Chapter 122
Chapter 122
A short while later, in the headmaster’s office.
A chest secured with layer upon layer of locks rested quietly on the desk. Dumbledore tapped the tabletop gently, his gaze fixed on the chest as though he could see what lay inside.
“I have a question for you, Mr Bones,” he said softly.
“How did you know that the object inside was connected to the Chamber of Secrets?”
“I…” Suer pretended to lower his head and hesitate for a long moment. “I saw it, Professor.”
“Oh?” Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in mild surprise, though his expression remained calm and composed.
For a time, the only sound in the office was the soft whirring of the revolving silver instruments. Suer’s lips moved. “I saw a monster too… Professor…”
“It came from the Chamber…” A trace of fear entered Suer’s voice. “A snake. An enormous snake, crawling through the pipes…”
Dumbledore stopped tapping, his brow furrowing slightly.
After a long moment, he spoke.
“I understand, Mr Bones.” He raised his head and looked at Suer. “I will need some time to investigate. Until then, could you please refrain from telling anyone else about this?”
“Yes, Professor.” Suer met those bright blue eyes.
“You chose to tell me instead of facing the danger alone. That was a very wise decision. Thirty points to Hufflepuff.”
“If you ‘see’ anything else, you may come to me at any time. The gargoyle outside will let you in.”
“It is getting late. Young wizards need plenty of sleep, and this old man also needs a proper rest after a busy day.”
Suer understood the meaning behind Dumbledore’s words and nodded obediently.
“Goodbye, Professor.”
After Suer’s retreating figure vanished around the corner and the stone gargoyle’s rumbling faded away, the portraits behind Dumbledore burst into clamorous chatter.
So they had all been pretending to sleep.
“He lied!” an old man in one of the many portraits shouted. “For all we know, he may have opened the Chamber himself!”
“Do not leap to such an arbitrary conclusion, Phineas. You have no evidence whatsoever,” said another portrait, this one containing a kindly old woman. “We Hufflepuffs have always been honest.”
Rather than argue with the old woman, the old man named Phineas turned to Dumbledore.
“Why did you not seize him just now…? He was clearly hiding something. You should have used that Legilimency you are so skilled at…”
“You are the one who ought to be seized and burnt to ashes!” the old woman retorted relentlessly.
Dumbledore contemplated the chest for a long time before responding softly, interrupting the squabbling portraits.
“I trust my student, Phineas, and I trust the descendant of my most loyal friend.”
“Everyone has secrets of their own. We cannot insist on investigating every last one, nor is there any need to do so.” Dumbledore drew his wand. “Now, let us have a look…”
The Elder Wand tapped gently against the chest.
The little brass locks opened one after another with a series of clicks, and the chest opened by itself.
One layer, two layers, three…
When Dumbledore saw the full eight layers of boxes inside, followed by the rectangular object wrapped in cloth and bound with rope at the very centre, he could not help laughing.
Another gentle flick of his wand sent the rope slithering apart like snakes, revealing the soaking-wet diary.
Dumbledore closed his eyes, his wand tracing a subtle path in his hand.
The next moment, he opened his eyes and stared at the diary.
“Are you still not coming out?” Dumbledore asked softly. His voice brimmed with coldness and anger. At once, the portraits fell silent and turned in unison towards the diary on the desk. Even the phoenix stopped preening his feathers.
“Tom… or should I call you Voldemort?”
The room suddenly fell silent. The old men and women in the portraits all looked terrified and shrank back as one.
The diary abruptly stirred in the still air, its blank pages riffling as a translucent figure emerged with a quiet laugh.
“It has been a long time…”
“Dumbledore, my… dear professor…”
“Oh, I nearly forgot.” Tom Riddle looked calmly towards the portraits on the wall behind Dumbledore. “Headmaster Dippet, a student who graduated many years ago offers you his sincerest greetings.”
With that, Tom Riddle bent slightly at the waist before one of the portraits, every movement elegant, though a mocking smile hung at the corner of his mouth.
“Silence! I have no student such as you!” an old man with a white beard roared, bristling with fury.
“Heh…” Riddle gave a quiet laugh and turned to Dumbledore without another word.
“You are the same as ever, Tom,” Dumbledore said. “Just as arrogant and confident as before.”
“You flatter me, Professor.” Riddle actually looked rather pleased. “It is all thanks to your excellent teaching.”
“Do you think I would not dare to act against you?”
“Of course you would. Of course you dare.” Riddle shook his head, his tone gentle yet full of mockery. “And of course you possess the power. I have never doubted that — whether it is the present me, the past me, or the me who is now hiding in some unknown corner.”
“I do not know how I fell into your hands, but that is unimportant. If you wish to act, then do so. It is simple, is it not? A single casting of the Killing Curse would be enough to kill me.”
“The world knows only that you are the greatest champion of the light, but I know, Professor, that you are no less accomplished in the Dark Arts.”
Dumbledore raised his wand. Light gleamed at its tip, and no one could doubt the world-shattering power contained within it.
A mocking smile still curved Tom Riddle’s lips as he met Dumbledore’s gaze without a trace of fear.
In the end, however, Dumbledore lowered his wand and exhaled softly. The reason was simple: the Tom Riddle before him was far too confident, utterly convinced that Dumbledore would not dare to act.
One thing was certain. Riddle possessed some form of leverage unknown to him.
“Heh…” Riddle took in Dumbledore’s every movement and gave a derisive laugh. “You are still the same as before, wary of this and hesitant over that.”
Dumbledore briefly closed his eyes, then swept his wand. A chain formed of magic shot from its tip and wrapped tightly around the translucent Tom before slamming him downwards.
Tom Riddle’s soul was dragged straight back into the diary. Its pages riffled wildly, and as the final page fell shut, the chain appeared once more and bound the diary securely before vanishing.
Only a faint, mocking laugh remained in the air.
“Kill him, Dumbledore!” the old man in the portrait began clamouring again. “Use your Elder Wand and kill him. Everything will return to the way it was…”
Dumbledore ignored him. He raised a hand and rubbed between his brows, apparently deep in thought, before looking towards the perch near his desk.
“Take me somewhere, Fawkes.”
The phoenix trilled softly, spread his wings and landed lightly on Dumbledore’s shoulder.
There was a flash of fire, and the man, the diary and the phoenix vanished.