After hearing the conversation, the trio soon saw the scene unfold in the enchanted mirror.
A group of professors sat in an environment resembling the Great Hall's side chamber, though the furnishings differed slightly. A sparkling crystal chandelier cast flickering candlelight, and gold, silver, and bronze objects gleamed with metallic sheen. At the center was a round table, surrounded by adult wizards dressed as professors.
Harry glanced at the figure in the main seat. It wasn't the silver-bearded Dumbledore but a gaunt, withered old wizard, his bald head sporting only a few white strands, dressed in outdated black robes. His voice was feeble, frail with age.
Having visited the headmaster's office a few times, Harry recognized him from the portraits of past headmasters. Though the paintings were less clear and slightly idealized, the distinctive features stood out.
"It's Headmaster Armando Dippet!" Harry exclaimed.
"Hogwarts' former headmaster, well-regarded during his tenure. Died of dragon pox in 1971 at 334," Hermione recited from school history, her gaze shifting. "And next to him… that's a young Dumbledore!"
Harry and Ron followed her gaze to the wizard beside the main seat. Tall and lean, his auburn beard and hair not yet fully white, with a hooked nose and half-moon glasses framing those iconic, gentle blue eyes.
The meeting in the mirror continued, now with voices matched to faces.
"Young Professor McGonagall, Flitwick, Kettleburn… they're discussing a dangerous magical creature. What's this got to do with Hagrid?" Harry wondered.
The trio huddled before the mirror, unwilling to miss a single detail.
"Headmaster Dippet, the truth isn't as simple as we thought. Tom Riddle, he…" Young Dumbledore paused, his blue eyes showing a complex, unreadable emotion. "We all know that girl didn't die from an Acromantula's fangs."
"I've said it before," Dippet sighed, his voice weak. "We believe Rubeus isn't the culprit, but Tom caught him with the Acromantula. That's undeniable.
"We can't prove the Acromantula was the killer, nor can we prove it had nothing to do with Myrtle's death. Her parents are coming tomorrow, along with Aurors. We need to give them an explanation."
Dumbledore frowned, about to speak, but Dippet waved him off. "He's still a child. He won't be sent to Azkaban like a criminal. For breaking school rules, the punishment is expulsion. For illegally raising a dangerous creature, the Ministry snaps his wand."
Dumbledore looked at the frail headmaster, his eyes darkening.
The mirror's silver mist swirled, swallowing the scene. When it reformed, it showed only a blurry instructional video.
Hermione glanced at the stunned boys, fiddling with the mirror—shaking and tapping it. After several tries, it stayed stuck on the video. She shook her head. "It won't go back. I can't find that memory."
The trio exchanged looks, sitting to process the information.
"From the conversation, something happened when Hagrid was a student. Myrtle died without any wounds. During the investigation, a student named Tom Riddle caught Hagrid raising an Acromantula," Hermione said softly, frowning. "So Hagrid was expelled, and his wand was snapped."
"No wonder Hagrid hides his wand in that pink umbrella…" Ron muttered, a secret they'd long known.
They'd never understood why. Those in the know were tight-lipped, and Hagrid would loudly cough or play dumb whenever it came up, dodging until the topic changed.
"It was Dumbledore!" Harry added. "Dumbledore knew Hagrid was innocent, so he helped him avoid worse punishment, fixed his wand, and hired him as groundskeeper."
"I think…" Hermione murmured, "when we sent Norbert away last year, Professor Lewent hinted at this."
Harry and Ron fell into thought. The corner by the Black Lake grew quiet, save for the sound of wind rippling the water.
The事件 wasn't complex. The mirror provided enough clues, and piecing it together explained much of Hagrid's and the professors' past behavior.
"Hagrid's definitely innocent!" Harry declared firmly. "We need to clear his name!"
Hermione gave him a sidelong glance, unbothered by his bold resolve. She wanted to try too.
"Maybe…" Ron raised a hesitant hand, lacking confidence. "Dippet said Hagrid wasn't the killer, but the Acromantula might've been. What if it acted without Hagrid knowing?"
As the two pondered, Ron continued, "Aren't you curious about the mirror's glitch? Why did a teaching video suddenly show a decades-old professor meeting? Was it random or planned?"
Harry hesitated, unsure.
Hermione made the call. "We can hold off on that question and ask Professor Lewent later. For now, let's find Hagrid and ask if the Acromantula really killed Myrtle."
They scrambled up, stuffed the mirror into a bag, brushed off their clothes, and ran toward Hagrid's hut.
---
Dinner time, Great Hall, staff table.
Most professors attended, with Dumbledore at the head, leisurely cutting a fried pork chop. The others chatted cheerfully about recent events.
"I heard you're starting a drama club, Melvin. That's wonderful!" Kettleburn's hearty laugh echoed through half the hall. "A misunderstanding years ago gave people a bad impression of me. They think I burned down the drama club. I've carried that stigma for decades. To see it revived before I retire is thrilling!"
"Misunderstanding?" Snape said dryly. "Wasn't it true?"
Kettleburn sipped his whiskey, shaking his head. "I must clarify. During the pantomime The Fountain of Fair Fortune, I used an Ashwinder as a prop. The fire started because it was in its egg-laying phase. The two lead actresses got into a scuffle, Professor Beery was caught in the chaos, and the startled Ashwinder's eggs ignited the floor."
"It burned half the hall," McGonagall corrected.
"Fine, half the hall!" Kettleburn grumbled. "It was a series of coincidences. The drama club's collapse wasn't my fault."
His feeble defense followed—how using an Ashwinder was well-intentioned, how the actresses spooked it. The table's mood stayed lively.
Dumbledore glanced at the Gryffindor table, spotting the trio staring at the staff since dinner began, and chuckled.
He turned to the young professor eating nearby. "Melvin, I'm curious. Why entrust the drama club to two… less-than-ideal students?"
"Few are born skilled at something. I don't need results—I need the process. As they work toward a goal, the journey's rewards are often greater."
Melvin swallowed a bite of sausage. "Marietta and Neville both feel stifled, weighed down by parental expectations without proper guidance. That pressure dulls their spark. I'm trying to channel it."
"Storms nurture flowers more than clear skies," Dumbledore said pointedly, then shifted topics. "Melvin, I heard you asked Flitwick and others for memories of Hagrid's case. My mind isn't yet clogged with honey—I have some useful things too…"
Melvin gave him a suspicious glance, wondering if the headmaster had gleaned something from the diadem, but Dumbledore's kindly smile revealed nothing.
After a pause, Melvin nodded. "I'll make good use of those memories."
---
At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione ate slowly, discussing what they'd learned at Hagrid's hut.
"Is Hagrid's claim that Aragog's a good boy believable?" Ron asked, frowning skeptically.
Harry thought for a moment, nodding slowly. "Probably. We poured all his whiskey into him. He was so drunk he could barely stand. No way he could lie."
That afternoon at the hut, Hagrid dodged questions as usual, trying to change the subject. But Hermione, quick-witted, spiked his stew with whiskey when he wasn't looking, getting him sloshed.
They got their answers.
"What if the Acromantula killed without Hagrid knowing?" Ron pressed.
"…"
As the two debated, the professors finished eating and began leaving.
Hermione stood quickly, dragging the boys up. "We'll figure that out later. Let's ask Professor Lewent about the mirror."
They wove through the tables, darted out of the hall, and caught him at the staircase.
"Professor Lewent! Professor!"
Melvin stopped, waiting as they jogged up. "Tutoring's on weekends, isn't it? Can't wait?"
"It's not about tutoring," Hermione said, catching her breath. "This afternoon, we saw a strange scene in the mirror—nothing like the teaching video. We couldn't get it back. Is it a hidden Easter egg?"
It's a clue for the detective game, the opening act for the drama club, Melvin thought, but said, "Strange scene? What exactly?"
Hermione recounted the details, with Harry and Ron chiming in, nearly reciting the entire conversation. "It was a meeting with a young Dumbledore, right after Myrtle's attack. Hagrid was caught raising an Acromantula by a student… and the punishment was expulsion and a snapped wand."
Melvin feigned deep thought, then said gravely, "Hogwarts is full of mysteries, but this anomaly might have a Muggle scientific explanation."
The trio blinked.
"The mirror's glitch could be tied to its upgrade. New mirrors have signal-receiving functions, like radios or televisions."
Melvin explained earnestly, "Harry and Hermione would understand—sometimes devices pick up unexpected channels. Some even catch distress signals from ships across the Atlantic months later. This might be the mirror picking up another memory."
"I get it too!" Ron raised his hand cheerfully, his sleeping rat flipping in his pocket. "We have a radio at home. Mum listens to Celestina. When George, Fred, or Dad mess with it, we get Muggle stations."
Hermione and Harry, initially skeptical, found Ron's comment reasonable.
Wizarding things weren't ordinary—oddities were normal.
Seeing the professor's mysterious expression, Hermione pressed, "If we want to investigate and clear Hagrid's name, how do we see more scenes?"
"The mirror's glitch is random. I don't know how to trigger it," Melvin said, frowning. "Also, this is a tough case. Even Dumbledore couldn't prove Hagrid's innocence back then. There may be no direct evidence in the castle."
"We want to try!" they said firmly.
"Then good luck."
As Professor Lewent's figure climbed the stairs, the trio stood, feeling overwhelmed. They'd heard a lot, but none of it seemed to help solve the mystery.
---
Late at night, Muggle Studies office.
The window was half-open, a cool breeze drifting in, rustling parchment. The open ink bottle gave off a faint scent, and ink shimmered on the open journal.
Melvin and his pen pal were in a trust crisis:
"Tom, while researching the Chamber of Secrets, I found something. It was opened fifty years ago, and the student who exposed Hagrid's dangerous creature was you, Tom Riddle."
"Yes, and I earned a Special Award for Services to the School."
Melvin paused, seeming hesitant: "But you opened the Chamber, didn't you?"
The journal stayed silent for a long time: "How did you figure it out?"
"Hagrid's brain is no better than a troll's. A few bottles of whiskey, and he spilled everything…" Melvin tried to sound cold and dark-magic-tainted. "Compared to Rubeus Hagrid, you—a brilliant Slytherin graduate, skilled in dark magic and familiar with the Chamber—are far more likely to be Slytherin's heir."
No new ink appeared. Riddle was thinking.
Melvin pressed on: "Now, tell me what's in the Chamber and how to open it."
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