— — — — — —
Voldemort's scheme had been one of open manipulation, not deception—so all the information he left behind was true.
This really was the hidden core of Slytherin's Chamber.
The opening passages explained why he had quarreled with Godric Gryffindor, followed by long, bitter rants. He called Godric arrogant, stubborn, a pompous fool who refused to listen to reason.
Then came a revelation: Salazar Slytherin had designed two ways for the Chamber to be opened.
The first was what Tom had done—finding the secret entrance and coming in through traditional means.
The second… was through blood.
If enough blood soaked the castle, the Chamber would open on its own, and the basilisk would awaken. That would mark the beginning of the true cleansing.
In a twisted way, the basilisk really had been meant as a guardian of the school. It was just its misfortune to be exploited first by Voldemort, and later by that so-called trial. The poor creature's life had been nothing but misery.
Tom decided that next year, on the anniversary of its death, he'd light a cigarette in its honor.
But what truly darkened their expressions was what came after.
Because of the era, relations between Muggles and wizards had been hostile and violent during Hogwarts' founding. Slytherin, a pessimist at heart, believed that admitting Muggle-borns would one day expose the school and draw a siege from the outside world. So he left behind a "legacy" not as a gift, but as a contingency plan—a safeguard for the end of wizardkind.
His obsession with bloodlines was well known. His so-called legacy was nothing more than a collection of experimental journals, detailing ways to "improve" a wizard's blood.
Slytherin's core idea was that the wizarding bloodline was a blank canvas.
Some families, long ago, had been adventurous enough—reckless enough—to "paint" on that canvas with unusual traits, leaving behind natural colors of their own.
But for those whose bloodline bore no color, or only faint traces, he proposed filling in the blank space through deliberate fusion—pushing past the natural limits of magical talent. And the paint to be used? The blood of magical creatures.
His experiments fell into three main categories.
First, blood cleansing—purifying the blood of target creatures, stripping away elements harmful to humans so that their essence could be more easily absorbed.
Second, physical modification—altering a wizard's body to better accept foreign magic and traits beyond human nature.
Third, soul anchoring—for blood fusion wasn't only a test of flesh. The soul itself would inevitably be affected.
No matter how careful the cleansing, he admitted the wildness of beast-blood could never be entirely erased. His goal was not to create monsters, but to forge a perfect wizard with the strength of magical creatures woven into their blood.
Later entries recorded attempts at multiple bloodline fusions. Every single one ended in failure. Even before leaving the school, Slytherin himself had never succeeded.
The first step—purifying magical creature blood—was acceptable enough; the subjects had only been beasts. McGonagall could live with that.
But the other two… they involved human subjects. The reports were cold, clinical, and cruel, riddled with details of grotesque body modification and heavy use of Dark Arts.
She worried what kind of ideas Tom might take from it.
"Mr. Riddle…" she said gravely once he finished the last page. "You've seen for yourself the risks of blood fusion. Do not attempt it. Do not even study it further. Your potential is the greatest I've ever seen—you have no need to gamble with your future this way."
"Professor, all of this is far too advanced for me," Tom said with a calm smile. "I was only curious what a Founder might have left behind. My curiosity's satisfied. From here on, this is for you and Dumbledore to manage. I won't be coming back."
Only then did McGonagall breathe easier.
Tom's memory was sharp, but not photographic—especially with an unfamiliar language.
What she didn't know was that as he read, he had already projected every detail, every word into his study space, where his "two old men" were now engrossed in the material.
Determined not to let such dangerous knowledge slip into the world, McGonagall didn't even wait for Dumbledore to return. She conjured searing flames, intending to burn the inscriptions from the walls.
But even as the air grew so hot that Harry broke into sweat, the writing remained untouched.
Tom had to gently remind her, "Professor, do you really think someone as selfish as Voldemort would leave behind knowledge for others to share? He must have tried to destroy it himself, and failed."
"…Very well," she said reluctantly, lowering her wand. "We'll deal with it when Albus returns tomorrow."
She glanced at Tom again. "And that diary…?"
Tom shook his head. "I'll hand it over to him myself."
She didn't press further, only urged both boys to get some sleep. Then, accompanying Harry back to Gryffindor Tower, she promptly caught several restless students out of bed—and docked a hefty number of points without mercy.
...
The moment Harry stepped into the common room, he was mobbed by his housemates, everyone talking over each other with questions. Harry had no desire to answer a single one. The day's events had left him drained, and he was starting to regret not staying in the hospital wing. Coming back here had been a mistake.
Tom, on the other hand, was far shrewder. He knew perfectly well that his common room would be just as crowded, so instead of returning, he quietly slipped out of the castle altogether. A few quick Apparitions later, he was back at his London home.
Stretching out on his bed, he pulled out his Codex. As expected, a mountain of unread messages was waiting for him: Hermione, Daphne, Astoria, Ginny, Susan, Hannah, Luna, and others—everyone had written.
Ginny's stood out the most. She'd sent a long stream of messages, half scolding him for being reckless, half praising his strength.
Tom couldn't help but smile.
Then, as he tapped back replies to the girls, he opened his system notifications.
The sixth zodiac palace was now half-lit, the other half still dark. It wouldn't be complete until he dealt with Aragog.
[Hidden Achievement]
[Rising Sun: Your brilliance shines over Hogwarts like the midday sun.]
[Reward: 100 Achievement Points, 500 Credits.]
[Debt Beyond Repayment: You slew the basilisk, safeguarded your classmates, and ensured a stable learning environment.]
[Reward: 100 Achievement Points, 500 Credits.]
All in all, a very profitable day. Too tired to bother diving into his study space to discuss the legacy with Grindelwald, Tom simply exchanged a goodnight with the girls and fell asleep almost immediately.
— — —
Sunday Morning
Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts in high spirits, walking alongside Laos, the two of them laughing and chatting. They'd even stopped at the Three Broomsticks for breakfast before heading back.
Their trip to the Forbidden Forest with the seventh years was a success. Giving students about to graduate such an experience was impressive, and since it was the first of its kind, Dumbledore and Hagrid went along with Laos.
After a while, Dumbledore and Laos decided to head back early and let the students enjoy themselves.
...
As they passed through the main gates, Laos remarked, "I'll admit, Hogwarts students are a bit rough around the edges when it comes to skill, but their talent is promising. With a little polish, I think—"
He broke off mid-sentence.
Dumbledore, following his gaze, froze as well.
The once-green lawns now bore a wide patch of charred grass. One corner of the castle itself had been blown apart, a gaping hole leaving rubble scattered everywhere.
A chilling thought flickered through his mind: 'Could Voldemort have returned and attacked Hogwarts?'
Dumbledore crushed the idea at once—it was absurd.
"Seems like things got… lively yesterday," Laos said with an uneasy laugh, though his curiosity was burning.
"Laos, please find Professor McGonagall for me. I'll wait for you both in my office," Dumbledore said, his tone clipped.
They parted ways at the entrance. Dumbledore took the moving staircase up to the seventh floor, while Laos went searching on the fourth. The halls were eerily silent, not a single student in sight. That silence weighed heavily on Dumbledore's mind.
Even on a Sunday, there should have been students heading to breakfast by now.
He hurried to his office. Normally, the stone gargoyle at the entrance would spring aside the moment he appeared. This time, it didn't budge. Instead, it sat there with its chin propped on one hand, lost in thought.
"Ahem. Could you open the door for me?" Dumbledore finally asked, exasperated.
"Oh, Dumbledore, you're back," the gargoyle said, snapping out of its daze. It stepped aside—then abruptly stuck out an arm, barring his way.
"Tell me something, Dumbledore. Students get summer holidays. Teachers and headmasters get them too. So why don't I ever get a break? How about you give me two months off this year? The world is a big place. I'd like to see some of it."
Dumbledore: "???"
He'd only been gone for a single day, and the school was already behaving like he didn't recognize it. Even the door guardian was demanding vacation. And if the gargoyle left, who exactly was supposed to guard the office? Him?
.
.
.