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After returning to the hall, Devro asked,
"Is everything... alright?"
Outside the door of the school hospital — the place where Devro had just spoken with Dumbledore — Snape now stood behind the chair Devro had been sitting in. Dumbledore still sat there.
"Yes, both children are fine," Dumbledore nodded slightly.
"I thought it was safe here, Dumbledore," Snape almost spat out the words.
"Yes, I thought so too," Dumbledore replied, lowering his head slightly, looking somewhat dejected.
Huff!
Snape exhaled sharply, trying to calm himself without looking at Dumbledore.
"So, did you tell him about the prophecy?" Snape asked.
Dumbledore slowly shook his head.
"But I think he might have already guessed something. So I believe we must bring the plan forward."
Upon hearing this, Snape turned abruptly, his eyes fixed on Dumbledore.
"Albus Dumbledore! The lunatics you involved have already killed Lee and Aurora, and now you want to send their son to his death?"
But Dumbledore remained unmoved, calmly meeting Snape's furious gaze.
"Severus, only you can do this. Only you know enough. Only you have a true connection to him, flowing in your veins."
"Devro, judging by your expression, you probably already know something, right?" Professor McGonagall asked, sitting at one end of her office desk, facing Devro.
Devro, holding a cup of hot tea, nodded.
"Yes, Professor. The Headmaster told me about my family's situation, including the Tindalos Covenant and the feud between my parents and them."
Taking a sip of tea, Devro felt a wave of warmth run through him, easing his tense mind.
Professor McGonagall nodded slightly at his words.
"Well, the reason we didn't tell you earlier was that we didn't want you burdened by such heavy matters at a young age. But, based on your maturity since enrolling, you are far beyond your peers."
A soft smile appeared on McGonagall's face.
"Your mother often told me that she wanted to attend Hogwarts. It's a pity she ended up at Beauxbatons. You're so much like her — especially that blonde hair."
She then recounted several amusing incidents from when she first met Devro's mother.
In her memory, Devro's mother was vibrant, rebellious, and unwilling to be bound by Muggle family expectations. Following her ancestors' notes, she traveled across Europe, inheriting Alphonsus's alchemy and ritual magic system. She became an extremely powerful witch, often doing crazy things, such as stealing treasures from the Tindalos Covenant.
Devro listened intently. These stories about the mother he had never met fascinated him. He could also feel Professor McGonagall's fondness for her, like an elder telling a child about their family's history.
Slowly, Devro's anxious heart began to calm. Professor McGonagall noticed.
"Telling you all this is also to help you relax a little," she said, sighing.
She looked sincerely at Devro, her eyes filled with sadness.
"Devro, I am truly sorry. I shouldn't have been angry with you or blamed you for writing that letter. You knew nothing. It was all our fault."
Devro was surprised by her sudden apology — and by the fact that she called him by his real name, Devro, rather than Alexander.
He quickly put down his teacup, stood up, and walked to her side, gently resting his hand on her shoulder.
"Professor, please don't blame yourself. I insisted on my own path, ignoring your warnings."
McGonagall opened her arms and pulled Devro into a tight hug. Her voice trembled.
"Oh, my child, I almost harmed you. That was terrible..."
Her words were full of self-blame and pain, and her arms trembled slightly.
At that moment, Devro's heart was deeply moved. He realized something he had never thought about before — since entering this magical world, its wonders had distracted him from a deeper question: was there anyone here who truly cared about him?
Snape had always been a cold, harsh figure, someone to fear rather than trust. Other students were friendly, but often because of his talents rather than genuine affection. Hermione's concern, too — was it truly for him or because of Harry?
He didn't know.
But now, a teacher with no blood ties cared deeply about his safety, his wellbeing.
It was an unprecedented warmth.
Before, Devro had been consumed by anxiety — desperately eager to become stronger. He had taken reckless risks: venturing into Knockturn Alley, drinking a faulty Polyjuice Potion, sneaking into the Room of Requirement for Ravenclaw's Diadem.
All because he was afraid.
It was a fear rooted in his identity as a transmigrator — a rootless being in a foreign world, burdened with secrets he could share with no one. All his worries and fears were borne alone.
But now.
Now, Devro felt something new — a sense of belonging.
Tears welled up in his eyes, but he tried to hold them back. Instead, he raised his arms and hugged Professor McGonagall tightly, hoping to convey his gratitude and newfound peace through that embrace.
Night fell.
Outside the castle, the wind carried a biting chill. But Devro's room remained quiet.
He sat cross-legged on his soft bed, exhaustion written across his face.
Most of the dungeon was now within the range of his perception. Today's revelations weighed heavily on him, pushing him to train harder, to become stronger.
As a teenager with a special identity — almost like a destined savior — Devro now hated that role.
He suspected it all started when he foolishly loaded the [Savior] entry — inadvertently drawing a nemesis into existence.
Of course, what had happened couldn't be undone. The confrontation was inevitable. And with the [Savior] entry enhancing both himself and his enemy in the shadows, he guessed that the strength of his opponent could easily match Voldemort's level.
Fortunately, tomorrow his golden entry loading time would reset.
According to his plan, next week, he would begin learning the three Unforgivable Curses from Professor Quirrell. Within another week, he would likely rise to another level of strength.
However, Devro understood something crucial:
Relying solely on spell knowledge wasn't enough.
He needed to become stronger in all aspects — mastering Transfiguration, Potions, spells — but also enhancing his mental strength, his perception, and his willpower.
Outside the window, the moon climbed high into the sky. Its silver light bathed Devro's determined face.
Thinking of Professor McGonagall's hug, he clenched his fists tightly.
Devro made a silent vow:
Before the year ended, he would expand his perception to cover the entire Hogwarts Castle.
And in the next three years, he would extend it even further, until no corner of the school remained beyond his awareness.
By then, whether it came to magic or mental power, he would have the confidence to stand against — and even surpass — the legendary dark wizard Voldemort.
Meanwhile, in a part of the castle outside Devro's current perception, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office:
At the center of the room lay a stone platform as black as ink. On it, Marcus lay naked, his body smeared with a black, mud-like substance mixed with unknown herbs, forming incomprehensible patterns. The densest markings clustered around his chest, like ancient sigils.
Below the platform, a circle of strange runes was carved, their mere presence enough to raise the hairs on one's neck.
At either end of the platform, two green, ghostly candles burned quietly.
Quirrell stood with his back to it all, facing an ancient mirror. His figure appeared grotesquely distorted in the glass.
His face was deathly pale. His eyes brimming with fear.
At that moment, a low, hoarse voice sounded from the back of his head — a whisper like something from hell.
"Tindalos? Heh heh heh... A bunch of fools — scared of death, yet too cowardly to cross true taboos. They think people can be resurrected after death? How ridiculous!"
The voice grew sharper, each word like an icy needle stabbing into the soul.
"The real pursuit should be — immortality!"
Would you like me to also format this slightly more dramatically, or polish it further for a smoother, light-novel style?
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