Quirrell lay smashed into pieces. Voldemort had fled in black smoke. Harry was unconscious. Ron and Hermione were terrified. And Solim watched the whole scene unfold.
Draco's expression was complicated. He had always known that the one who wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone was the Dark Lord. In his mind, the elders had often said that Voldemort possessed boundless magical power and was virtually omnipotent.
But what Draco had just seen shattered that image. A human face parasitic on the back of someone else's head. A dying Dark Lord.
Draco had grown up listening to the legend of Voldemort. The adults spoke of his invincibility, of his unmatched magical power. But now, Draco had seen the truth with his own eyes. Harry, a mere child, had touched the Quirrell possessed by Voldemort, and the result had been devastatingly painful for Quirrell. He had been torn to pieces.
The wizarding world hailed Harry as the boy who defeated the Dark Lord when he was just a baby. Draco had scoffed at the notion, thinking it ridiculous. But now, after witnessing today's events, it was undeniable. The Dark Lord had been barely able to defend himself against Harry and had ultimately been defeated—again. In the end, he had fled in a cloud of black smoke.
This shook Draco's long-standing reverence for Voldemort to its core. The so-called invincible Dark Lord had fled before an eleven-year-old boy. It was absurd.
A group of people now surrounded Harry. Only Draco and Solim did not approach. Solim had been paying attention to the expressions of Draco and Neville throughout the scene. Neville had been frightened, of course, but when Voldemort fled, he had rushed to Harry's side without hesitation. Draco was different. His expression had shifted from surprise to fear, then to shock and disbelief, and finally to disappointment.
Solim had observed all these changes closely. He understood Draco perfectly.
As a child raised in the Malfoy family, Draco had been exposed almost exclusively to elders who praised Voldemort's power. They spoke of how he could lead pure-blood wizards to create a brilliant future. Children need someone to admire, and Draco had naturally regarded Voldemort as an object of faith and adoration.
But today had shattered that illusion. The supposedly all-powerful Dark Lord had been defeated by the same young wizard who had stopped him once before. Draco's admiration crumbled.
Could such a wizard, who could not even handle a minor opponent, really be as omnipotent as the adults claimed? Could he truly lead the pure-blood wizards to a brilliant future? Before today, Draco would have answered yes. Now, he abandoned all his previous reverence.
Seeing the tangled emotions on Draco's face begin to subside, Solim spoke.
"How is it? Still impressed by this performance?"
Draco looked at him, wary. "You already knew it was… no, it was Voldemort who wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone, right?"
"That's right. We can talk more about it later," Solim replied, signaling Draco to pay attention to the room.
With Voldemort gone, it was time for Dumbledore to return. Soon after the Dark Lord's escape, he appeared, accompanied by Professors McGonagall and Snape.
McGonagall was visibly surprised. She had assumed only three people were present, but now she saw a crowd: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Draco, Solim, and an adult wizard she did not recognize.
Snape, by contrast, showed no surprise. He had seen everyone there and had long deduced that anyone who should not be present had likely been brought by Solim. After years of observing Solim's unpredictable actions, Snape had grown accustomed to his eccentricities.
Dumbledore first checked Harry's condition and then instructed McGonagall to escort some students to the infirmary.
"Minerva, take these children to Bobby. They need rest," he said. Then he looked at Evans and Solim, his eyes sharp behind his glasses. "I believe there is something I should discuss with this gentleman now. Of course, Mr. Selwyn seems unhurt and likely has little interest in chatting with an old man like me."
Solim shrugged, unconcerned. As McGonagall and Snape led the students away, Solim stood before the Mirror of Erised.
Honestly, who could resist it? The mirror revealed one's deepest desire, the innermost longing of the heart. Many people were unaware even of what they truly desired, and the Mirror of Erised forced them to confront it.
Solim smirked at his reflection. He saw his many paper figurine wives and figurines filling an entire wall. Behind them stood neither his parents, nor his grandfather, nor his sister. Instead, there was an old thief and a fat man—one smiling at him, the other holding a "-75%" sign and rubbing his fingers in anticipation.
"Really…" Solim muttered. "Desire… or resentment?"
It was 1992. Even if he wanted to send money to the fat man, he'd have to wait ten years. As for the old thief, seventeen years. Solim realized he was still, at heart, a nerd. The moment was both funny and emotional.
He turned away from the Mirror. Only three people remained in the room. Neither Dumbledore nor Evans spoke; both had been watching Solim's reactions.
Solim addressed Evans first. "Don't you want to see yourself? It's interesting."
Before Evans could respond, Dumbledore spoke. "Then, Mr. Selwyn, if convenient, could you tell me what you saw in the Mirror of Erised?" His glasses reflected the firelight, hiding his eyes.
Solim rolled his eyes mentally at the formal address. "Mr. Selwyn," he thought, "really?"
"Nothing. Just something interesting," he said aloud, unwilling to reveal more. Dumbledore seemed satisfied; he had other matters to attend to.
"So, this is the first meeting, Mr. Summerby?" Dumbledore asked. Solim realized this was the first time he knew Evans' surname. That made sense; Dumbledore always noticed such details.
"Solim… Summerby. Felix Summerby?" Solim mused. He recalled that the man behind this name had invented the Happiness Spell, which was a mandatory part of the O.W.L. exam.
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