No one expected that Dumbledore would throw out such an explosive piece of news.
Voldemort isn't dead?
Wasn't he killed more than ten years ago by Harry when he was just a baby? Why say he's not dead?
Besides, if he's not dead, why hasn't the Ministry of Magic announced this news?
The students' faces were full of panic, and they wanted to know what exactly had happened and why Dumbledore would say such a thing.
"I know everyone is very surprised, but it's the truth," Dumbledore sighed and continued, "To be precise, Voldemort is a cunning person. He is very skilled in various Dark Magic and learned how to create a Horcrux during his time at Hogwarts."
"I know you're not familiar with what a Horcrux is, but I need to tell you that a Horcrux is an extremely evil Dark Magic item. It's called a Horcrux because it contains the soul fragment of the creator—the process of making a Horcrux involves splitting a wizard's soul through some very heinous act (such as murder), and removing part of the soul from the body, placing it into an object outside the body, which becomes the Horcrux."
"Thus, even if this wizard's body is attacked or destroyed, they won't die, because a part of their soul fragment remains intact in the world, undamaged."
As Dumbledore finished speaking, the hall erupted like a pot of boiling oil.
They all wanted to know what exactly had happened.
When it was almost too much, Dumbledore raised his hand and stopped everyone's whispering.
"When Voldemort was sixteen years old, he created his first Horcrux, which was his notebook," Dumbledore's sharp gaze swept over the Slytherin table, and many who had come into contact with the notebook lowered their heads, "I have to admit, he was indeed a very talented wizard, but unfortunately, he went down the wrong path."
"This notebook was used to open Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, and by killing an innocent student, he made it. The victim, as you all must know, was Elizabeth Warren, whom you often refer to as 'Crying Myrtle'. "
At some point, Crying Myrtle had already drifted to Dumbledore's side. Hearing Dumbledore's introduction, she still acted importantly, puffing out her chest as if she were very proud of this.
Everyone held their breath. They all knew Myrtle was a student of Hogwarts—or rather, used to be a student of Hogwarts—but never imagined she had gone through so much...
"With the support of the Horcrux, even if Voldemort suffered a fatal blow, he wouldn't die, but rather hide in some corner, biding his time for the right moment, then springing out for a vicious bite," Dumbledore said, his eyes bright and sharp, "And in 1991, it seems he found a suitable opportunity—he tempted Quirinus Quirrell and attached himself to the back of his head, attempting to enter Hogwarts to steal something, of course... as you all know, Harry Potter stopped Quirinus Quirrell, or rather, he stopped Voldemort from endangering the wizarding world once again."
As Dumbledore finished speaking, rounds of applause began to echo in the hall.
No one knew what exactly happened in the first year; they only knew that Harry stopped Quirrell, but they didn't know he actually stopped Voldemort.
Looking at it this way, the Special Contribution Award to the school in the first year was truly well-deserved for Harry!
"Harry! Well done!" the students shouted.
"In the second year," Dumbledore continued, "Voldemort used the notebook to control a poor student, releasing the Basilisk that lurked in Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets—and I'm sure you're all aware of the nature of the Basilisk, those who make eye contact with it will die instantly. Our poor Myrtle was killed by looking into its eyes."
"Yes." Myrtle took over the conversation, "Oh, it was so terrifying; it happened right there, in the bathroom I usually frequent. I remember very clearly—at that time, Oliver Hongbei laughed at me for wearing glasses like a four-eyed dog, so I came here. I locked the door and cried inside, when suddenly I heard someone enter. Their words were very strange."
"I think it must have been another language. But what annoyed me most was when I heard a boy's voice talking. So I opened the door and yelled at him to go away, to go to his own boys' bathroom, and then—"
Myrtle self-importantly puffed up her chest, her face shining, "I died."
Hearing Myrtle's words, everyone held their breath, not daring to make a sound, as if there was a boy around them also saying strange words.
Myrtle, seeing the desired effect, was very happy. She gleefully floated around in two circles, then spoke again: "I just remember seeing a pair of terrifyingly large yellow eyes, and then—it felt like my whole body was being lifted up, and later I just floated away... it was really an extraordinary feeling, and I really hope that none of you ever have to experience it one day."
The students fell silent, none daring to imagine what it would be like to become a ghost themselves.
Perhaps their families would be heartbroken? Saddened?
They were all at the best age, with so much youth ahead of them, and if suddenly they died...