[66] Stolen Ground

"But —" Hall remained puzzled. "Difficulties must be faced head-on. Avoidance is useless. Do we really have to wait until the Dark Lord's mark is hanging above everyone's heads before we face it?"

Hall couldn't understand this complacent attitude. He didn't know just how terrible the situation had been back then. To him, one defeat wasn't a lifelong defeat. If you lose, find a way to improve, make your opponent fear you. If you encounter difficulties, find a way to solve them. You can temporarily circumvent them, but you come back to solve them — you don't pretend they don't exist.

"Precisely because his threat still exists, shouldn't we strengthen the school curriculum? Give every child the ability to protect themselves?" The Defence Against the Dark Arts professors got worse every year. Hall wasn't optimistic about Sirius, whom Dumbledore had hired this year. His magic was powerful, but knowing magic didn't mean knowing how to teach it.

"I was aware of what happened last year." Dumbledore sighed. "Don't worry about Sirius. His combat skills are outstanding. If he wanted to, becoming an Auror would be a piece of cake." He glanced at Sirius playing with Harry and Ron in the distance, a slight melancholy in his eyes. "As for the rest, you can rest assured. I've found Sirius an assistant. The two of them will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts together. I believe this year's students will benefit greatly."

A werewolf? Hall thought. If it really was Lupin, Professor Snape would be furious. Two of his arch-enemies returning — one of them the most dangerous.

Hall sighed and glanced at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore saw a message in his eyes: Are you serious?

He guessed Hall already knew who he'd brought, even the person's hidden identity. Although Grindelwald said he had no connection with the Weasley family, Dumbledore still suspected Hall had some sort of precognitive ability.

"You asked me why I don't gather others to work with me — this is my answer." Dumbledore was troubled. "Lupin and Sirius are among the few willing to believe me and prepared to sacrifice their lives to eliminate Tom."

He had very few people he could use. Not because he didn't want more.

"Headmaster, perhaps you would believe me? Believe in us kids?" Hall looked at the hundred-and-fifty-year-old man. Although Dumbledore's age and magic might be that of a middle-aged wizard, he was truly old.

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm preparing for this, aren't I?" He meant educating students was preparing talent for the future.

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Hall shook his head. "Now." Don't underestimate the students. Take Seamus Finnigan — his talent for explosions was almost unprecedented. If you placed a Voldemort fragment in the centre, encased in layers of Seamus's explosives, topped with a massive protective array — would the fragment survive?

Hall didn't know. But he dared to try.

Dumbledore had no idea what Hall was thinking. "Hall, do you know how many Tom Riddles are left?" He was a master of Legilimency, and although he hadn't actively looked into Hall's mind, he could still vaguely sense something.

Hall didn't know if Dumbledore's Legilimency had stimulated his own ability. Everything nearby became clear to him. Scenes flashed before his eyes — studying, dissatisfaction, meeting a friend, losing a sister, parting ways, arguing with a brother... until recently, that person had white hair and was preparing to visit an old friend.

Hall understood the conversation clearly. He knew who Dumbledore had visited: the first Dark Lord, Gellert Grindelwald.

He took a deep breath and looked up at Dumbledore. Although he appeared calm, cold sweat had broken out on his back. He wondered if Dumbledore was aware of the intrusion.

"How many do you think?" Hall asked.

Dumbledore thought for a moment. "Seven? Given Tom's personality, that's the most likely. Seven is important in the wizarding world."

Hall nodded. "We have four now."

From Dumbledore's expression, Hall's bloodline ability was now undetectable — completely devoid of magical fluctuations. Before, when his magic was lower, he'd been like Queenie Goldstein — undetectable, but still unable to probe a master of Occlumency like Grindelwald. Now his ability had become completely natural — like eating, drinking, breathing.

"You caused a scene in class before, and you have a diary —" Dumbledore held up the wooden box, "and this is one too. The fourth?"

"It's in my garden now."

Hall explained that Quirrell was no longer fully Quirrell. Before disappearing, Voldemort's original soul had told the fragment about Quirrell's existence. As soon as Quirrell recovered, he rushed to his beloved master in the Room of Requirement — unaware that annihilation awaited.

"That's impossible. If it really is Tom's fragment, it hasn't done anything at school except occasional nighttime strolls." Dumbledore had a clear understanding of Quirrell's movements. He knew Tom too well — Tom's pride would never let him live as someone else willingly.

"Necessity." Hall shrugged.

The fragment's plan was roughly this: awaken one first, seize the initiative. With the original fragment gone, no matter how many other pieces remained, they couldn't awaken. What was the point of immortality then? A small impatience could ruin everything — at worst, the fragment could create a new body.

"Now there are three left," Dumbledore pondered.

Hall remembered something. "Headmaster, if that locket is no longer needed, could you give it to Helena? It's Salazar Slytherin's."

Dumbledore paused. Giving it to the basilisk — returning the serpent to its master.

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