Tonight might have been the liveliest night at Hogwarts all year.
Norberta's roars had woken the entire castle. Students, ghosts, and even the portraits were buzzing about the dragon in the Forbidden Forest.
As Edward followed Dumbledore to the hospital wing, they passed several staff members hurrying toward the forest. Professor Silvanus Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, led the charge with surprising energy, his single arm and half-leg—replaced by metal prosthetics—moving faster than seemed possible.
"Dumbledore! You're serious? A real dragon in the forest? Blimey!" Kettleburn shouted, darting into the trees.
Dumbledore assigned tasks to the others, like helping Hagrid move the dragon to the Quidditch pitch.
To Edward's surprise, they spotted an unexpected figure in the entrance hall.
"Dumbledore! I-I heard the commotion and came right down! What was that noise?" Quirrell stammered, his peculiar purple turban askew, his face pale and panicked.
Edward glanced at Dumbledore, curious about his reaction.
"Oh, Quirinius, I was wondering when you'd show up," Dumbledore said calmly. "Severus is patrolling the forest. Could you join him? We need your Defense Against the Dark Arts expertise."
"Of course, D-Dumbledore, I'll go now," Quirrell replied with an awkward smile, fumbling for his wand before scurrying off.
Once Quirrell was gone, Dumbledore and Edward's expressions grew serious. They continued up the stairs to the hospital wing.
Madam Pomfrey diligently checked Edward with her wand, despite his protests that he wasn't hurt. She then handed him a large, bitter-looking potion, placed it by his bedside, and rushed off to the Quidditch pitch to assist with the dragon—a far bigger challenge than a student.
Now, only Dumbledore and Edward remained in the empty hospital wing.
"I'm glad you haven't bombarded me with questions. If it were Harry, he'd have asked a dozen by now," Dumbledore said, almost relieved. "You're remarkably composed for your age."
"And your ability to befriend unicorns and dragons? Truly enviable. I only know a bit of Mermish myself. Perhaps you'll invent Dragon-Tongue as a subject one day," he added with a smile.
"Thank you, Professor, but I do have some questions," Edward said, seizing the rare chance to speak with Dumbledore alone.
Dumbledore sighed, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Of course. Even the steadiest among us is still an eleven-year-old."
"You've known all along, haven't you? About Professor Quirrell and Voldemort plotting in the shadows?" Edward asked bluntly.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at the name "Voldemort," clearly pleased to hear it spoken so boldly.
"Yes, I've known. You figured it out after witnessing his first attack on the unicorn, didn't you? Or should I say, Ramleh—lovely name," Dumbledore replied.
"Then why—"
"Why let him cause chaos in the castle?" Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "I'm waiting for the right moment, my boy."
"Waiting for him to try stealing the Philosopher's Stone?"
Dumbledore's tone carried a trace of surprise. "My dear boy, sometimes I forget you're only eleven. Few could grasp this situation—or my intentions—so clearly."
"In a sense, yes. The obstacles guarding the Stone in the third-floor corridor may seem like protection, but they're a trap for Quirrell and Voldemort. If I truly wanted the Stone safe, I'd keep it on me."
"Forgive my boldness, but the Stone isn't the only bait, is it?" Edward ventured.
Dumbledore paused, weighing his response. "No, my boy. I never intended to involve any of you students, not even Harry, who's faced Voldemort before. He shouldn't bear that burden at eleven."
"Nor should you, though I know asking a Bedivere to avoid adventure is futile. Still, I want to protect you all as much as I can," he said earnestly.
"But Harry already knows. He understands what unicorn blood is used for and suspects Quirrell is out to get him. It's not hard to connect Quirrell to Voldemort. Aren't you worried about him?" Edward pressed.
"For that, I'm less concerned," Dumbledore said lightly. "Harry has ancient, complex magic protecting him, giving him an edge against Voldemort—Voldemort alone, that is."
"I'm more worried about you, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Greengrass, and perhaps now Miss Parkinson. You're brave and capable—beyond just academics—but you're up against perhaps the greatest dark wizard ever, even if he's a mere shadow now," he said, his voice calm but grave.
"So, I ask one thing of you, Edward, for your safety and the sake of those you care about: leave this to me. I promise it will be resolved soon."
Dumbledore's gaze held Edward's through his half-moon spectacles.
"I understand, Professor. Thank you," Edward said, nodding solemnly.
Dumbledore had laid nearly his entire plan bare. Edward felt he had no more questions. More importantly, he reflected on Dumbledore's words. He could face Voldemort fearlessly, but what about others? Acting without regard for those he cared about, no matter the motive, was selfish.
"Well, my boy, you've had quite a night. Get some rest," Dumbledore said. "Oh, and if Harry comes to you tomorrow, a gentle nudge might help. Goodnight."
As if by magic, a wave of exhaustion hit Edward. "Goodnight, Professor."
He was asleep before Dumbledore left.
The next morning, despite waking early to check on Ramleh and Norberta, Madam Pomfrey forbade Edward from leaving. "Even if you're fit, you're not made of iron," she insisted, demanding he stay in bed all morning, despite showing no signs of injury.
Soon, visitors arrived. Daphne, Malfoy, and Pansy were the first.
"You didn't tell us Hagrid—that big oaf—was raising a dragon! And it listens to you!" Malfoy exclaimed, nearly getting kicked out by Pomfrey.
Malfoy, whose name meant "dragon," was predictably fascinated.
"The whole castle's talking about last night. Shame the Slytherin common room's in the dungeons. I'm a bit jealous of the Gryffindors," Pansy said, shaking her head. Dragons were the stuff of childhood stories, and seeing one was a rare treat.
But Daphne was focused elsewhere. "You vanished so fast. You fought that attacker, didn't you? Who was it?" Her voice was icy, making Malfoy and Pansy shiver.
"I'll tell you later, not now," Edward said. "Dumbledore and I have an agreement. He'll handle it."
"Oh? I wonder if he's even taking it seriously," Daphne said skeptically. "So, when will this be sorted?"
"Maybe after exams? We shouldn't let it distract you," Edward said with a gentle smile. "Thanks for visiting."
The word "thanks" drew grimaces from the Slytherins—gratitude wasn't their style.
"Save that for those three," Daphne said, nodding toward the door where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were peeking in, hesitating. She led Malfoy and Pansy out, their haughty strides practically shouting that Edward was their Slytherin, and Gryffindors could wait their turn.
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