Yellow light?
Dumbledore and the other professors sank into thought, searching their vast knowledge for a spell with such an effect. Yet, after several long moments, none could recall anything conclusive.
Meanwhile, Tom leaned closer to Penelope, speaking in a softer voice.
"What was it like—being unconscious?"
Penelope frowned in thought. "Like… falling asleep. At first, when I woke, I didn't even realize anything had happened. Only last night did fragments of memory return—the moments just before the attack."
Her tone was calm, even composed, though a flicker of worry lingered. "Riddle—this won't leave me with… permanent damage, will it?"
Tom shook his head firmly. "No. You might not trust Professor Snape's brewing, but you should trust the Headmaster's judgment. He examined you himself—there's no trace of lingering Dark Magic. What you're feeling now is just weakness from going without food for days. Once Madam Pomfrey lets you out, I'll take you to the kitchens for a proper feast."
Snape's face went dark as his robes, while Dumbledore stroked his beard in clear amusement. The old Headmaster even shot Snape a mischievous wink, as though to say, See? At least he speaks well of me.
Penelope blinked, bemused. "The kitchens? Why not just eat in the Great Hall like everyone else?"
Tom grinned. "Because with me, you'll get the hidden menu."
"The kitchens have a hidden menu?"
It wasn't Penelope who spoke, but Dumbledore himself, his eyes suddenly alight.
The old wizard realized he was out of touch—Hogwarts had a hidden menu he'd never even tried?
"I have… eclectic tastes," Tom explained smoothly. "At the start of term, I gave the house-elves two entire cookbooks. They've been practicing ever since—some of the dishes are actually quite good now."
"Oh?" Dumbledore leaned forward, intrigued. "I must try them! Some students have complained of bland meals, but truth be told, compared to the fare elsewhere on this island, Hogwarts' food is already abundant."
"Ahem."
Snape's sharp cough cut through the air, dragging the conversation back on track. "Headmaster, it is still some time until lunch. Perhaps we should be discussing how to remove this hidden danger."
"Yes… you're right, Severus." Dumbledore agreed mildly, rising to his feet. "But not here. This is a hospital wing—we should let Miss Clearwater rest. Severus, Filius—come with me. My office."
The two professors nodded. As Snape left, his gaze lingered on Anthony Goldstein—still twitching pathetically on his cot—before flicking back to Tom. A long, unreadable stare, then nothing more. He swept out behind Dumbledore.
…
Once the professors were gone, Tom made to leave as well. But Penelope reached out, stopping him.
"Riddle—stay. Madam Pomfrey isn't here, and she probably won't let anyone in once you leave. Just… talk with me for a while."
Tom settled back into his chair with an easy smile. "Seems everyone knows Madam Pomfrey's habits well enough. She's strict about quiet, no visitors—only recovery."
"Riddle…"
"Call me Tom," he interrupted gently. "If we're just chatting, hearing my surname over and over feels like I'm being summoned for a disciplinary meeting with the prefects."
"…Alright then." Penelope's lips curved into a small smile.
She hesitated, then drew a breath. "I have something important I can't decide on. I'd like your advice."
Tom arched a brow. The tone in her voice hinted this was no trivial matter. But really—they'd only just met properly today. A rescue, yes, but hardly grounds for spilling personal dilemmas.
Still, he leaned forward. "Go on."
Penelope's gaze turned toward the sunlight streaming through the window. It lit half her face in gold, her features sharpened, framed in brightness. After a long pause, she exhaled a quiet sigh.
"Tom… I'm grateful I only spent a few days unconscious. But that means… I could be attacked again."
Her fingers tightened on the sheets. "I'm thinking… maybe I should take a leave from Hogwarts. Step away until the culprit is caught. What do you think?"
Her words rang with the fear others dared not admit aloud. The whole school was nervous, yes—but few had felt the petrification. She had.
In the original timeline, Penelope hadn't awakened until the year's end, after the basilisk was slain. No time to worry, no choice to make. But here, awakened early, she had to face the possibility of it happening again.
Tom didn't answer at once.
"Senior, if you're asking this question… it means you've already decided," he said quietly.
"You're right." Penelope nodded slowly. "I am afraid. And I do want to run. But if it were you… what would you do?"
Tom's eyes hardened. "I wouldn't run. I'd fight. Anyone who hurt me—or someone I care about—would pay dearly. I'd never stop until vengeance was mine."
Penelope bit her lip, a little ashamed. A second-year boy, braver than her—a fifth-year prefect.
He continued, his tone steady. "Since you asked me, I'll be honest. My advice? Stay. Hogwarts is already one of the safest places in the wizarding world. Your future job will be far more dangerous. If you run now, maybe it means you're not suited for this life at all."
Penelope had no answer. His words struck true.
"Here."
Tom drew a small charm from his pocket—a necklace with a dull iron talisman dangling at its end.
"This is for you. It's a ward against petrification. If you're attacked again, it'll give you just enough time to escape."
Her fingers trembled slightly as she accepted it. "…You made this yourself?"
Tom nodded once.