "The various wars in the Middle East have had a profound impact, even affecting the local wizarding communities. Many witches and wizards fled from there to Britain seeking refuge."
"The first half of my childhood was exactly as I described—full and happy. But..."
Dumbledore listened attentively, not wanting to miss a single detail.
Damian paused, letting the silence stretch before going on.
"My uncle is an official in the British Foreign Office."
"After the Fifth Middle East War ended, he was posted there as a diplomat. Because the country he was stationed in wasn't one of the main belligerents, it suffered less from the immediate fallout. So, he took my aunt and me along with him."
"War is cruel. Even though we weren't in an active combat zone, I still saw a much darker side of the world there."
"There was no adequate food, no warm clothing, not even enough fresh water. There were only Muggle refugees who had lost their homes and everything they owned."
"Most people can't imagine what kind of living hell they fled from."
"However, I once saw photographs taken by war correspondents in my uncle's study. Through them, I glimpsed the tip of that hell."
Dumbledore closed his eyes, as if solemnly picturing the devastating scenes in his own mind.
Damian wasn't making any of this up; it was all drawn from his real experiences. After his Muggle uncle returned from the Middle East, his career had advanced smoothly. Rumor had it he would soon be promoted to Cabinet Minister.
"Professor..." Damian waited until Dumbledore opened his eyes again before speaking slowly. "From that point on, I understood a fundamental truth."
"And what truth is that?" Dumbledore gazed into the boy's bright eyes, as if trying to find the answer hidden within them.
"What we possess now isn't something we are inherently entitled to."
"Those Muggle refugees who lost their homes did nothing wrong. The only reason they suffered was simply because they were born there."
Damian's expression turned intensely serious.
"I once heard a saying in the Muggle world: If you fall behind, you will get beaten."
"A study of human history shows this still holds true for all of humanity."
"I believe the exact same logic applies to the Wizarding World. To protect the peace and tranquility in your heart, you must have the absolute strength to stand firm."
"Perhaps that is why I've never slackened off over the years, and why I study magic so fiercely."
Tonight's encounter couldn't have been a mere coincidence, and Damian knew he couldn't just gloss over it. Parts of his background heavily resembled Harry Potter's, but he wasn't Harry. Dumbledore would never treat him with the same blind, guiding leniency.
Whatever he said now, Dumbledore wouldn't believe it completely.
Lying straight to the Headmaster's face was easily seen through thanks to Legilimency. Rather than letting Dumbledore speculate groundlessly, it was far better to reveal a few genuine, calculated thoughts to control the narrative.
Dumbledore's face was a complex mask. He hadn't expected Damian to share such profound, heavy thoughts tonight.
After a long moment of silence, the old wizard finally spoke. "You do not have to be so pessimistic, Damian. Believe that Hogwarts will always stand behind you."
Damian smiled faintly.
"My uncle once told me: When you become truly strong, you will find that everyone around you is kind."
"I agree with him. Personal strength is the foundation of everything."
"You are the best example of this, Professor. Becoming a great, undisputed wizard like you is the dream of many."
"I am just an ordinary old man who has lived a bit longer than most," Dumbledore chuckled softly. "It is late. You should head back to your dormitory and rest."
From his recent observations, Dumbledore felt that Damian wasn't a dark extremist. However, past experiences—namely, how flawlessly Lord Voldemort had disguised himself during his student days—made Dumbledore feel he needed to pay close attention to the mental states of his most talented, ambitious students.
He couldn't allow such a tragedy to happen again. Today's "chance encounter" had been one such deliberate attempt to probe the boy's mind.
After bidding Dumbledore good night, Damian abandoned his plans to visit the Room of Requirement and returned straight to the Slytherin dungeons.
Wizarding World, the desolate outskirts of White Stone Town.
In front of a massive tree—so thick that three grown men couldn't wrap their arms around it—a naked female corpse knelt beneath the trunk.
Her palms were pressed together in rigid prayer, her wrists bound tightly by heavy hemp rope to a protruding root. Her forehead was pressed against the rough bark, tightly joined to her bound arms.
There were harsh ligature marks on her wrists, ankles, and knees. A strange, macabre circular pattern had been painted onto her bare back in dark pigment, and a twisted head-ring made of woven branches and deer antlers sat atop her head.
The corpse's posture was extremely bizarre, looking exactly as if she had died worshipping the ancient tree.
"Seven found just today..." Link murmured grimly. "With the six victims found over the previous two days, that makes thirteen cases total. And there are probably more still undiscovered."
They had found many such strange corpses lately. At first, the bodies were contained inside the town limits, but today, they had spread to the outer woods.
Reviewing the grim situation, Damian figured it was probably some kind of dark, evil ritual; perhaps these people were being used as magical sacrifices. He mentally compared the scene with the Dream Entry Ritual he had obtained from Jack White's hidden library earlier, but he could find no distinct similarities.
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