Headmaster's Office.
Snape's arrival shattered the early morning stillness. His entrance startled the portraits of past headmasters awake, and one by one, they stirred, curious about what business Severus Snape had so early.
After all, whenever Snape ca to see Dumbledore, it was always sothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Nad. Sothing deadly serious.
These portraits had nothing better to do all day. They relied on events like these to break their eternal monotony. To them, Voldemort was just… amusent. A spice to flavor the afterlife.
After all, they were all dead already (except for the previous headmaster, Armando Dippet). What could Voldemort possibly do? Kill them again?
The room was silent, yet Snape could feel the weight of a dozen stares pressing down on him.
He knew exactly where the feeling ca from but didn't bother to address it. What was the point of arguing with a bunch of paintings?
If he won the argunt, no one would care. If he lost, he'd never live it down.
More importantly...
He'd once been young and hot-tempered—once made the mistake of arguing with these old ghosts. He got roasted. Absolutely obliterated. The mory still stung.
Click!
Just as he was reliving that traumatic episode, the door upstairs creaked open.
Dumbledore appeared, descending the spiral staircase in a flowing nightrobe, his steps light and carefree.
"Severus," he greeted warmly. "Forgive an old man's unpredictable sleep. I spent all night fretting over which chamber pot to use. Finally made my decision at dawn and slept wonderfully after that."
As he spoke, the Headmaster seated himself behind his grand desk.
Snape's face darkened.
This—this was why he hated these talks. Dumbledore, for all his wisdom, had an infuriating habit of wrapping himself in a veil of eccentricity, saying the most disturbing things with a straight face.
And the worst part hadn't even started.
Dumbledore waved his hand lightly over the desk. At once, honey water, bread, sausages, and—of all things—a platter of Cockroach Clusters appeared as if they'd been sitting there all along.
The Headmaster took a sip of honey water, then bit into a cockroach head with relish. "Care for so breakfast, Severus? I insist."
"I've already eaten. Quite thoroughly, in fact," Snape replied, eyes shut, refusing to look at that grotesque insect pile.
Even dogs would turn up their noses at that garbage.
If he ever had the chance, Snape would love to sneak a few real cockroaches into the mix. Just to see Dumbledore's face when he realized what he was actually eating.
"…Very well, then."
Dumbledore didn't insist. "What brings you here this morning?"
"It's like this…"
As the Headmaster enjoyed his disturbing breakfast, Snape launched into a detailed report of what had transpired in the Slytherin dormitory the previous night.
From Goyle and Malfoy's provocation, to Tom's decisive intervention. The duel challenge against the prefects. The proposal for an invisible prefect system. The consecutive victories over every house prefect… Even the rules Tom had laid down after Snape had left—Snape knew them all, down to the last word.
Dumbledore's expression barely changed. He nodded occasionally, taking everything in.
His pace slowed gradually, and by the ti Snape finished, he drained the last of his honey water and conjured a handkerchief to dab at his lips.
"Severus, what are you trying to say?"
Dumbledore looked up, eting Snape's heavy gaze. "Are you telling Slytherin has produced another outstanding student? Then allow to congratulate you."
"You're still playing dumb?"
Snape's frustration nearly burst through his skin, his brow furrowed in a deep scowl. "Don't tell you really don't see the problem. Riddle is unnatural!"
"Be precise. From the mont you first t him until today, it's been what—two months of magical training? What were you doing after two months?"
"?" Dumbledore blinked, genuinely thoughtful, a wistful gleam in his eyes.
"Honestly, I was luckier than Riddle. My father was a wizard, so I started dabbling in magic at age seven. But even then, after two months, all I could do was basic transfigurations—turning animals into other animals. Compared to Riddle, I was woefully diocre."
You've got to be kidding !
Snape's temple twitched.
I'm here to stress how serious this is—and you're showing off?
Transfiguration after two months at age seven?! That's O.W.L.-level material!
"Dumbledore, I don't care about your genius childhood or your glorious past. Even if Riddle's as talented as you, he doesn't have a magical parent. He has no ntor. Are you telling the first-year syllabus alone could have brought him this far?!"
"Do you really believe that?"
"I think Riddle's hiding sothing. His skills are too abnormal. Are you sure he's not tied to You-Know-Who in so way?"
"Isn't that the wonder of magic?"
Another line from Dumbledore that made Snape want to spit blood.
Thankfully, the old man knew not to push it further—any more teasing, and Snape might whip out his wand and give him another "lesson."
"Severus," Dumbledore said seriously, "so people only seem like geniuses. Others are geniuses. But either way, we mustn't dismiss their efforts just because they appear gifted."
"Much of their success happens out of sight, earned through effort most people couldn't even fathom."
"I happen to know for a fact that Mr. Riddle has spent many nights in the library, tirelessly poring through books. To be honest, that sort of determination impresses even more than his magical talent. So while his growth is… surprising, it's not unreasonable."
Snape nodded instinctively.
Late-night study sessions… so diligent. No wonder he's—wait a second!
That's just… wandering the halls at night!
Snape barely caught the implication and shot forward like a spring.
"Riddle's been out of bed at night?! And from the sound of it, not just once or twice! Dumbledore, if you're aware of this, you have to punish him. I don't care what it is—detention, a formal reprimand—I'm all for it. Just don't bother docking points. He's so eager in class he'll earn them back in no ti. It won't an anything."
Snape's blood boiled just rembering the brat's defiant face the last ti he tried to assign detention.
Let's see him try the sa stunt with Dumbledore. Let's see it!
Dumbledore blinked, slightly taken aback by Snape's uncharacteristic fairness.
Was this really the sa Slytherin Head of House? Sothing felt… off.
"I think we can skip the punishnt," he said gently. "You know the school's unwritten rules—unless we catch a student breaking the rules, we can't just hand out punishnts based on suspicion. And besides… I may have used a few less-than-ethical thods myself..."
"In any case…"
Dumbledore's expression turned solemn. "Tom Riddle is not a pawn of Tom. His background checks out, and he has no connection to the Dark Lord. He is simply a student—one blessed with talent and driven by relentless effort."
"And more importantly…"
A shadow of sorrow flickered in Dumbledore's eyes.
"I've t soone like him before. Another boy who never touched magic until he ca of age… and yet, within a short span, gained the power to shatter mountains. Later, he could even duel ."
Snape was completely absorbed in the conversation, but Dumbledore suddenly stopped, pulling the discussion back to the present.
"So we mustn't be so quick to judge Mr. Riddle simply because of his strength," he said calmly.
"As a professor—and as his Head of House—I don't want you jumping to conclusions or being overly suspicious. Instead, pay close attention and offer him proper guidance. Do you understand, Severus?"
Ever since raising a student who turned into Lord Voldemort—his greatest failure—Dumbledore had been questioning whether sothing had gone wrong in his teaching thods.
And the answer he ca to was: yes, terribly wrong. Voldemort's descent into darkness might have been rooted in his own nature, but Dumbledore held himself responsible for at least thirty percent of what had happened.
He rembered when he first t Tom Riddle at Wool's Orphanage and sensed sothing... unsettling about the boy. From then on, during Riddle's entire ti at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had remained cold, distant—even wary.
When Riddle asked to stay on as a professor after graduation, it was Dumbledore who had persuaded then-Headmaster Armando Dippet to reject him.
That decision had led to Riddle vanishing from the public eye for two decades—only to reappear as the most feared Dark Lord in modern history.
Had Dumbledore shown more patience? Had he approached Tom with a more open heart—would the future have been any different?
He didn't know. But he believed it was a teacher's duty to try.
So from that point on, he made a promise to treat every student with patience, regardless of personality or behavior.
Even during the days when young Death Eaters ran rampant through the school, he'd never acted outside the rules. His stance was always: guide them while they're here. Their future choices are theirs alone. He and the other professors must be able to sleep with a clear conscience.
Otherwise, had Dumbledore truly wanted to act, there would have been no Death Eaters. Voldemort would've ended up as a lone lunatic talking to himself in a cave sowhere.
People forgot he once held the sole military authority of the only wizarding academy in the British Empire. His influence was not to be underestimated.
So when it ca to this new Tom, Dumbledore had even less reason to harbor hostility or suspicion.
The boy had done nothing out of line. Even when visiting the library, he only accessed publicly available materials—he just read more than most.
As for the events unfolding within Slytherin House? They had nothing to do with him. And Dumbledore could clearly see that Tom's actions were ant to establish authority and avoid unnecessary conflict.
Even if the boy harbored ambition—even if he sought influence or control—what did that have to do with being a student?
Must all Hogwarts students behave like Gryffindors? Brash, reckless, and disinterested in power?
Absolutely not. Plenty of Gryffindors had chased high-ranking careers.
The only ti Dumbledore would ever consider intervening is if Tom began walking the sa dark path as his nasake. And even then, not during his school years.
So… Snape's visit today had been entirely unnecessary.
He was overreacting.
But Dumbledore could understand that too.
Anything remotely linked to the Dark Lord—any clue, any whisper—was bound to set Snape on edge.
"I understand."
After a long silence, Snape finally admitted to himself that this ti, he had misjudged the situation.
Still, he insisted stubbornly, "I just have a gut feeling. Riddle's a dangerous one. He's only been here for a month, and I already sense trouble. Who knows what he'll stir up in the next seven years."
"Then let's wait and see," Dumbledore said with a smile. "After all, a completely still pond isn't very interesting, is it?"
"Take Quirrell, for example. He's been so quiet lately that I'm starting to wonder if I misjudged him."
"He's definitely up to sothing!"
Snape blurted out, finally rembering the task that was truly important this term. "I'm certain he's working for the Dark Lord. His goal is whatever you retrieved from Gringotts."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, acknowledging Snape's judgnt.
"Yes, Quirrell has been rather guarded around . We've barely spoken since term started. I didn't want to scare him off too soon—that's why you're the one keeping an eye on him."
"I understand." Snape's expression didn't change, but he nodded. "Technically, we're colleagues. I'll do my best to gain his trust."
"And while you're at it," Dumbledore added, "see what you can find out about 'Tom.'"
Dumbledore wasn't omniscient. Based on all current clues, he could tell that Quirrell was working for Voldemort—but never would he have guessed that the Dark Lord had actually possessed Quirrell and was now hiding under everyone's noses.
Snape didn't object to the request.
But another question left him unsettled.
"You really believe the protections on the fourth-floor corridor will be enough to stop him?"
"Of course not."
Dumbledore shook his head. "Quirinus is an exceptional wizard. Back in his Ravenclaw days, he had great potential. It's a sha he chose the wrong path."
He tapped a finger to his chest with a faint smile. "True protection doesn't co from enchanted barriers—it cos from the human heart."
Snape's face didn't change. He'd grown used to Dumbledore's cryptic remarks.
"If there's nothing else, I'll be leaving."
"Go on. And be more lenient with Mr. Riddle."
"..."
After Snape left the office, the room grew even more animated.
The portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses, who had been pretending to sleep, all opened their eyes and began talking at once.
"Unbelievable! A first-year beat up a seventh-year—and won?" grumbled a large-bearded headmaster, clicking his tongue.
An old man with a hawk-like nose chid in, "Maybe the past few Slytherin students have just been stupid."
"Rubbish!" another snapped. "Back in our day, Slytherin students were the best trained of the bunch. If they were idiots, then what does that say about the rest of the school?"
"What is it with that na? Tom Riddle—both of them turned out to be monsters."
"Creepy, right? Maybe we should suggest our families na their next kids 'Tom Riddle' and see what happens."
"Hahahaha!"
As the portraits argued over the mysterious power of the na "Tom Riddle," a burst of wild laughter rang out.
It ca from a thin-faced, mustachioed middle-aged man in one of the portraits.
"You lot are ridiculous!" he laughed hysterically. "You think just naming a baby can make them a genius?"
"We're wizards—not charlatans!"
"In the end, it all cos down to one thing—Slytherin has the best aura. Our House breeds greatness!"
His arrogance enraged several other portraits. In a flash, one headmaster leapt from his own fra into the mustachioed man's and began punching and kicking him. Soon, a full-on brawl broke out, screams echoing through the office.
No one stepped in to help the unfortunate man—for this was Phineas Nigellus Black.
The most unpopular headmaster in Hogwarts history.
So disliked, in fact, that during his tenure, the four Houses—traditionally rivals—united in opposition, resisting every one of his ridiculous reforms.
It was hard to imagine a more hated figure in Hogwarts' long legacy.
The ruckus didn't bother Dumbledore. He sat deep in thought.
His mind was a tangle of concerns—about Quirrell, Voldemort… and Tom Riddle.
Even if he chose not to interfere with Tom's current behavior, he still believed it was his duty to guide the boy's growth.
But Tom's style was... ruthless. He didn't pull punches.
That kind of temperant could cause trouble down the line.
And how to guide such a person? That was a dilemma. Tom wasn't like Harry—a hot-blooded, wide-eyed child still figuring out the world.
Tom was a mature, self-reliant youth who had already developed his own way of handling life's challenges.
Any forced instruction or moralizing from "above" would only backfire.
thod mattered.
Dumbledore sighed, feeling the dull throb of an oncoming headache.
Then his mind turned again—where was the other Tom hiding?
anwhile, our protagonist Tom had no idea that his honorable Head of House had just tattled on him to the Headmaster…
And that the even more honorable Headmaster had started plotting how to "ICU" him.
At that mont, Tom was facing a major life decision.
Daphne: "Tom, let keep you as my sugar baby!"
"???"
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