— — — — — —
"Let's not jump to punishments just yet," Dumbledore replied with a calm smile. "You know how the school operates—we don't punish students unless there's clear proof they broke the rules. And I might've used a bit of… poetic license in my phrasing."
He leaned forward slightly, the weight in his voice shifting.
"Look, Tom Riddle's background checks out. He's not someone's puppet, not a secret pawn of You-Know-Who. He's just an exceptionally gifted student who also happens to work very hard."
"And besides—"
For a brief moment, sadness flickered across the old man's eyes.
"I've met someone like him before. A true prodigy. Never touched a wand until nearly adulthood, and in a short time, he had power great enough to shatter mountains. Eventually, he could even duel me."
Snape was riveted. But just when he thought Dumbledore might finally open up about the past, the Headmaster suddenly stopped and pulled the conversation back on track.
"Which is why we can't let Riddle's strength alone justify suspicion. As his professor—and as his Head of House—it's your job not to doubt or judge him prematurely, but to guide him. To support him. Do you understand, Severus?"
Dumbledore had learned his lesson the hard way.
After raising one of the most dangerous dark wizards in history, he'd been forced to reflect. Maybe, just maybe, part of that failure had been his own fault.
Back at Wool's Orphanage, Dumbledore had sensed something troubling in young Tom Riddle and, rather than address it properly, he'd kept the boy at arm's length. Cold, distant, always wary.
Later, when Riddle applied to stay at Hogwarts after graduation, it was Dumbledore who pushed then-Headmaster Armando Dippet to turn him down.
And so, Tom left to travel the world for twenty years—only to return as Lord Voldemort.
Dumbledore had always wondered, what if he'd been more patient? What if he'd treated Riddle with kindness instead of caution? Would things have turned out differently?
He didn't know the answer. But from then on, he made it his duty to be patient with every student—regardless of background, personality, or behavior.
Even during the height of the young Death Eaters' activity at Hogwarts, Dumbledore's only demand was that students follow the rules. What they did afterward, that was their choice. His conscience—and those of his fellow teachers—would be clear.
People forget the kind of weight being the headmaster of the only magical school in Britain carries.
So with Tom Riddle, Dumbledore had even less reason to be suspicious.
From start to finish, everything Tom had done was by the book. Even the library visits were to open sections. He just read… a lot.
And the stuff going on within Slytherin House? That was none of Dumbledore's business.
He wasn't blind—he could see that Tom's actions were about building a reputation and reducing future trouble. Maybe even consolidating power.
But so what?
What, are Hogwarts students all supposed to act like Gryffindors—reckless and carefree, with no ambitions whatsoever?
Even Gryffindors had their share of students dreaming of high-ranking positions in the Ministry.
The only scenario that would make Dumbledore step in… was if Tom started heading down the same path as the other Tom. But even then, that kind of transformation wouldn't happen during his school years.
So really, Snape coming here today was completely unnecessary.
He was just being overly cautious.
Dumbledore understood, though.
Anything that might even remotely relate to the Dark Lord was enough to put Snape on edge.
"…I get it."
After a long silence, Snape finally nodded, his expression stiff but thoughtful. Dumbledore's words had reached him.
Still, he couldn't help but grumble, "I've got a feeling that kid's going to be a real piece of work. We're only one month into the school year—who knows what chaos he'll cause in the next seven?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "Well then, let's wait and see. After all, a little chaos can be refreshing sometimes, don't you think?"
"Take Quirinus, for example. He's been far too quiet lately. I'm starting to wonder if I misjudged him entirely."
"He's definitely hiding something," Snape blurted out, suddenly remembering what had been his actual main concern this time. "I'm sure he's working for the Dark Lord. His target is that object you retrieved from Gringotts."
Dumbledore nodded slightly, acknowledging Snape's instincts.
"Quirinus has been avoiding me. He's clearly on guard. If I press too hard, I risk scaring him."
"That's why I need you to keep a close watch."
Dumbledore wasn't omniscient. Based on what he'd observed so far, he could only be sure that Quirinus Quirrell was working for Voldemort.
But no matter how he analyzed it, he never would have guessed that Voldemort would go so far as to personally possess Quirrell and walk right into danger himself.
"I understand," Snape said with his usual stoic expression, nodding slightly. "Technically speaking… we're colleagues now. I'll try to get him to let his guard down around me."
Snape didn't refuse the request.
But there was something else that bothered him. "You honestly think the defenses on the third-floor corridor are enough to stop him?"
"Of course not," Dumbledore said with a small shake of his head. "Quirinus is a capable wizard. He did well back in his Ravenclaw days. Shame he chose the wrong path."
He gave a faint smile and tapped a hand to his chest. "The real defense was never the obstacles—it's always been the heart."
Snape didn't even blink. He was long since immune to Dumbledore's cryptic musings.
"If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."
"Go on, but try to show a bit of kindness to young Riddle. He has a good heart. Just like you, Severus."
"..."
Once Snape exited the office, the room actually grew livelier.
The portraits of former headmasters who had been pretending to sleep all suddenly opened their eyes and started chiming in, one after another.
"Completely absurd. A first-year beat a seventh-year? And won?" muttered one headmaster with a massive beard, smacking his lips.
Another portrait, that of a hook-nosed elder, said, "Is it possible the past few years of Slytherin students were just... exceptionally stupid? That was seventh-year perfect after all."
"Don't be ridiculous. In school days, Slytherin always had the upper hand. If they were that dumb, what would that make the rest of our students?"
"What is it with the name Tom Riddle? Two of them, and both are monsters."
"It's creepy, honestly. Maybe we should tell our descendants to try giving that name to their kids—see what happens."
"Hahahahahaha!"
As the portraits laughed and speculated about the name Tom Riddle.
A gaunt-looking, mustached headmaster cackled arrogantly from his frame. "You lot are wasting your breath! Naming your kid 'Tom Riddle' won't turn him into some powerhouse."
"We're wizards, not scammers!"
"At the end of the day, it's just that Slytherin can always raise talent! Not like the other three baby houses."
That last line struck a nerve.
Several hot-headed portraits leapt from their own frames into his, immediately launching into a flurry of punches and kicks. For a moment, all that could be heard were pained yells and angry grunts.
No one stepped in to help the poor man. Why?
Because in the long history of Hogwarts, only one Slytherin ever became Headmaster—Phineas Nigellus Black.
And he also happened to be the most universally despised headmaster in the school's entire history.
Just how hated was he?
During his time in office, the four houses actually set aside their centuries-long rivalries to unite in opposition—solely to protest how he was running the school.
That's the kind of legendary annoyance we're talking about.
...
"Hmm...."
The commotion didn't faze Dumbledore in the slightest. He remained deep in thought.
There was a lot on his mind.
Quirrell. Voldemort. And of course… the young Tom Riddle.
Dumbledore wasn't planning to interfere with what Tom did—but as a professor, he did feel it was his duty to help guide students in the right direction.
He was starting to worry. Tom's way of handling things was extreme—calculated and ruthless. He never held back.
Dumbledore could see it.
That kind of temperament could lead to serious problems down the road.
But guiding someone like Tom was easier said than done. He wasn't like Harry—a naive, impulsive kid who could be inspired with a rousing speech.
Tom was a different breed entirely—mature beyond his years, molded by a hard life, and already set in his ways.
Trying to lecture him would only backfire.
So the method of guidance was crucial.
A headache. A real headache...
Dumbledore sighed and began to speculate where Voldemort might be hiding.
— — —
Meanwhile...
Tom had no idea that his respected Head of House had just gone to the headmaster behind his back to report on him—and that headmaster was now carefully considering how to deal with him.
Right now, Tom was facing a rather… unique dilemma.
Daphne: "Tom, let me take care of you. Money's not a problem—I'll spoil you rotten!"
"....."
.
.
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