In the solemn and silent headmaster's office, Dumbledore and Wes sat facing each other, a subtle tension hanging in the air.
"You've finished reading the book?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow slightly, his gaze settling on Wes through his half-moon glasses.
"No," Wes shook his head. His answer was brief and direct.
"Then is there sothing you didn't understand?" Dumbledore asked again.
"Also no," Wes replied, gently shaking his head. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he wasn't in any rush to explain.
Dumbledore's brows furrowed. His tone carried a trace of reproach. "Then what are you here for?" He sighed softly and added, "As headmaster, I'm quite busy, you know."
Wes's gaze fell to the platter of sweets piled in front of Dumbledore and quipped, "Busy with what? Enjoying your afternoon tea?"
His lips curled in a slightly teasing smile as he looked at Dumbledore. "Aren't you worried about getting diabetes?"
"What's that?" Dumbledore asked with genuine curiosity.
"A disease discovered by Muggle doctors…" Wes began explaining, but midway through, he realized Dumbledore had derailed the conversation. He stopped himself and steered back to the main point.
"I ca to give you a gift."
Wes pulled out a seemingly ordinary diary from his pocket and gently placed it on the table between them.
"A gift? A diary?" Dumbledore's eyes landed on the notebook. He knew imdiately that anything Wes considered a "gift" was anything but ordinary. This diary must hold sothing special.
Dumbledore didn't touch the diary directly. Instead, he carefully took out a uniquely shaped, 15-inch wand from the inner pocket of his robes.
It was the Elder Wand—one of the Deathly Hallows, and said to be the most powerful wand in existence.
He lightly touched the diary with the Elder Wand, murmuring an incantation. A mysterious spell took effect.
The diary slowly floated into the air, and with a flash of blue light, a human figure began to form out of the surrounding space.
It was a young man with jet-black hair. His eyes were deep and gleaming like black gems, sharp and piercing. He had a high nose bridge, tightly pressed thin lips, and a lean, handso face. He wore a Slytherin robe.
However, at this mont, his expression was grim. His eyes were filled with murderous intent, twisting his otherwise handso features into sothing sinister.
"You tricked !!" the boy shouted angrily at Wes.
Wes only shrugged and said nothing in return.
The boy's fury intensified under Wes's cold indifference, burning as though it would incinerate him on the spot.
"Long ti no see, Tom." Dumbledore's voice rang out, calm and firm, making the boy tremble all over.
A flash of surprise appeared in his eyes, quickly replaced by caution.
"Dumbledore!!" The boy—Tom, or rather, Voldemort—glared with a mixture of dread and hostility, a hint of fear even he didn't notice creeping into his expression.
Dumbledore looked at Voldemort's youthful face, and a wave of complicated emotion surged in his heart. He sighed. "I didn't expect you to have made a Horcrux even in your student days. If only I had guided you more carefully back then…"
"Spare the act, Dumbledore. You never liked from the beginning. You were always on guard against ."
Voldemort's furious roar echoed through the headmaster's office, his voice filled with rage and resentnt, as if it could rip the air apart.
While Dumbledore remained astonishingly composed in the face of such fury, the portraits on the walls couldn't stay silent. They burst into a cacophony of voices, angry and condemning.
"Stubborn fool!" bellowed one of the headmasters in a portrait.
"You're a disgrace to Hogwarts!!" another headmaster portrait roared.
"Destroy him quickly!" urged another one in haste.
"Oh, rlin's beard, committing murder at such a young age—unforgivable!" an elderly headmaster added to the growing chorus of outrage.
Faced with the furious rebukes of the headmasters, Voldemort rely raised his chin slightly, eyes defiant, with not a trace of remorse on his face.
"Silence, everyone."
Dumbledore had to put in considerable effort to calm the portraits down.
He then shut the diary, and Voldemort's image faded back into it as a streak of light. The atmosphere in the office settled once more.
"What do you think of the gift?" Wes asked with a hint of pride.
"It's incredible," Dumbledore praised. "Where did you find it? Voldemort hides his Horcruxes well—they're extrely important to him."
Wes recounted the incident at Flourish and Blotts.
"Lucius Malfoy," Dumbledore's face grew grave. "He was a Death Eater. It's entirely possible Voldemort entrusted a Horcrux to him. But why send it back to Hogwarts now?"
Dumbledore fell into thought, unable to decipher Lucius Malfoy's intentions.
"We could summon Mr. Malfoy and ask him directly," Wes suggested.
"Mr. Malfoy isn't exactly the honest type," Dumbledore said with so concern.
"I have a way—but I'll need your cooperation, Headmaster," Wes said confidently.
"No problem," Dumbledore agreed without hesitation.
"We'll need the diary again."
Dumbledore shrugged. "I had planned to destroy the Horcrux imdiately, but waiting a few more days won't hurt."
If this had been one of the Horcruxes Voldemort created at the peak of his power, Dumbledore would have destroyed it instantly. But the diary was made when Voldemort was just sixteen or seventeen. Even in his old age, Dumbledore was confident he could keep it safe.
They agreed to carry out the plan on the day of the Quidditch match. With everyone's attention on the ga, it would be the perfect cover.
And this year, Draco Malfoy had beco Slytherin's new Seeker. Dumbledore inviting Lucius to watch his son's debut match made perfect sense.
Back in his office, Dumbledore wrote the invitation with his elegant quill on fine parchnt. After blowing gently on the ink to dry it, he folded the letter and sealed it in a fine envelope.
He summoned an owl, which landed obediently on his arm.
"Off you go, my friend," he whispered. "Deliver this safely to Malfoy Manor."
The owl picked up the envelope and flew off through the window, heading toward the manor.
At Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy had been troubled of late. Since the beginning of the term, he'd been increasingly anxious about the diary. He hadn't heard a word about anything unusual happening at Hogwarts, and that left him uneasy.
He couldn't tell whether Wes had brought the diary back to the school, or if it simply didn't have the power Voldemort had claid it did.
His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, noticed his unease and asked with concern, "Dear, what's wrong? You've been so distracted since coming back from Diagon Alley. Did sothing go wrong with those items?"
She assud the trouble had sothing to do with fencing Dark artifacts.
Lucius forced a smile. "You know I had a run-in with that Weasley at the bookshop. He's been watching closely since then. Those items might draw unwanted attention."
Narcissa accepted his explanation.
At that mont, Dobby, the Malfoys' house-elf, timidly approached. His head was bowed low, avoiding eye contact. "Master… a letter… from Hogwarts…" he said in a trembling voice.
"Imbecile! Can't you see we're in the middle of a conversation?" Narcissa snapped.
Dobby shivered in fear.
Narcissa snatched the envelope from his hands and sprayed it with perfu before opening it.
"It's from Dumbledore—an invitation to watch the Quidditch match."
Lucius frowned. "He's never invited us before. Why now, so suddenly?"
But Narcissa was pleased. "It's Draco's first match as Seeker—I wouldn't miss it for anything. And it'll be good for you to get out and relax."
Lucius thought for a mont before agreeing. Deep down, he was planning:
[I need to confirm whether the diary really made it to Hogwarts… and why there's been no incident.]
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