"Severus, how did the investigation go?"
Professor Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, The Daily Prophet spread open on his desk, its front-page headline a report by Rita Skeeter titled, "Massive Diarrhea Outbreak at Hogwarts Quidditch Match, Whose Fault Is It?"
Thinking of the Ministry of Magic investigators he had just sent away, Dumbledore looked slightly weary.
It had been exactly two days since the only mass diarrhea incident on the Quidditch Pitch in Hogwarts' history.
He, Dumbledore, had lived for so long and never witnessed such a deranged scene.
Recalling the past two days, the scene of him leading all the teachers and some older students in the Castle, cleaning up the yellowish-brown mess, he felt that the phrase 'cleaned anew' had been used more in these two days than in his hundred years of life. He didn't know if it was psychological, but he felt a faint, strange odor still emanating from within the Castle.
Moreover, many toilets in the washrooms were still clogged. Imagining himself, Dumbledore, standing before a toilet, clearing the pipes with magic under Grindelwald's gaze, even with his composure, he couldn't help but shiver.
Such a scene was truly terrifying. Such a grand task should be left to Filch and the students.
Snape, standing before Dumbledore, seemed to have thought of these things as well. For once, his thoughts aligned with Dumbledore's, and his already gloomy expression grew even more unsightly.
"I haven't found anything. It's as if it was truly just caused by an upset stomach."
Dumbledore frowned slightly, clearly not satisfied with Snape's answer: "Then, Severus, what do you make of this?"
"If someone truly administered a potion, and managed to do so without a trace, and it couldn't be detected afterwards, I think only one person in all of Hogwarts is most likely, it's just…"
Snape hesitated, recalling the day Tom ran over and fought him for the toilet, striking him back, and then dropping his pants and having diarrhea right in front of him. He had to admit, it was truly an eyesore, and even now, just thinking about it, he felt a faint sense of nausea.
So, even if this Dark Lord had the ability, what was the motive? Surely it wasn't to win the Quidditch match.
If he were to say that reason, would Dumbledore believe it? He might even laugh and think he was overthinking things.
Moreover, the Dark Lord administering a potion, then falling victim to it himself, and having diarrhea with them—is that something a normal person would do?
"That's what I can't figure out either."
When Snape told Dumbledore his doubts, Dumbledore rubbed his brow wearily, feeling that ever since he became Principal, he had never felt so mentally exhausted as in these past two years.
"So, Professor Dumbledore, why did you send for me this time?"
Tom was still invited to the Headmaster's Office for tea by Dumbledore.
"Tom, was what happened on the Quidditch Pitch a few days ago your doing?!"
Accustomed to Tom's direct style, Dumbledore didn't beat around the bush, asking Tom directly. Although it was a question, his tone was full of certainty.
"Of course not, Professor. Do you have any evidence? Without evidence, be careful, I'll sue you for defamation." Tom quickly denied it, "Besides, I'm the victim! I haven't even asked for compensation yet!"
"Is it that you, Professor, embezzled our food funds, leading to the cafeteria using inferior ingredients, which caused this accident?"
"Tom, I would never embezzle your food funds!"
Dumbledore didn't realize that his image in Tom's eyes was actually like this.
Moreover, Tom's denial could not make Dumbledore believe him. His intuition told him that this matter was absolutely connected to Tom.
"This matter was absolutely not done by me, Tom Riddle! I can take a magic oath!"
Hearing Tom's confident assurance, even daring to take a magic oath, made Dumbledore suddenly become uncertain and surprised. Could it be that Tom really didn't do this? After all, he was only guessing and had no substantial evidence.
Ultimately, their negotiation was destined to be fruitless.
Just as Tom was about to get up and leave, Dumbledore abruptly asked Tom, "Tom, if it were you, how many Horcruxes would you create?"
Oh, Dumbledore would actually actively discuss the issue of Horcruxes with him. Tom had thought Dumbledore wouldn't bring it up until he graduated.
However, when this question came up, Tom immediately became energetic.
"Professor, don't you think the number 7 has a lot of magic?"
Dumbledore, who had originally intended to test Tom, had expected Tom to use his usual tactic of laughing it off and evading the question, but he hadn't expected Tom to actually answer him directly.
However, when Dumbledore heard Tom's answer, his heart involuntarily skipped a beat.
Seven. This greatly exceeded his expectations.
And Tom probably guessed Dumbledore's feelings upon hearing this answer, and felt even more joyful, deciding to add more fuel to the fire for Dumbledore.
"So, Professor, would you like to know where I would hide a Horcrux if it were me?"
Dumbledore looked at Tom's eager expression and couldn't help but feel a jolt, not even knowing how to speak.
Actively revealing Horcrux locations—was Tom crazy, or was he crazy?
Tom, however, didn't care what Dumbledore thought and continued speaking to himself: "If it were me, I'd probably transform some commemorative locations into suspected Horcrux storage sites, then casually bury the real Horcrux in the Sahara Desert, casually toss one into the Mariana Trench, throw one somewhere in the Himalayas, of course, the Amazon rainforest and the African savanna are also good choices, or choose the Mongolian secret burial method, or even fly out of the solar system with the Voyager probe. This way, the seven Horcruxes would be perfectly distributed. What do you think of my genius idea?"
As Dumbledore listened to Tom's narration, with each method mentioned, he felt a trickle of cold sweat. By the time Tom finished speaking, he even felt his hands begin to tremble uncontrollably.
Is this something a human could think of? Do you have to play like this? If you used such methods to hide Horcruxes, let alone him, even Merlin wouldn't be able to find them.
Dumbledore couldn't possibly determine the truthfulness of Tom's words, nor did he dare to bet that Tom was joking to deceive him.
Dumbledore, who had always been composed and in control, uncharacteristically began to feel suspicious, and seeing him in this state, Tom smiled even more brightly, even boldly patting Professor Dumbledore's shoulder.
"Keep it up, Professor Dumbledore, I wish you an early collection."
However, while Dumbledore's entire focus was on Tom's recent words, he completely failed to notice that Tom had silently slipped a fallen strand of hair from his shoulder into his palm.
And when Tom left the Headmaster's Office, Dumbledore could no longer maintain his composure, and he gulped down a large swig of mead, trying to calm himself down.
That night, Dumbledore was destined to have a restless sleep.