"A Horcrux, a dark magical creation invented by Herpo the Foul. It splits the soul and binds it to an object. As long as the object remains intact, the soul persists, granting immortality," Melvin said bluntly, laying the shocking truth before the headmaster.
"You already knew?"
Dumbledore was momentarily taken aback by his directness.
"A Horcrux doesn't just hold a piece of the soul—it also carries the memories of its creator," Melvin continued, unhurried. "Tom Riddle's soul fragment contains his memories, including these unspeakable secrets."
"You mean to say you found a Horcrux and extracted these secrets from it?" Dumbledore's voice quickened slightly.
"Yes, a plain Muggle diary," Melvin nodded. "Tom Riddle likely made more than one Horcrux. I suspect this one was his first, holding memories from before he was sixteen."
"Sixteen… sixth year. Earlier than I expected," Dumbledore murmured.
Melvin paused, launching into a prepared explanation. "It all started with Ravenclaw's diadem. Last year, when I found it in the Room of Requirement, you seemed to take it very seriously. That got me curious about other Founders' relics, like the Hufflepuff cup and Slytherin's locket you mentioned. As it happens, I know someone who deals in rare artifacts…"
"Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley, where you worked after graduating," Dumbledore interjected.
Melvin took a sip of tea to wet his throat. "Back then, the shop was managed by Mr. Burke. Now it's Mr. Borgin. Through some business dealings, Borgin and I became close enough to talk. One day, the topic of Founders' relics came up.
"According to Borgin, his partner Burke once bought Slytherin's locket from a witch of the Gaunt family at a low price, then sold it for a fortune to another witch—Hepzibah Smith, a descendant of Hufflepuff and Hagrid's former mistress.
"Back then, the shop had another employee: Tom Riddle."
"What a…" Dumbledore sighed, "remarkable coincidence."
"This past summer, just after I returned from New York—right before term started—the Ministry was conducting a crackdown. I was meeting Borgin to discuss some business when we ran into Mr. Malfoy, who was there to offload some restricted items."
Melvin paused briefly. "Not all of those items were dark artifacts. There were oddities—smuggled flying carpets, protected creature hides, and among them, a diary."
"A diary?" Dumbledore echoed softly.
Melvin nodded. "A Muggle-made diary, the kind sold at newsstands, completely blank except for the name 'Tom Riddle' on the front page."
Dumbledore's blue eyes gleamed with interest, his tone tinged with surprise. "That diary is a Horcrux."
"Exactly. At the time, I didn't know about Horcruxes. I just found it suspicious. Why would a pure-blood like Mr. Malfoy have a Muggle diary? Why hide it among restricted items? What was Tom Riddle's connection to him? Why were the pages blank?"
Melvin paused, meeting the headmaster's gaze. "So I bought it."
Dumbledore listened intently. He'd suspected Melvin had a Horcrux, which was why he'd tested him earlier. Hearing confirmation now was a relief.
"After some study, I realized the diary, like a wizarding portrait, had its own consciousness and memories. It could communicate through writing, and its owner was a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle."
This was all true, and Melvin spoke with confidence, no trace of guilt.
Dumbledore's expression grew more serious.
"At first, I thought it was something like a wizarding portrait, so I cautiously engaged with it. It hadn't interacted with anyone in years and, to keep gleaning information from me, it posed as an ordinary wizard.
"I learned a lot about magic from Tom, especially dark magic. I'll admit, he was incredibly knowledgeable, and the two-way exchange was quite enjoyable."
Melvin glanced at the portraits on the wall. Headmasters Dippet and Black listened intently, staying silent in their frames, wary that Dumbledore might flip them over if they stirred.
"After months of interaction, I learned about the Chamber of Secrets and Horcruxes. That's when I realized he was the young Voldemort."
"…"
The portraits froze, confused. They'd been following a discussion about exchanging magical knowledge—how had it jumped to Horcruxes? What had they missed?
Dumbledore's eyes flickered, his expression thoughtful.
The story held together logically. The process of investigating Founders' relics and acquiring the Horcrux was plausible, but the details about their conversations were vague, full of obvious gaps. Clearly, Melvin was hiding something.
He could share details about Horcruxes and dark magic so openly, so why omit the specifics of their exchanges?
Dumbledore lowered his head, lost in thought. The silver instruments on his desk puffed out wisps of white mist, time slipping by in the swirling vapor.
Tom Riddle wouldn't write his deepest secrets in a diary, nor would he share them with a pen pal he'd known for mere months. If he'd leaked information about the Chamber, it could be a ploy to use Melvin to disrupt the school for his own ends. But under no circumstances would Voldemort reveal anything about Horcruxes.
Dumbledore had held the diadem for nearly two years and still hadn't uncovered any solid leads.
Was a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle really that easy to fool?
Dumbledore stole a glance at Headmaster Dippet's portrait, then at Melvin sipping his tea, his gaze deepening.
The young professor was clearly holding something back, but Dumbledore chose not to press further.
"Horcruxes are a critical clue and a key to defeating Voldemort," Dumbledore said carefully. "Melvin, I'd like to purchase that diary for further study."
"Shouldn't it be destroyed outright?" Melvin asked.
"I will, after I've studied it."
"Fair enough. The diary's in my office. I'll grab it for you later," Melvin agreed without much hesitation.
After all, it was just Tom Riddle's memories up to age sixteen. He'd squeezed out all the value it had, and passing it to the headmaster was a way to recycle it.
His quick agreement caught Dumbledore off guard. "If the price isn't right, I can compensate you in other ways."
"You sound like Father Christmas," Melvin teased, then shifted to a more serious tone. "I'm a Hogwarts professor now. Helping you deal with Voldemort and keep the students safe is my duty. I trust that if I need your help in the future, you'll do the same for me."
He was thinking of a promise he'd made in Budapest during the summer, to the remnants of the purist faction, about freeing that person from Nurmengard. He could manage it alone, but all things considered, having the headmaster handle it would be safer.
That, however, was a matter for two years from now.
Dumbledore studied the young professor's face, sensing deeper meaning in his words—like a trap already set. Still, he nodded. "Thank you, Melvin."
"If you're destroying the Horcrux, let me watch," Melvin added casually.
Dumbledore chuckled. "Of course."
…
Dinner time, the Great Hall, staff table.
The four house heads sat on either side, with Dumbledore at the center, absently eating while his gaze lingered on an old diary placed beside him.
Professor McGonagall was fretting. "For the first time in fifty years, so many students injured on school grounds. A dozen parents have written asking questions. If it weren't for Hogwarts' reputation, we'd be drowning in Howlers."
"Now, now, Minerva…"
"No one could've predicted this," Professors Flitwick and Sprout chimed in, trying to console her.
Melvin felt a twinge of guilt toward McGonagall. Parents were manageable; the Board of Governors was the real headache. Those pure-blood wizards were always itching to meddle in school affairs, and this incident would likely give them an excuse to make trouble.
It wouldn't amount to much, but it was annoying.
Melvin cleared his throat. "If you ask me, this incident had human factors at play. It's all Professor Lockhart's fault. He tricked the drama club into entering the Chamber, putting dozens of students in danger."
"Absolutely, absolutely!" Sprout nodded vigorously.
Flitwick found it odd but nodded along.
"Several students can testify, and Lockhart's true colors will be exposed," Melvin said quietly. "I happen to know an editor at a publishing house. We can get the truth printed, so parents and the Board know who the real culprit is."
Sprout and Flitwick perked up, nodding eagerly. Lockhart was truly deplorable!
"Speaking of Lockhart, how is he?" Melvin asked.
"He's awake, but not in good shape," McGonagall said, her brows still furrowed. "Headmistress Derwent checked on him at St. Mungo's before dinner. The healers say Lockhart already had memory issues, and after his own Obliviation spell backfired, his mind's been completely scrambled. He doesn't even know who he is."
Dilys Derwent, a former headmistress, had a portrait in the headmaster's office and another at St. Mungo's, where she'd also served as director. She could shuttle between the two faster than the Floo Network.
The professors' expressions grew complicated. "That's…"
"It's no excuse to escape justice," Melvin said firmly. "I'll contact my friend at the paper to report this. The Ministry will press charges once he's discharged."
McGonagall gave a slight nod. "One last thing—the basilisk in the Chamber needs to be dealt with."
"Leave that to me," Melvin said solemnly, embodying the responsibility of a Muggle Studies professor.