Dumbledore stood quietly at the doorway.
For a moment, he looked like a silent statue.
In his bright blue eyes—usually filled with wisdom and quiet understanding—there appeared, for the first time, a deep confusion… like a fog he could not see through.
His gaze moved repeatedly between several key sights.
First, Quirrell, lying unconscious in the corner like discarded trash.
A man who had been possessed by Voldemort's soul fragment—supposed to be a terrible threat.
Then Harry, standing stiffly with shock written all over his face.
And finally—
The Philosopher's Stone in Lucian Thornwick's hand, glowing with a strange crimson light.
A treasure countless people dreamed of.
A treasure capable of starting wars.
Dumbledore's mind—after more than one hundred and fifty years of life, after surviving two eras of Dark Lords—entered a complete logical dead end.
All his predictions.
All his plans.
All his wisdom.
In the face of this absurdly calm scene… they seemed ridiculous.
He remembered his youth with Gellert Grindelwald.
Back then they had been brilliant, ambitious, extraordinary—
But they still explored the limits of power within the rules.
He remembered Voldemort.
Terrifyingly powerful.
Yet even Voldemort's pursuit of power and immortality was ultimately rooted in human fear and desire.
They were still… human.
But this boy in front of him—
Ignored rules.
Created rules.
Treated priceless artifacts like toys.
Judged a Dark Lord as casually as brushing away dust.
Everything he did felt like the actions of someone viewing the world from a higher dimension, playing a game no one else could even perceive.
Dumbledore sighed quietly.
"How can such a heaven-defying person exist in this world…"
The words carried deep shock—and a rare trace of helplessness—from the greatest white wizard of the century.
Time passed quickly.
Soon it was the end-of-term feast.
Yet the atmosphere in the Great Hall felt strangely heavy.
In the four giant hourglasses representing the houses, Slytherin's green gems led by one hundred and sixty points over Gryffindor's red gems.
The ceiling was decorated entirely with green and silver banners.
Slytherin colors.
The Slytherin table was the loudest place in the hall.
They were celebrating early.
After all, they were about to win the House Cup.
Students laughed loudly, clinking goblets together.
Their joy echoed across the hall.
At the center of it all sat Draco Malfoy.
His earlier fear from the Forbidden Forest was gone.
The familiar arrogant smile had returned to his face.
He basked in the praise of those around him like a young king enjoying his victory.
From time to time, he shot provocative glances toward the gloomy Gryffindor table.
His eyes seemed to say:
Look, Potter.
Look, Weasley.
Look, Lucian.
So what if you're powerful?
So what if you defeated a troll?
So what if you win Quidditch matches?
In the end… the House Cup belongs to us.
To Slytherin.
The Slytherins enjoyed their moment, as if trying to reclaim all the jealousy and humiliation they had felt under Lucian's overwhelming brilliance during the school year.
Just as the green sea of Slytherin students was about to explode with celebration—
A calm, elderly voice filled the hall.
"Yes, yes… well done, Slytherin."
It was Albus Dumbledore.
He stood slowly from the High Table, clapping gently with his usual warm smile.
The entire hall fell silent.
The cheers stuck in Slytherin throats.
They stared in confusion at the legendary headmaster.
"However," Dumbledore continued, a playful sparkle in his blue eyes behind his half-moon glasses, "there are a few last-minute points that must be awarded."
The Slytherin table froze.
"First."
"For Miss Hermione Granger, whose calm thinking in a moment of crisis deserves recognition… I award fifty points to Gryffindor."
Hermione's face turned bright red.
She covered her mouth in disbelief.
The Gryffindor table erupted with restrained cheers.
The red gems in the hourglass shot upward.
Now they were one hundred points behind Slytherin.
"Second," Dumbledore continued.
"For the courage displayed by Mr. Ron Weasley… I award fifty points to Gryffindor."
Ron turned redder than his hair.
Now the gap was only fifty points.
The Gryffindor table buzzed with nervous excitement.
"Third."
Dumbledore's voice grew louder.
"For Harry Potter, who showed great bravery in the face of pure evil… I award fifty points to Gryffindor."
Tie.
The Gryffindor table exploded.
Students jumped onto benches, hugging and shouting.
Across the hall, Malfoy and the Slytherins had gone completely pale.
Their proud smiles froze into disbelief.
But it wasn't over.
Dumbledore raised his hand for silence.
Then his gaze moved across the hall—
Past Harry, Ron, and Hermione—
Until it landed on the boy who had been calmly sipping pumpkin juice the entire time, seemingly indifferent to the chaos around him.
Lucian Thornwick.
The warm smile faded from Dumbledore's face.
In its place appeared an expression filled with admiration… and deep reflection.
When he spoke again, his voice echoed throughout the entire Great Hall.
"And finally…"
"For Mr. Lucian Thornwick, whose actions in the Philosopher's Stone incident demonstrated wisdom beyond this era… and unmatched power…"
He paused deliberately.
Every heart in the hall jumped.
"I award two hundred points… to Gryffindor."
BOOM.
If the earlier points had been explosions—
This was a cataclysm.
The total score reversed instantly.
Gryffindor's red gems surged ahead with an overwhelming lead.
The result was undeniable.
Gryffindor had won the House Cup.
The next moment—
The thousands of green and silver banners above the hall transformed instantly.
In their place rose a blazing ocean of scarlet and gold.
The colors of Gryffindor.
Cheers, whistles, and magical fireworks erupted.
The entire Great Hall exploded into the wildest celebration Hogwarts had seen in years.
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