The living men in the office remained silent.
Snape stood at the door, arms crossed, his expression dark, as though he had come simply to enjoy the spectacle.
Other than Phineas, the other headmasters in the portraits were no less displeased with Tom.
A student attacking a professor? How could such a thing be tolerated?
This wasn't just a troublesome student anymore—it was a problem demanding a heavy hand.
If today he dared strike a professor, what was to stop him from challenging the Headmaster tomorrow?
Still, the others weren't as brash as Phineas. Dead headmasters were meant to offer counsel to the living, not make decisions for them.
"A corpse barking orders… Phineas, why don't you come out and take the Headmaster's seat again yourself?"
"You—you dare mock me?!" Phineas roared, his painted eyes bulging in outrage.
"Not only dare I mock you," Tom sneered, raising his wand, "I'll shut you up as well. Levicorpus."
The frame of Phineas's portrait flipped upside down, the entire painted scene inverted.
"Hey! What have you done to my home? Put it back—"
A heavy curtain fell across the frame, smothering Phineas's shrill protests into silence.
In another portrait, Armando Dippet rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Levicorpus used like this? Hm. When I get out, I must ask Riddle about it. It was my spell, yet this boy uses it more deftly than I ever did…
Snape, meanwhile, wasn't remotely worried that Dumbledore would expel Tom as Phineas had claimed. For the sake of one incompetent fool, would he really cast out a boy with such staggering potential? Only an idiot like Phineas would think so.
"Ah…"
Dumbledore sighed deeply. "Mr. Riddle, your temper… it is far too volatile."
"Professor," Tom replied with a small smile, "I think you should be thanking me."
"Thanking you?" Dumbledore blinked.
From Tom's pocket, Usagi wriggled free. Stroking its scaled head, Tom spoke softly:
"Lockhart tried to insult Usagi with gold. If I hadn't stopped him, he'd already be a smear of flesh on the floor. Tell me, Professor—which is more serious? A professor beaten bloody, or a professor killed outright?"
Dumbledore gave a bitter smile.
He couldn't call that mere sophistry. The logic was… uncomfortably sound.
Phoenixes were proud creatures. If anyone had ever dared offer Galleons to buy Fawkes, the bird would have burned the offender to ash in an instant. It was only Dumbledore's reputation that kept such thoughts unspoken.
But Usagi was stronger than Fawkes—stronger, prouder, and far less forgiving.
Tom's only weakness was his youth. Too many still thought him easy prey.
"I cannot deny that," Snape drawled suddenly, his tone silky but sharp. "Dumbledore, you truly ought to thank Riddle. If he hadn't intervened, Lockhart would be a corpse by now, killed by a student's beast. And you, the Headmaster who hired him, would be nailed beside him on the pillar of shame."
"But he is still a professor…" Dumbledore murmured with a weary grimace. Inviting Snape here had been a mistake—he had only sharpened Tom's blade further.
"Headmaster Dumbledore!"
Tom's voice cut sharply across the room, bold enough to make even Snape blink in surprise.
Riddle… do you truly see him as some kindly old fool you can speak to this way?
"I want to ask one question," Tom said, eyes locked on Dumbledore's. His gaze was keen, even challenging. "What is the duty of a professor?"
Dumbledore paused in thought. At last, he answered softly, "To help students become better people… and better wizards."
"I very much agree."
Tom nodded earnestly. "Take Professor McGonagall, for example. She may be Head of Gryffindor, but she treats every student with genuine care. Her mastery of Transfiguration is second only to yours, Professor. In all of Britain, no other witch or wizard surpasses her in that art."
Dumbledore's lips curved into an involuntary smile. Tom's words were sincere, and his recognition of McGonagall warmed him.
"And at the very least," Tom went on, "a professor should be like Professor Snape."
Snape stiffened, eyes widening.
What the—?
I came here to shield you, boy! I spoke up in your defense, and now you're using me as a cautionary example?
In this moment, Snape swore that if the Killing Curse were cast at Tom, he'd unleash the strongest Avada Kedavra of his life.
Feigning ignorance of Snape's glare, Tom continued smoothly: "Yes, Professor Snape's manner may be… less than pleasant. But at the very least, he fulfills the fundamental duty of transmitting knowledge. He teaches, and he teaches competently."
"Now, what about the man you hired—Lockhart?"
Tom's lip curled into a cold sneer.
"Even I can see it. He's nothing but a fool spouting lies. Not a word of truth in his books. Merlin only knows from whom he stole those stories."
"I do not believe that the greatest wizard of our century cannot see through his charade."
"Tom," Dumbledore's tone deepened, "sometimes the lessons you must learn from a professor are not limited to the spells they teach. More important than their instruction is what you take away for yourself—lessons, warnings, reminders."
"So," Tom pressed forward, planting both hands firmly on the desk, voice low but biting, "you intend to waste an entire school year, just so the only thing students gain is the lesson to value honesty—and the chance to see through one fraud?"
His eyes narrowed, his words like knives.
"Headmaster, even if you are Headmaster, are the thoughts of students to be dismissed so easily?"
Dumbledore's lips pressed tight. He fell into silence.
Snape stared, utterly dumbfounded, his wand sliding unconsciously into his hand.
One thought filled his mind, pounding like thunder.
Brave.
So bloody brave!