Dumbledore unwrapped a lemon sorbet, popped it into his mouth, and began chewing it slowly.
His voice, slightly muffled by the candy, carried a strange tension — like he was trying to chew through something more than sugar. "Vizet, do you know the name of this mirror?"
"Mirror of Erised?" Vizet replied immediately. He had only just learned it — from Salazar himself.
"It seems a number of interesting things happened to you on the other side of that mirror," Dumbledore said with a knowing smile, completely unsurprised. "But let's start with what I know of it."
He adjusted slightly in his seat. "It is a magical mirror, yes — but unlike ordinary ones, it does not reflect your outward appearance. Instead, it reflects inward… into your heart. It shows you the deepest desire hidden there. It's quite… remarkable."
"The deepest desire in your heart…" Vizet echoed softly, brow furrowed.
He thought back to what he'd seen in the mirror: chaos and flawlessness, and himself, surrounded by towering walls of books, calmly reading as though nothing else in the world mattered.
Strange. None of it had felt particularly… personal.
"You look unconvinced, Vizet," Dumbledore said gently. "Would you tell me what you saw?"
"I saw... chaos and flawlessness," Vizet answered slowly. "And then I saw myself reading. There were books behind me, way too many to count. Like… like an ocean of knowledge."
"Chaos, flawlessness… and reading?" Dumbledore murmured, almost to himself. "Then it seems your thirst for knowledge is deep enough to be reflected in the mirror."
Vizet shifted in his seat, lips twitching as though preparing to ask something more — but then stopped.
He had wanted to ask what Dumbledore saw when he looked into the Mirror of Erised. But when he recalled the sadness in the Headmaster's eyes — the way his gaze had trembled with longing and loss — he swallowed the question instead.
Dumbledore gave a small cough and laced his fingers together. "In addition to showing one's inner desires, the Mirror of Erised can also act as a passage."
"A passage?" Vizet blinked.
"Yes. Through it, I was able to reach the basement very quickly," Dumbledore said calmly. "It is also intricately connected to the Guardian."
Vizet's eyes widened slightly in surprise.
Dumbledore noticed. "Oh? Judging from that look, it seems you aren't fully aware of your identity as a Guardian?"
"I didn't know I was the new Guardian until I entered the mirror world," Vizet admitted with a nod. "Headmaster Dumbledore… do you know what a 'Guardian' truly is?"
Before Salazar Slytherin had revealed the truth to him, Vizet's only understanding of the term "Guardian" had been through the Guardian Meditation Technique.
He had assumed it was merely a name for a particular method of magical training — nothing more.
He had never guessed that the answer had always been lying in plain sight.
It was like a secret hiding just beneath the lamplight: obvious, yet unnoticed.
After all, in A Wizard's Practical Guide, the term most often repeated wasn't "Guardian" — but "Primordial Magic."
"It's not as though I understand it," Dumbledore said softly, shaking his head. "The role of the 'Guardian' is one hidden deep in the folds of history. I only came across the title through scattered clues in ancient records, long ago when I was young."
Vizet tilted his head slightly, momentarily caught off guard by the image of a young Dumbledore. It was oddly difficult to picture — he had always felt as though the Headmaster had been born with a silver beard and twinkling eyes, already wise beyond imagining.
"Everyone has their youth, Vizet," Dumbledore said with a blink, the corners of his mouth lifting. There was a familiar glint in his blue eyes — a distant flame of memory rekindled. "We were brimming with energy in those days…"
"All sorts of fantastical notions would leap into our minds without warning. I was constantly unearthing strange tales and forgotten knowledge from the most curious places. It was… delightful."
"We were free," he said quietly. "On one such pursuit, while searching for something else entirely, we stumbled upon a long-forgotten ruin. Wizarding ruins. There we found several armors — crafted not of mere iron or steel, but of magic. Strange, ancient magic."
Dumbledore paused, his voice slowing, softening. "You see, the magic a witch or wizard uses is born within them. It is shaped by their personality, emotions, and nature. Every spell carries the imprint of its caster. But these armors... their magic wasn't born of a person. It wasn't raw, ambient ancient magic either — not the kind that drifts through old settlements or lingers near ley lines in a chaotic hush. This was different. This magic had intent. It had direction. It felt... pure."
Vizet's eyes lit with understanding. "Headmaster Dumbledore, the strange magic you're describing… is it primordial magic?"
"Yes." Dumbledore nodded gravely. "I believe a Guardian once stayed there. They had left behind their work. Those armors were their creations. There were even a few crumpled notes scattered throughout the ruin — brief, cryptic descriptions of primordial magic. Unfortunately, they were not detailed."
"We studied the armors as best we could and learned much that we'd never encountered before. Even though we couldn't truly wield primordial magic, we were able to imitate it. Recreate small fragments. It led to breakthroughs for each of us… a time of great learning."
His voice slowed, growing hushed again. "At the time, I had hoped we could adapt that magic. Use it to protect…"
But then, without warning, Dumbledore trembled.
A flicker of something deep passed through his expression — helplessness, sadness, and something darker still. But just as swiftly, it vanished behind the veil of calm once more.
"I may be… a little more tired than I realized," he said with a forced smile. "Perhaps it's because I find your company oddly comforting. Being with you… makes me forget the weight of the years."
He straightened and shifted the topic. "Let's set that aside for now. Allow me to show you the earliest form of this magic."
Raising his wand, Dumbledore gave a gentle wave.
Before Vizet's eyes, two suits of armor materialized — smaller than human-sized, only reaching up to his knees. But even so, they were unmistakable. They matched the magical armors Vizet had seen before in the hospital wing.
Dumbledore flicked his wand again. "I constructed these based on the designs we found in the ruins — expanded them with my own understanding."
The two armors began to move, stepping apart until they stood at opposite ends of the Headmaster's office. One brandished a long spear and charged forward, while the other raised a shield and braced for impact.
BOOM!
The armors collided with force. Flames erupted as they shattered, and the stone floor trembled beneath them. A faint quake rippled through the office, rattling books and candleholders.
Dumbledore turned to Vizet with a playful smile. "Not bad, hmm? Would you like to learn it?"
For a moment, Vizet couldn't help but grin. The sight of Dumbledore conjuring spells like an older brother showing off to his siblings gave him an odd sense of warmth.
"Of course!" he nodded eagerly. "This magic is incredible! I'm guessing it's not just Transfiguration — it must incorporate multiple spell types. Is it a form of compound magic?"
Dumbledore's smile deepened. "Quirinus would be pleased by your insight. Yes — this is compound magic. Its foundation lies in Transfiguration, but it is reinforced and directed through carefully layered enchantments."
At the mention of Quirrell, something in Vizet's expression changed.
He suddenly remembered the very reason he had come to the Headmaster's office in the first place.
He had wanted to find out what had happened to Professor Quirrell.
"Professor Quirrell!" Vizet said suddenly, eyes wide. "Headmaster Dumbledore, why hasn't he woken up yet?"
Dumbledore's expression softened. He raised a finger and tapped it thoughtfully against the polished surface of the table. "That… is not a simple question to answer. It concerns the nature of the Philosopher's Stone."
He turned his gaze toward Vizet. "Tell me — how much do you know about the Stone?"
Vizet thought for a moment. "It's a product of alchemy. It can be used to create the Elixir of Life… and it can transmute ordinary materials — like turning stone into gold. That's about all I know."
"Quite right," Dumbledore nodded. "But there is something even more crucial. The Philosopher's Stone is also a universal alchemical medium. That quality — its versatility and harmony with all forms of alchemy — is what makes it truly remarkable."
He smiled gently. "Of course, that's just a bit of knowledge you likely won't need for a while. But it helps explain what happened next. When I placed the Stone into Quirinus' chest, I wasn't simply preserving him — I was performing an act of alchemy."
Vizet's mind jumped to the obvious conclusion. "You used the Stone to replenish his life force? Because when Voldemort was expelled from his body… he took a part of Professor Quirrell's vitality with him?"
"Exactly," Dumbledore confirmed. "That was the plan. The Stone would serve as a source of sustenance — enough to stabilize him. Once his condition was stable, I intended to take him to Nicolas Flamel. Together, we might have found a long-term solution."
He paused, and a trace of weariness passed through his eyes.
"But then... the unexpected happened," he said quietly. "As I told you once before, Vizet — the choices we make are far more important than the abilities we possess. And in the end, Quirinus chose to save you again."
Dumbledore let out a slow breath. "It was that choice that purified his soul."
Vizet's eyes widened. "Purified…?"
"Yes." Dumbledore looked directly at him. "His soul, long marred by possession and proximity to darkness, was cleansed by his final act of selflessness. But there's a problem…"
"The body he left behind — eroded and altered over time by Voldemort's influence — no longer matches the soul that resides within it."
"And that mismatch," he continued solemnly, "is why he remains unconscious."
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