— — — — — —
"Being Headmaster is exhausting… maybe it's time I started thinking about retirement."
Exhausted, Dumbledore finally dragged himself back to his office after persuading the gargoyle to let him in.
Next, he asked the portraits of the past headmasters about last night. A few admitted they'd heard some noise, but it had died down quickly, and since no one came looking for Dumbledore, they hadn't thought much of it.
So what on earth had actually happened?
Pulling out his Codex, he fired off a message to Tom. With Hogwarts in such mess, who else could be behind it if not a Riddle?
"..."
He waited... No reply.
The thing was useful, sure, but Dumbledore was convinced it still needed improvement.
For instance, why not add an emergency mode to make sure the other person sees your message instantly? Just waiting like this was unbearable.
The truth was, Dumbledore was still a bit impatient at heart—a true Gryffindor. He only managed to keep that fiery nature under control through sheer intellect and decades of experience.
Fortunately, even if Tom wasn't answering, Minerva McGonagall arrived soon enough. Unfortunately, the moment she stepped into the room, stiff-backed and tight-lipped, Dumbledore felt his heart drop.
Oh no. Minerva is furious.
He frantically thought back—what had he done this time to upset her?
Nothing came to mind. Had another student gotten into trouble and dragged her into it?
"Minerva—"
"Albus," she snapped, cutting him off. "Why didn't you tell me about the Chamber of Secrets and the dairy?"
"And another thing—Mr. Riddle and Mr. Potter are only students. Why are you dragging them into danger? What exactly are we professors here for?"
He hadn't even finished his sentence before McGonagall's temper boiled over. She admired him, yes, but she hated how he always kept so much hidden away, spinning plans within plans and never sharing them.
He'd arrange everything in advance and then not tell anyone. Nobody ever knew what he was doing or even what he was thinking.
"..." Dumbledore understood why she was so angry. But he still didn't know what, precisely, had happened.
Tom, yes—that part made sense. But where on earth had Harry come into it?
His weary smile wasn't an act this time. He genuinely felt cornered. "When I returned to the school, I found the grounds and the castle damaged. Not a soul in sight. I had no idea what had taken place, which is why I asked Laos to bring you here."
"Could you explain what happened before you scold me?"
McGonagall's face softened a fraction, though her voice remained sharp as she filled him in on last night's events.
The castle's protective enchantments meant that ordinary Repairing Charms were useless against the kind of damage that had been done. Manual reconstruction would be required. To keep students away from the Chamber, breakfast had been delivered straight to their common rooms, and no one was allowed out for now.
Dumbledore rubbed at his temple.
Of course he knew the basilisk was hidden, sleeping deep in the Chamber. As long as the diary was in "his possession", it might as well not exist. That was why he hadn't done anything drastic.
But how had Tom dragged Harry into the Chamber and actually released the basilisk?
If Tom wanted to handle it, why not just kill the creature right there? Dumbledore had no doubts about Tom's strength—after all, he'd given the boy a Firestorm Charm at Christmas. That alone could roast a basilisk to ash.
So what had gone wrong?
He wanted to summon Tom immediately, but McGonagall was only repeating what she'd seen and heard.
There had to be details missing. But right now, calming her down was the priority.
"Minerva, you're right. I handled this poorly."
Dumbledore apologized sincerely before continuing. "Spreading secrets never solves problems. It only increases the chance of leaks and needless panic."
"Tom has a unique perspective when it comes to fighting Voldemort. Even the diary—it was he who discovered it and then brought it to me. I trust he can handle a fifth-year version of Voldemort."
"As for the basilisk... it's a chance for him to hone his combat skills. You can't look at him the way you would any other student. Geniuses break rules by nature."
Dumbledore gritted his teeth and took the blame. From the way McGonagall described things, Tom had already pinned everything on him.
If he refused to accept it, who knew how the boy might retaliate? Maybe he'd spread some story about how he fought the basilisk heroically for the sake of the students, only for the Headmaster to try to steal the credit and pin the blame on him—such injustice?!
No wonder Severus wanted to punish Tom every chance he got. Dumbledore felt the same urge now, but he couldn't act on it.
"Then please, in future, show me a little more respect," McGonagall said crisply. "As Deputy Headmistress, I have a right to know when you're making dangerous decisions."
"Of course. Next time, I surely will." Dumbledore's tone was all earnestness. "In the meantime, make sure the ruins are repaired quickly. As soon as it's safe, let the students out to stretch their legs. We can't keep them locked away forever."
"And one more thing—please tell Severus I need to see Tom."
"... okay."
With that, McGonagall swept out, leaving Dumbledore waiting.
But Tom didn't come. Not until late afternoon, once the worst of the damage had been repaired, did he return from London. He was summoned to Dumbledore's office immediately, and the two of them stayed there for quite some time.
Later, they even descended into the Chamber itself.
---
Finally, Tom came back to the common room at night.
The moment he entered, the little snakes nearly swarmed him, but he raised a hand to stop them. "You'll find out everything tomorrow morning," he promised before disappearing down the dormitory corridor.
Inside the study space, Grindelwald and Andros were still arguing over Slytherin's legacy.
Their disagreement wasn't that Andros opposed the idea of merging bloodlines. Though marked by his rigid sense of justice, he wasn't naive—back in his brutal age, raw power was the only guarantee of survival.
What he opposed was Slytherin's twisted methods of altering the human body during those experiments. Yes, the modifications preserved more of the advantages of hybrid blood, but they left irreversible scars from dark magic.
"Didn't you see that statue of Slytherin? Ugly as a monkey," Andros scoffed.
"And Voldemort? He's barely human anymore. Last time I saw him in the Forbidden Forest, he was slithering around like a snake. Honestly, he's better suited to being a yoga instructor than a wizard."
Grindelwald could only sigh. "Andros, I never said Tom—or I—should copy Slytherin's methods ourselves. I'm talking about using them on underlings. For most people, appearance doesn't matter. They just want strength. Ugly or not, they won't care."
"But I care," Andros shot back, deadly serious this time. "Your underlings are Tom's underlings. If he brings them around, I'll see them too. A whole gang of half-human, half-monster freaks? They'll look like walking villains the moment anyone lays eyes on them."
Grindelwald was speechless. Since when did Andros care about looks?
Sure, he himself had always appreciated beauty, but not to the point of policing his army's aesthetics.
The two went in circles, neither giving ground. In the end, they turned to a judge: Ariana. Grindelwald was confident—after all this time under his teaching, surely the girl understood the primacy of strength.
But the little traitor stabbed him in the back immediately.
"No way. If Tom's followers look that hideous, how is he supposed to take them out in public? I don't agree."
When Tom walked in, Grindelwald was sprawled in a rocking chair, questioning his very existence.
"What's wrong with him?" Tom asked, glancing at Grindelwald's lifeless state.
Ariana quickly explained their argument.
Tom's expression flattened. "You've got to be kidding me. Don't waste your time worrying about side effects from dark magic. First figure out how to merge multiple bloodlines.
"Old G, organize all of Slytherin's dark magic. As for the bloodline experiments, leave that to me. I'll hand the research to Nicolas. He's the one who should study it."
Grindelwald gave a small nod. "Good choice. The old man's lived far too long."
"So," he added slyly, "you spent the whole afternoon with Dumbledore. What did you talk about?"
"What else?" Tom shrugged. "He scolded me for nearly getting Harry killed. Said I should've warned him in advance. I got tired of hearing it, so I shoved the diary back into his hands and asked him a few questions about Horcruxes. He froze right on the spot."
That was true—Dumbledore had never once told Tom the diary was a Horcrux. The old man was too shaken by Voldemort's obsession with them. Even if he trusted Tom, he didn't want more people knowing such things existed.
So the moment Tom spoke the word, Dumbledore forgot his anger entirely and switched to worrying about the boy's "mental health."
Grindelwald could picture the scene perfectly and burst out laughing.
"You really do know his weak spot."
"But tell me, Tom," he leaned forward, his smile fading, "this is a chance at immortality. You didn't feel the slightest temptation?"
Andros looked at him too, curious for the answer.
Tom shook his head. "I don't need immortality. But I must master the means to achieve it. That's non-negotiable. And I don't mean clinging to life like with the Philosopher's Stone. I want true immortality."
He smirked. "But I'm not even of age yet. There's no rush—I've got time."
Then Tom chuckled, as if remembering something. "Oh, and Old G—you'll love this. Dumbledore actually agreed to help me study the secrets of bloodline fusion. He even promised to find me a few… test subjects."
Grindelwald's expression flickered. He knew exactly what "test subjects" meant.
But just as quickly, he composed himself, his voice laced with a strange mix of irony and amusement. "So even after parting ways with me, he still spends his life living out the ideals of our old slogan."
Ariana blinked, confused.
But Andros understood perfectly.
For the greater good. If sacrificing a few wretched lives was what it took to keep Tom within bounds—strong but controllable, and never another Voldemort—then to Dumbledore, it was worth it.
---
Monday morning
The Great Hall filled earlier than ever. Everyone was waiting to hear what Dumbledore would say.
So far, the only confirmed rumor was that the basilisk had indeed come from the Chamber of Secrets. But how the Chamber had been opened, and who the Heir of Slytherin really was—those questions had no answers.
Harry, following Tom's warning, said nothing about what had happened inside. Not a word about Voldemort's taunts, not about Ginny being bewitched. None of it could be mentioned.
The wait didn't last long. At exactly seven-thirty, Dumbledore stepped into the hall.
The clatter of knives and forks ceased instantly. Every eye locked on him.
He chuckled softly. "It seems everyone is deeply concerned about the school's safety. Then I'll keep this brief."
Brief?
A collective groan echoed silently in the students' minds. 'We don't want brief—we want the whole story!'
"The Chamber of Secrets does exist," Dumbledore began, his calm voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "It was indeed the legacy of Salazar Slytherin himself."
Several Muggle-born students went pale.
"But there's no need for alarm," he continued warmly. "Slytherin's legacy is not what the legends claim. It wasn't left to purge the unworthy. It was meant to preserve certain knowledge so it would not be lost to time."
"As for the basilisk, it was the guardian of the Chamber. Unfortunately, someone with ill intent took advantage of it, nearly causing irreparable harm."
Dumbledore paused, letting his gaze drift—casually, almost lazily—toward the Slytherin table. "From what I've uncovered, the attacks were triggered because a dangerous magical object was brought into the school last term."
This time, it was Draco Malfoy whose face drained of color.
.
.
.