After arranging for his followers to escort Lockhart out through the back door, Dantes, having performed a good deed, leisurely made his way back to the Great Hall.
On the way, the only thing he heard were the scandalous tales circulating about the young Lady Avery.
He nodded thoughtfully.
"I hate those who spread baseless rumors, but Donna Avery's situation is well-documented, with numerous eyewitnesses. This isn't idle gossip."
"Besides, they're all adults. If they can't control their urges, what does that have to do with me, the host?"
He continued mingling with representatives from various wizarding families. Thanks to the mysterious allure of being a "wealthy man from the East," he achieved far greater success than expected. Nearly everyone showed keen interest in the ideas he mentioned—particularly the "wizard's own bank" and the "wizard's own city."
Though Old Avery felt somewhat disappointed that events hadn't gone according to his plan, receiving the Count's promise still left him in high spirits.
Donna Avery was also in an excellent mood. Although she didn't have the face to remain at the gathering, knowing she would soon marry her "male god" filled her with such joy that she could hardly contain it. That was her male god! Even a one-night stand with him would be unforgettable—let alone marrying him!
All in all, tonight's banquet had been a success—a resounding victory.
There was wealth, dramatic revelations, delicious food, gossip, and new ventures. Everyone walked away with something—even Dumbledore.
The old headmaster, holding tightly to a bundle of handmade candies from the East, returned straight to his office at Hogwarts.
Before he even settled into his chair, he addressed the portraits that lined the office walls.
"Armando, please fetch Minerva. I have a few things to ask her."
"Professor McGonagall should be home by now, shouldn't she?"
"Home? That house of hers brings back only painful memories. I expect she's still in the Transfiguration classroom office. If not, go to her house. I believe there's a portrait of you there too."
"Alright."
When Professor McGonagall arrived at the headmaster's office, the old man was already feasting, crunching a piece of peanut brittle.
"Minerva, you're here. Have a seat," he said, waving her toward the chair across from him.
McGonagall sat down with her usual graceful posture.
"Albus, what is it?"
Dumbledore pushed a small pouch of sugar-coated onions toward her.
"These are sweets from the East. They're truly delightful. Would you care to try one?"
McGonagall raised a brow.
"Get to the point."
Dumbledore chuckled.
"Well, the next Defense Against the Dark Arts professor has essentially been decided—it'll be Gilderoy Lockhart. I thought I should let you know so you can prepare."
"Lockhart?" McGonagall frowned. "I didn't like him much when he was a student here. The boy was a shameless show-off."
"Yes, he certainly loved attention. I even thought he should have been sorted into Gryffindor."
"Hmph. Thankfully, he wasn't. I should thank the Sorting Hat for that."
The old Sorting Hat, sitting in the cabinet behind Dumbledore, suddenly chimed in:
"You're welcome, Professor McGonagall. It's what I'm here for."
McGonagall: …
Dumbledore chuckled again.
"You know, Minerva, it's getting increasingly difficult to find someone to take the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. Having someone at all is a small miracle."
McGonagall scowled.
"But that doesn't mean we can appoint just anyone! Hogwarts graduates can't even perform a decent Shield Charm these days. If this gets out, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will laugh at us!"
Dumbledore nodded.
"That's why I asked you here. I hope you and Filius can discreetly integrate some defense-related content into your senior-level classes—transfiguration, dueling spells, emergency response, that sort of thing. At the very least, our students should be prepared for real-world dangers."
McGonagall sighed.
"Albus, Severus has always wanted to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Why don't you let him? There are plenty of people who could teach Potions."
Dumbledore shook his head.
"Severus is... important. If he returns, Severus will be a vital link."
McGonagall's eyes narrowed.
"As Headmaster, how can you believe that the Defense Against the Dark Arts post is cursed? Didn't Frank Mitchell complete an entire year without incident?"
Dumbledore's smile faded.
"Minerva, magic is full of mysteries—even I can't explain them all. Sometimes, we must believe certain things despite lacking evidence. Frank Mitchell did indeed complete a full year... but he fell down a flight of stairs that summer and broke his neck. That's why we had to hastily bring in Quirrell."
McGonagall raised her chin slightly—a gesture Hermione Granger would later adopt.
"That's just a coincidence."
"Muggles have a saying that rings true—'There are no coincidences.' Every so-called coincidence, when traced back, leaves a trail."
McGonagall fell silent.
Dumbledore picked up another unfamiliar candy and popped it into his mouth. The crunch was satisfying, and the flavor spread warmly across his tongue.
"Well then," McGonagall said, rising to her feet, "I understand. I'll speak with Filius later."
She turned to leave, but Dumbledore stopped her.
"Oh, Minerva, how is Dana doing this summer? Is he managing alright on his own?"
McGonagall turned, a gentle look softening her expression.
"Dana's a remarkable child. He plans to tour Europe, and he's attending Chudley Cannons matches—it was his mother's dying wish."
"Europe? So he's not in Britain right now…"
McGonagall left. Dumbledore, now alone, picked up a piece of ginger candy and muttered aloud:
"Dak de Dentis... an avenger from the Dark… Dak de Dentis... The middle name 'De' is common among French nobility… But Dana Emrys—D. E… Is that a coincidence?"
He laughed quietly to himself.
"Never underestimate an Emrys. Who knows what talents they've inherited from their ancestors? Transfiguration, perhaps?"
"He wants revenge."
A pause.
"Hatred can make someone grow quickly. All we need to do is make sure he doesn't lose his way. That child acts with great care and carries a sense of responsibility... So, his revenge—is it only against Avery?"
Dumbledore's brow furrowed slightly.
"Avery did plenty of terrible things during his time with Tom. A bit of punishment is fair. But Gai Avery is not someone to be taken lightly either. I must have Severus warn him to stay away until absolutely necessary."
He walked over to Fawkes, his beloved phoenix. The ancient bird gently pecked at Dumbledore's outstretched hand.
"Wizard Bank... Wizard City?"
Dumbledore turned to the window that faced east, as if trying to see some distant castle far beyond the horizon.
"Let the child play if he wants," he murmured. "After all, we owe him."
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