Tom couldn't even be bothered to argue with Snape. "A potion of that level doesn't take much effort. Just a spark of inspiration, really."
"You know what it is you want." Snape jabbed a finger at the door. "Now get out. Dumbledore is waiting for you."
Tom slapped his forehead. "Merlin—I'd forgotten all about it. Fine, I'm going."
He'd nearly let Dumbledore's invitation for morning tea slip his mind. Not that it mattered—he'd already polished off the sandwiches Astoria had packed, and his stomach had no room left anyway. Still, an invitation from the headmaster wasn't something to ignore.
—
Ten minutes later, Tom stepped into the headmaster's office.
A round table had been conjured in the center, already laid with teapots, cups, and trays of delicate pastries. Dumbledore greeted him warmly and gestured for him to sit.
"Mr. Riddle," the old man began, "allow me to thank you on behalf of Mrs. Norris and Miss Clearwater for supplying the mandrakes."
Tom tilted his head, voicing the question that had been bothering him. "Professor, even if the mandrakes in the greenhouses here weren't mature yet… couldn't you have simply purchased them elsewhere?"
If he hadn't intervened, Tom knew, the petrified victims would have lain stiff and lifeless for nearly a year—until the school's own crop had matured. The fact that none of the victims' parents had stormed Hogwarts in outrage back then… well, that was a miracle in itself.
Dumbledore sighed. "At least in Britain, Hogwarts is the only source. All mandrakes harvested here are sold directly to the Ministry each year to brew countercurses. By now, there are no stores of the raw plant left."
He fixed Tom with a steady gaze. "Tell me, Mr. Riddle—what is your own opinion of the attacks?"
Tom shrugged. "It was done by a single person."
Dumbledore blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of the reply.
As Tom savored a spoonful of lemon sherbet ice cream, he added casually, "Oh, and by the way, Professor Snape asked me yesterday to keep an eye on Professor Wilkinson. He suspects Wilkinson might be the culprit."
Dumbledore's denial was immediate and firm. "No. He is not the one. Throughout the entirety of the Halloween feast, Wilkinson never once left his seat. And besides… the nature of that message does not fit with an Ilvermorny graduate."
Tom raised a brow. So Rouse really has won Dumbledore's trust. Good for him.
"So the Chamber really exists, then?" Tom pressed.
The old man paused, then inclined his head. "I believe it does. I do not know where it lies, but legends are seldom without some seed of truth."
He steepled his fingers. "The story goes that Salazar Slytherin quarreled bitterly with Godric Gryffindor over admissions. Before leaving the school, Slytherin constructed a hidden chamber. It was sealed so tightly that only his true heir could one day open it, releasing a dreadful creature to purge the school of all deemed unworthy of magic."
"Absurd! Utterly laughable!"
The voice came from the wall: Phineas Nigellus Black, his painted face twisted in disdain. "Hogwarts has stood for a thousand years! If there truly was an heir, why would they only appear now? During my tenure as headmaster—and long before me—the school was thoroughly investigated. There is no Chamber, only childish superstition!"
For once, Phineas' words were echoed by several other painted headmasters.
A bearded wizard chimed in, stroking his chin. "Indeed. During my time, I scoured every inch of the castle. No secret chamber, no monster. Even if Slytherin had left some scheme behind, surely it could not endure a millennium."
But Dumbledore remained calm. "My friends, remember—the four founders were magicians of incomparable brilliance. The castle itself still stands as proof of their craft, functioning perfectly even now. That we cannot find the chamber does not mean it does not exist."
He let his eyes rest on them one by one. "And do not forget what happened fifty years ago. Myrtle Warren still haunts the girls' bathroom as a ghost."
At that, silence fell across the portraits.
"Any threat to our students must be taken seriously," Dumbledore continued. "I believe the Chamber exists. And I intend to find it—and end whatever danger lies within once and for all. Perhaps when our petrified students are revived, they will give us answers."
Phineas muttered darkly, "I still say it's nothing but an elaborate prank by some upper-year student."
But Dumbledore ignored him, turning instead back to Tom. "Mr. Riddle, there is something else. You have… changed again. In a way that reminds me of an ancient legend."
Tom spoke before the headmaster could. "You mean ancient magic."
Dumbledore's smile deepened, and he removed his spectacles, polishing them slowly with a handkerchief. "Precisely. Your aura, your growth—it resembles the few accounts of wizards who once wielded such forces. I had thought ancient magic long vanished from the world. And yet, here you are."
Tom leaned forward. "I wouldn't call myself adept. Barely scratching the surface. Professor, do you have any thoughts on how one ought to approach such magic?"
The old man's hand stilled. His blue eyes grew grave. "Every record warns the same: ancient magic draws upon the very forces of nature itself. To study it, to wield it, is perilous. My advice, Mr. Riddle, is this: tame its wildness. Preserve its essence—but soften its form."
Tom's lips curved faintly. "An elegant answer."
Within the learning space, Andros was listening too—after all, Tom had promised Grindelwald he would always activate the shared space during meetings with Dumbledore.
Andros chuckled. "Remarkably wise. That's exactly the next step you need, boy. To connect with nature, to channel it, and—eventually—to command it. You're only in the second stage. Using, but not yet controlling."
Grindelwald tilted his head back and puffed out his chest. "Of course Dumbledore would see it. He's a genius—a universal genius. Even without ever touching ancient magic himself, he can still deduce the principles."
Andros nodded in agreement. "No wonder he managed to defeat you, even with the Elder Wand in your hand."
Grindelwald's face darkened instantly.
This conversation is over.