Hogwarts: I am Voldemort.

Chapter 17 Dumbledore's final temptation?

"Every class is taught by two colleges together. This is to allow students from different colleges to communicate, so..."

Dumbledore didn't go on talking, he reached for a piece of toffee finger cake and ate it.

Obviously, he wanted Quirrell to figure out a solution by himself.

"Set up the actual battlefield." Quirrell said, "It must be a team composed of four college students to participate, so that the communication problem can be solved."

"It's a method, but where is the actual battlefield?" Dumbledore asked after taking a sip of honey juice.

"Forbidden Forest, if you allow me to do that, I need Hagrid as an assistant professor, he can help me find enough magical creatures."

"It seems that you are very thoughtful." Dumbledore put down the finger cakes, frowned and thought.

Quirrell waited quietly. He knew that Dumbledore needed long-term thinking—the new teaching method of Defense Against the Dark Arts had changed too much, and the headmaster must make a cautious decision.

"Promise him." A female voice suddenly remembered, and the two of them turned their heads in shock at the same time.

It is the portrait of Headmaster Doris Deventer, the mid-eighteenth-century headmaster of Hogwarts who is well known both at Hogwarts and in the wizarding world, speaking.

"Oh, Doris," Dumbledore said to her, "tell me what you think, it's been a long time since you said it."

"I hang the portrait of St. Mungo, and I have seen too many incompetent wizards. In two centuries, the actual combat ability of wizards has declined too much."

She rolled her eyes and said, "The wizards in the past were not afraid of being surrounded by dozens of people, but now...they can be killed by Floo powder, stupid wizards, it's time for them to grow up."

"Doris, fighting Muggles and using fake Floo powder are two different things."

The portrait not far from Doris spoke, and Quirrell recognized that it was Principal Black, who was also a very famous principal.

"I know, but I can't stand their stupidity. Appropriate adventures will help them understand the world." Doris replied dissatisfied.

"Okay." Dumbledore said, letting Principal Black swallow the rebuttal, "I accept your opinion, but..."

He looked at Quirrell, which made Quirrell look at him expectantly and curiously.

"How do you solve the problem of class time?" Dumbledore asked, "If every school in every grade has to teach separately, I think you will have no skills."

"Maybe I can use a Time-Turner," Quirrell said.

As a top Ravenclaw student, he had used it for a year in his third year, but then he forfeited the perk - the thing gave him a chronopathic vibe, but this time it was Voldemort's request.

"No."

Dumbledore refused without hesitation, "The magic power of an adult will cause it to go wrong. Moreover, doubling the class hours will make you exhausted on the podium—the curse may also multiply."

Quirrell shuddered, and spoke again after drinking a glass of honeydew: "Then let the two adjacent grades of the same college merge, and one class will teach two contents. With the help of the seventh grade assistant, I think about the problem. Not big."

Dumbledore took out his half-moon eyes, and kneaded the bridge of his nose with his right index finger and thumb—he looked a little helpless, thinking about something with his eyes closed.

Quirrell waited quietly. He knew that his request was a little too much, but... this was all the idea of ​​the Dark Lord.

More than 40 years ago, the Dark Lord wanted to be a professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and even cursed the position because he couldn't get it.

Now, he finally got what he wanted, and these thoughts...

Quirrell had to think that this was the teaching content summed up by the Dark Lord over the past 40 years.

From this point of view, its cumbersomeness and great changes are not so unreasonable.

In fact, this is indeed part of the idea of ​​the Dark Lord's remnant soul, but the fused soul has undergone a lot of changes-he firmly believes that the establishment of an actual combat where students fight each other must end with one party fainting venue, is not desirable.

"That is to say."

Finally, Dumbledore spoke, "You need to establish an actual battlefield in the Forbidden Forest, and you need to adjust the curriculum as a whole, and... need several teaching assistants including Hagrid?"

Quirrell blinked, and he suddenly felt that his request was really too much.

"Ahem... I think... it's probably like this." In the end, he said bravely.

"I think you've caused Professor McGonagall a lot of trouble."

Dumbledore said, waving his wand, and the silver phoenix rushed out of the old wand, circled around and rushed out of the door - it should have sent a message to Professor McGonagall.

"If Professor McGonagall can adjust the class hours to what you need, I support you in adjusting the Defense Against the Dark Arts class."

As Dumbledore said, he removed the blood donation brochure and took out a blank piece of paper, "But if the class time is not allowed, can you keep the original teaching method and teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts class?"

While he was speaking, he had already picked up the pen and soaked it with ink.

"Of course." Quirrell said affirmatively, "Ravenclaw's wisdom makes me usually prepare with both hands."

"Then, wait a moment, please allow me to write the letter of appointment." Dumbledore said, and began to write the letter of appointment for Quirrell on the spot.

This might seem formalistic, but given that the great White Wizard wasn't doing wasted work - Hogwarts is a mysterious place, perhaps this was a necessary process.

Quirrell endured the joy in his heart and tried his best to look calm, but he couldn't help but glance at Dumbledore's beautiful cursive characters, and then...

He saw something remarkable.

Just in front of the letter of engagement - which had previously been pressed by a blood donation brochure - revealed a short letter that read:

Dear Dumbledore:
I will temporarily store the Sorcerer's Stone in the underground vault of Gringotts 31 on the morning of July 713, and hope you can take it away before dark, because the goblins are watching it.

Your dear friend Nicole Flamel.

The short letter revealed enough content to drive any wizard crazy.

But in an instant, what rose in Quirrell's heart was not greed, but fear—he was [-]% sure that it was Dumbledore's initiative to let him see it, because the master had guessed that the Philosopher's Stone was a hoax.

"My God, Headmaster, is that really the Sorcerer's Stone?" He shouted without hesitation, which made Dumbledore look at him in surprise.

"Oh, it's still here, I should put it away."

As Dumbledore said, he received the letter in his arms, but it was obviously too late, wasn't it?
"I mean..." Quirrell's face was still full of surprise, "This is incredible, I never thought that I would be so close to it."

"You're far from it, boy." Dumbledore was amused by him.

"Well, principal, you are right."

Quirrell was like a deflated balloon, slumped on the chair, as if what Dumbledore had just put away was not the letter, but the Sorcerer's Stone he was about to get.

If Voldemort was still awake, he would definitely use a Chinese word to describe Quirrell's feeling at the moment, that is...

Wrong billion.

　Please count the votes, so as not to make a mistake!

　　
　
(End of this chapter)