After the magic array was cracked, the crimson that had been accumulating power in the young wizards' eyes suddenly shattered.
They simultaneously felt mild pain, like a needle stuck too long in the scalp being pulled out at once.
What followed was a sense of absurdity—after emotions calmed, looking at those previous memories felt like things they couldn't possibly have done themselves...
This situation was exactly what Dumbledore wanted to see.
If emotions had truly exploded, even after such influence was removed, residual hatred, bodily scars, and destroyed buildings would constantly evoke those "false" resentments. Eventually, the boundary between real and false wouldn't be so clear.
Now was good—several small-scale outbursts were timely controlled by professors in intensity. They weren't enough to confuse false anger with genuine emotions.
"Did... did that fool Longbottom do this?"
Malfoy touched his now-bruised right arm, turning to Crabbe in disbelief for confirmation.
Crabbe nodded. Malfoy gasped—that Longbottom in memory seemed like a different person. His wand swung not too fast; spell-casting was word-by-word, but every spell packed real power. The same Knockback Jinx from him could press against Malfoy's own spell and slam him into walls.
Was this still that weak, pathetic Neville Longbottom everyone knew?
Malfoy pressed his lips together. What he cared about most wasn't Longbottom's newfound courage, but his magical ability.
Everyone's temperament had changed, grown sharper—but his own magical power hadn't improved at all.
So... was it really because of Sterling? That club they'd formed—no, the study society centered around Sterling. Malfoy had tried to mock Utopia, but he knew the truth... he'd developed an admiration for Sterling...
Even though Sterling had looked at him with such cold eyes, spoken with such contempt, he still couldn't help but admire such a figure.
It was in Slytherin blood—the instinct to respect power.
"Can you believe it, Fred! We even fought Hufflepuff—I mean, don't you feel Hufflepuff studies Herbology differently from us? How can they carry magical plants on themselves?"
"Oh George, our prank items aren't worse than their plants—except Devil's Snare. This thing works brilliantly against first years! These little guys aren't very familiar with Devil's Snare, so they're still dazed after being bound and knocked out!"
"Hey! You're only second years!" Seamus said red-faced to the Weasley twins. He was the first year they'd mentioned defeating. If not for Neville that time, Gryffindor first years really would've been wiped out by Hufflepuff first years.
"Oh—second years—you mean us who shined on the sixth-year battlefield?"
"No, George! Let me think... seems not sixth year... fifth year? Fourth year? No—"
"Seventh year! Haha, our special Dungbombs beat Ravenclaw's prefect to a pulp!"
"Beat to a pulp"? Wasn't it more like they grossed them out so badly the other side gave up?
Seamus wanted to refute, but the twins had already disappeared around the corner together.
In the Great Hall, similar conversations played out everywhere—students who'd been confined by house heads in common rooms were all escorted to the Great Hall. All four houses, all seven years, gathered together. Unlike previous days, the tense atmosphere had vanished, replaced by boisterous energy.
Gryffindor busied themselves ranking students with outstanding performance in this "campaign" across houses.
Hufflepuff cared for injured classmates and actively mended relationships with students from other houses.
Slytherin discussed what magic had caused this situation and competed over who'd inflicted the most damage during their battles with Gryffindor. Draco and several wealthy pure-blood heirs planned to commission a gold medal together, to be awarded to their "Lion Hunting Warrior."
Professor Snape immediately suppressed it. The debate simply moved underground.
Ravenclaw—part with Gryffindor, part with Slytherin, part with Hufflepuff... After this "campaign" ended, Ravenclaw returned to its typical fragmented state, splintering into cliques as usual.
Clang, Clang, Clang.
Professor McGonagall smiled, tapping her glass. Normally, such a rowdy Great Hall wouldn't have satisfied her. But everything is relative—compared to the vicious infighting of previous days, such peaceful scenes nearly moved her to tears.
The Great Hall quickly quieted. As their minds cleared, the students' natural obedience to professors reasserted itself.
"I'm very happy your heads have finally cleared... Hogwarts is one big family. Our wands shouldn't point at our classmates... Though I'd like to say more, I think after such a trying ordeal, you'd rather see him—"
Professor McGonagall stepped slightly to the left. Behind her, Dumbledore in his star-spangled robes made a dazzling entrance.
"It's Professor Dumbledore!"
"Professor Dumbledore has returned!"
"It must have been Professor Dumbledore who lifted this cursed Dark Magic! I knew it—Professor Dumbledore is the bane of Dark Magic!"
Whether Gryffindor or Slytherin, everyone gazed fondly at the ancient wizard. Though white-haired, though his beard nearly touched his knees—he was Hogwarts anchor. Even the most devoted Slytherin supporters of Voldemort's pure-blood ideology had to admit, with him here, Hogwarts was England's safest place.
Not because of terrain, magic arrays, or such factors. Simply because of the man himself.
Wherever Dumbledore was became England's safest place.
Dumbledore smiled kindly. In this moment, he looked not like a powerful wizard but like an ordinary grandfather.
He lightly tapped his throat with his wand. His reassuring voice reached every student in the hall.
"Ah... During these days away from Hogwarts, I constantly missed our Great Hall—you can't eat food as delicious as Hogwarts anywhere else in England—except Honeydukes's Cockroach Clusters. I must admit these are among the most perfect foods I've eaten in my lifetime."
Professor McGonagall sighed in her usual manner.
"I don't want to investigate your mutual conflicts—though I know they all stemmed from reasons that now seem ridiculous—perhaps frustration when homework went badly? Perhaps careless words uttered in passing? Oh children, looking at your eyes, I can see all your pure hearts."
"Think carefully. Gryffindor children, are you foolish trouble-making lions? Ravenclaw children, are all students from other houses beneath your notice? Hufflepuff children, does your protection of classmates only extend to your own house, forgetting about other Hogwarts students when they need you? Slytherin children, where's your elegant upbringing? Are you truly, as some say, a serpent-like house?"
Under those weathered blue eyes' gaze, many lowered their heads, but more held their heads high, firmly saying "No!"
Dumbledore nodded with satisfaction.
"Of course children, I believe you, believe in the children Hogwarts protects."
"Now I'll tell you what really happened these days—what made your clever heads lose their usual brightness, clouded by reckless anger."
"Mr. Quirrell—"
The Great Hall instantly erupted in commotion. Quirrell? Quirrell! They'd never imagined this Defense Against the Dark Arts professor they'd driven away, that pathetic, weak, stuttering professor.
"He was that person's devoted follower." Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, quickly locking onto several Slytherin seventh years. They showed a glimmer of hope hearing "that person's" name.
The Great Hall's uproar grew louder. That person's follower? Wasn't that a Death Eater? They'd once treated a Death Eater as their professor?
"And that person—as everyone knows, his specialty is reducing everything to ashes. Quirrell completely inherited his master's talent, devoted to turning Hogwarts into rubble."
Yes, Dumbledore pushed all blame onto Quirrell.
There was no other option—exposing Voldemort's existence now would only cause greater panic. He also lacked sufficient evidence to make Fudge believe him—but after this experience with Nicolas, his head was clearer than it had been in years.
He'd abandoned some unimportant hesitations and inappropriate expectations. Eventually, he'd seen Fudge's true nature.
Dumbledore believed that as long as Voldemort didn't openly attack the Ministry, even if he'd started burning Muggle villages to the ground, Fudge would call it "fake news," and would side with Voldemort in an instant.
So Quirrell, who'd long since fled to the Forbidden Forest, was dragged out to take the fall.
"Fortunately, through our professors' efforts, his evil plan was terminated. He himself received due punishment."
The students in the Great Hall cheered—mainly Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.
"Now that his magic has been broken, look at those around you—see classmates whose faces you struck or wrists you bruised."
"Were your conflicts truly serious enough to draw wands? Or could they have been resolved through conversation or other means?"
Draco looked at Neville. He felt they probably couldn't manage that.
Fortunately Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw supported this viewpoint. After meeting gazes, most in the hall showed apologetic expressions.
Meanwhile, Sterling remained outside the hall, quietly creating "guilt" emotions using Dumbledore-modified emotion magic, his contribution known only to himself.
"I think our Hogwarts is a warm place. Seven years spent here, no matter how many years pass afterward, should feel like home when recalled—yes, Hogwarts is your second home. Family members may have conflicts—this is normal, even blood brothers have frictions—but we're all Hogwarts children. Between us will absolutely not appear irreconcilable rifts."
Dumbledore dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief theatrically.
"I have much, much more to say, but I think you have your own thoughts on this. So—after such trying days, does anyone want delicious late-night snacks?"
Before each seat appeared a small plate. Simple square cakes drizzled with four-colored jams—Gryffindor red, Ravenclaw blue, Hufflepuff yellow and Slytherin green.
"Finally—I declare all house points from this past month void! The terrible consequences of Quirrell's actions shouldn't be borne by children—of course, I think your parents wouldn't want their children achieving 'historically lowest house points.'"
Dumbledore playfully winked. Amid the crisp sound of gems falling into hourglasses and students' cheers, he quietly left the Hall.
"Oh, you worked hard, Sterling. Minerva and the others had to remain in the Hall..."
"It's nothing, Professor. After you improved the magic, it's very easy to operate. Actually, I feel that even if Harry did it, he could perfectly complete the task."
Sterling handed the disc to Dumbledore.
"However, Professor, did you previously study this magic? To transform it this way in just over ten minutes..."
Dumbledore's gaze darkened.
"Let's say I did, Sterling."
That emotion-influencing magic from Voldemort... it was actually rooted in Hogwarts defensive magic... even possessed part of the "Headmaster authority"...
Dumbledore didn't know how he'd done it, but no matter—his Legilimency was expert-level.
Rubbing the pitch-black sphere sealed in his pocket, Dumbledore's face showed a rather dangerous smile.
"Alright... What about Hagrid? He must have been possessed by Voldemort—likely suffered under the Imperius Curse for quite some time."
"Hagrid, oh, he's a poor soul—fortunately Voldemort disdained his half-giant status, only controlling him when he needed to travel between the Forbidden Forest and the castle. The damage he suffered wasn't as severe as we imagined—Vitam already found him at the pumpkin patch. Pomona will care for him well."
"Professor—"
"Wait a moment, Sterling." Dumbledore stopped Sterling's words, pointing at four heads emerging from the corner.
"I think you now need a small celebration, don't you? This weekend, I'll wait in the Headmaster's office for you to tell me about your great adventure ."
"And now, it's time for celebrating and rewarding heroes."