It had to be said that the planning of Hogwarts' headmaster's office was a bit messy—but it seemed that most wizarding rooms were like this. Unlike Muggles, who rummage through clutter to find what they need, wizards simply waved their wands to summon objects.
Solim thought he had discovered the root cause of the chaos in wizarding rooms.
After descending the spiral staircase with Snape and walking through the gleaming oak door, Solim got a partial glimpse of the headmaster's office. It was a large, bright, circular room filled with strange little sounds.
On a slender-legged table were many curious silver instruments, whirling and puffing out small clouds of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of past headmasters, all of them pretending to sleep with eyes closed, though they occasionally stole glances at Solim—something he had already noticed.
A huge table with claw-shaped legs dominated the center of the room. On a tall bookshelf against the wall rested the school's Sorting Hat, which now looked much cleaner. A glass case contained the Sword of Gryffindor, and opposite it, a black chest held the Pensieve. Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, perched gracefully on a tall gilded stand behind the desk.
Solim's head swiveled as he took in the furnishings and artifacts. Dumbledore, however, sat behind his desk, observing him carefully through his half-moon spectacles. Snape positioned himself against the wall, attempting to blend in as though he weren't there.
After a general inspection, Solim finally directed his gaze to Dumbledore himself—but deliberately avoided his eyes. A wise precaution; looking into the eyes of a master of Legilimency would be tantamount to walking naked onto the street.
Dumbledore noticed Solim's attention shift and spoke, "I imagine you're quite puzzled as to why I asked your headmaster to bring you here at such a late hour."
Solim shook his head. "Honestly, Principal, I have no doubts. I knew you'd find me eventually. I expected you might approach me after the Halloween incident, but you didn't."
He had assumed Dumbledore would make time after the troll incident. Perhaps the headmaster had been too busy. Perhaps he thought it better to observe Solim a while longer. In any case, the meeting had been delayed until now.
"Then perhaps you might guess why I sought you out," Dumbledore said with keen interest.
Solim's peripheral vision caught the glare off Dumbledore's glasses, obscuring his eyes. "Filch? Halloween? Potter? Or the Philosopher's Stone?" he ventured. "Or perhaps all of the above? Or do they involve me personally?"
Better not, Solim thought. Despite his young age, he had no interest in the immature students of Hogwarts. His orientation was firmly normal.
"You even know of the Sorcerer's Stone? How could that be?" Dumbledore's expression was unreadable, hiding any hint of his thoughts.
Tch, Solim thought. Can I really hide knowledge of the Philosopher's Stone from you?
"Principal, let's cut to the chase," Solim said. "It's late, and both Professor Snape and I would like to return to our rooms." He didn't feel like spending more time listening to an old man drone on—it was a serious brain drain.
Dumbledore's expression softened slightly. "Young man, I apologize. I truly am impatient. It was perhaps ill-considered to summon you at such an hour."
"Professor, I bear no ill intent toward Potter, nor do I covet the Sorcerer's Stone. As for Filch, I've already explained my side to you and the dean; the Halloween incident is behind me."
Solim paused, then ventured, "Then it seems, Principal, that your concern is simply to gauge whether I could negatively impact your plans. Am I correct?"
Dumbledore lowered his head slightly, peering over his glasses at Solim. "It appears that life at Schuyler has indeed made you mature," he said unexpectedly.
Solim understood his meaning. Compared with the students of Schuyler, most Hogwarts students were like children, squandering time and wasting talent. Few were as disciplined, few pursued knowledge with the fervor that Schuyler demanded. But there was no judgment in this—both schools had different aims. Hogwarts taught students to control their magic and become competent wizards; Schuyler's instruction was far harsher, teaching combat and survival, even to kill.
"If Hogwarts adopted Schuyler's methods, it would be an entirely different scene," Solim reflected silently.
"But tell me, Solim," Dumbledore continued, "what do you think of the Philosopher's Stone?"
The temptation had arrived. Solim knew Dumbledore would not be deceived with mere words. A wizard of his caliber did not need Legilimency to sense deception. Solim, however, genuinely had no interest in the Stone.
"I know nothing of the Philosopher's Stone," he replied. "I'm not Harry Potter, and I'm not an ordinary wizard. I understand far more than they do—what can be touched, what cannot. There's no need for you to test me with the Stone."
Although Solim was an illegitimate child, thanks to Elrond, he had access to knowledge and abilities similar to those of legitimate heirs.
"Also, the Stone you possess, Principal—it's not complete, is it? It would fail after one or two uses," Solim continued.
"You know that too?" Dumbledore asked, still unreadable.
"I am no ordinary wizard. Furthermore, every Sorcerer's Stone must pass through the Presbyterian Council. If Flamel truly gave you a complete Stone, I doubt you would accept it."
Dumbledore remained silent.
"Then your visit today was simply to ensure that I would not interfere with your plans. I can answer you now: I will not."
With that, Solim stepped forward and placed an object from his coat onto Dumbledore's desk.
"Riddle is not dead. Most ordinary wizards are unaware, but you must know, Headmaster. You may have suspected it, but lacked proof. I bring proof."
He indicated the object. "During Christmas, my grandfather and I retrieved this from Gaunt's old house in Little Hangleton. The curse upon it has been lifted, but a great wizard like you should still perceive it."
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened as he studied it. He didn't touch it directly but examined it closely.
"My grandfather researched this object. He did not destroy the Horcrux, preserving its magical function. We cannot guarantee that destroying it now would leave other properties intact," Solim explained.
"Yes, I have seen this ring," Dumbledore said, noting the Peverell crest. "It belonged to my student, Tom Riddle. I can sense the instant-death curse upon it; even cursed, one cannot escape it."
Dumbledore raised his head and asked, "Where did you find it?" as he subtly probed Solim with Legilimency.
Sensing the intrusion, Solim turned, annoyed. "Principal! I have shown my sincerity. If you do that again, I will leave!"
Although Dumbledore's expression remained neutral, surprise flickered in his eyes. His Legilimency was near its peak, yet Solim's precautions—an alchemical item gifted by Elrond that warned him when under Legilimency—kept him aware. While it could not prevent the probing, it gave ample warning.
"I apologize, Solim," Dumbledore said. "Many habits are hard to change with age."
"Professor, is this typical?" Solim asked, glancing at Snape. Since their entrance, the Potions Master had been leaning against the wall, trying to be invisible. Snape ignored him completely.
"You know what this is, Solim?" Dumbledore asked.
"A Horcrux. That's how Riddle avoided death. My grandfather and I found it in Gaunt's house," Solim replied.
"That is correct," Dumbledore said. "I suspected Tom made Horcruxes but lacked proof. Thanks to you, Solim, I can now confirm my suspicion."
Then he paused. "I suppose a reward is in order. Can you offer some insight or knowledge in return?"
Few knew that Tom Riddle and the Gaunt family were related. Yet to Solim, Riddle had no secrets. He had once been Dumbledore's most gifted student—a tragedy that talent was squandered. The headmaster had always wondered if better guidance might have altered Riddle's fate, had he been steered differently.
Dumbledore's guilt over Voldemort's rise was evident. He believed his failure as a teacher contributed to the dark wizard's creation. But was that truly the case?
Solim set the ring carefully on the desk. The evidence was undeniable, yet delicate. Dumbledore's eyes, sharp despite his calm demeanor, reflected recognition of Solim's insight.
"Few students are like you, Solim," Dumbledore said quietly. "You see beyond ordinary appearances. It is a rare quality. For that, you have my gratitude."
The phoenix, Fawkes, shifted slightly, letting out a soft cry as if in approval. Solim nodded once, satisfied that the matter was concluded. The late-night meeting had revealed much—trust, vigilance, and understanding. For the first time, he sensed that the headmaster regarded him not merely as a student, but as an equal in perception, if not in years.
The night deepened, and the spiral staircase waited below, but in the headmaster's office, the faint glow of magical instruments, the silent portraits, and Fawkes's fiery plumage lingered in Solim's memory. He had come with caution and left with quiet acknowledgment.
The wizarding world, with all its mysteries, was far from ordinary.
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