Chapter 31: The Headmaster's Office
It had to be said that the layout of the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts was somewhat cluttered—though this seemed a common trait in wizarding dwellings. Wizards, unlike Muggles, could summon any misplaced item with a flick of their wand, eliminating the need for meticulous organization. Solim felt he had discovered the root cause of the general wizarding disarray.
Following Snape up the spiraling staircase and through the gleaming oak door, Solim finally saw the fabled office. It was a spacious, circular room, filled with curious, soft whirring and clicking sounds. A number of strange silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, puffing out small clouds of smoke as they spun. The walls were covered with portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were feigning sleep, though Solim caught the occasional furtive glance from beneath painted eyelids.
A massive, claw-footed desk dominated the room. On a high shelf against the wall sat the school's Sorting Hat, looking much cleaner than when he had last seen it. Beside it, encased in glass, was the Sword of Gryffindor. Opposite the case stood a black cabinet which Solim knew contained a Pensieve. Behind the desk, on a tall, gilded perch, rested Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes.
Solim took his time, his head turning as he catalogued the room's furnishings and artifacts. Dumbledore, meanwhile, sat behind his desk, observing Solim over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. Snape, having entered, had positioned himself against a wall, seeming to wish he could merge with the stone.
After his initial survey, Solim finally fixed his gaze on Dumbledore—deliberately avoiding direct eye contact. Staring into the eyes of a master Legilimens was akin to stripping one's own mind bare in the middle of the street.
Seeing Solim's attention settle on him, Dumbledore spoke. "I imagine you must be wondering why I asked your Head of House to bring you to me at such a late hour."
Solim shook his head. "To be honest, Headmaster, I'm not wondering at all. I knew you would summon me eventually. I expected it after the Halloween incident, to be precise. I was surprised you waited this long."
He had assumed Dumbledore would want to speak to him immediately after the troll event. Perhaps the Headmaster had been too busy, or perhaps he believed Solim needed more observation. Regardless, the meeting had been delayed until now.
"Oh? Then, perhaps you would care to speculate on why I have called for you now," Dumbledore asked, a spark of interest in his voice.
In Solim's peripheral vision, the light glinted off Dumbledore's spectacles, obscuring the old wizard's eyes.
"Filch, Halloween, Potter, or the Philosopher's Stone?" Solim shrugged. "Or all of the above? Or perhaps you are simply interested in me as a person?"
You'd better not be too interested, Solim thought privately. While I've no interest in the little girls here who've yet to grow up, my preferences are still quite normal.
"You mention the Philosopher's Stone. Can you tell me how you came by that knowledge?" Dumbledore's expression remained unreadable.
Honestly, did you think I wouldn't know there's a Philosopher's Stone in the school?
"Headmaster, let's dispense with the circumspection. It's late. Let us be direct, so Professor Snape and I can return to our beds." Solim had no desire to engage in verbal chess with someone like Dumbledore; it cost too many brain cells.
"Young man, you are indeed impatient. It is rather ill-mannered to summon you to converse with a tiresome old man so late."
"Headmaster, I bear no ill will towards Potter. I have no designs on the Philosopher's Stone. As for Filch, I assume our Head of House has already informed you of the Halloween events, which you evidently chose not to act upon." Solim paused, then delivered his conclusion. "So, you simply wished to see for yourself, Headmaster. To ascertain if I will be a disruptive variable in your plans, and then decide how to manage me. Am I correct?"
Dumbledore lowered his head slightly, peering directly over his glasses, his gaze firm and penetrating.
"It seems life at Scuol does force one to mature," Dumbledore remarked, seemingly off-hand.
But Solim understood the subtext. Compared to Scuol's students, most of Hogwarts' pupils were like carefree children, squandering their time and potential. Few possessed the self-discipline to push themselves and absorb knowledge with desperate hunger. It wasn't necessarily a fault; the two institutions had fundamentally different goals. Hogwarts taught one how to be a witch or wizard. Scuol taught one how to fight, and how to kill.
"But, Solim," Dumbledore continued, "can you share your thoughts on the Philosopher's Stone?"
Here it was: the test. Solim knew Dumbledore would not be so easily convinced. A wizard of his caliber didn't need to detect lies in the conventional sense. Fortunately, Solim's thoughts on the Stone were genuine, so the truth would suffice.
"I have no interest in the Philosopher's Stone. I am not Harry Potter, nor am I an ordinary wizard. I know more than they do. I know what is within my reach and what is not. So, there is no need to test me with it, Headmaster." Though an illegitimate son, Solim was under Elrond's patronage; his access to knowledge was not so different from that of a true heir.
"Besides," Solim added, "the Stone you have here can't be a complete one, can it? It's likely the kind that will crumble after one or two uses."
"Oh? You know of such things?" Dumbledore's face remained an impassive mask.
"I told you, I'm not an ordinary wizard. It's normal for me to know more, isn't it? Furthermore, every true Philosopher's Stone must be registered with the Council of Elders. If Nicolas Flamel had truly given you a complete Stone, I doubt you would have brought it here. Am I wrong?"
Dumbledore was silent.
"You called me here tonight to ensure I would not adversely affect your plans. I can give you a definitive answer now: I will not."
With that, Solim stepped forward and drew an object from his robes, placing it carefully on Dumbledore's desk.
"Riddle isn't dead. The common wizard doesn't know this, but you must, Headmaster. And you have your suspicions about how, don't you?" Solim pointed at the object. "I retrieved this with my grandfather over the Christmas holidays. The curse upon it has been lifted, but a wizard of your skill should still be able to detect its residue."
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened. He did not touch the ring, but leaned forward to study it with intense, careful scrutiny.
"My grandfather has already examined it. He did not destroy the Horcrux, so its function remains. It's not that we couldn't destroy it, but we could not guarantee the ring's other properties would survive the process."
"Yes, I have seen this ring before," Dumbledore murmured, his eyes fixed on the Peverell coat of arms. He knew it was the very ring his former student, Tom Riddle, had sought. He could also feel the lingering, malignant echo of the Killing Curse that had been laid upon it—a curse so potent that even he would not have survived its touch.
Dumbledore looked up, his gaze intent. "Where did you find it?" As he spoke, Solim felt the subtle, invasive pressure of Legilimency.
He turned his head away in clear displeasure. "Headmaster, I have shown my sincerity. If you do that again, I will turn around and leave."
Dumbledore's expression remained unreadable, but a flicker of surprise showed in his eyes. He acknowledged Solim's talent, but that was in comparison to his peers. The boy should have been utterly unaware of a subtle Legilimency probe. It seemed this student had more than a few tricks.
Solim wore an alchemy item, procured from Elrond, designed to warn the wearer of mental intrusion. It served as an alarm, not a shield, but it was enough.
"I apologize, Solim," Dumbledore said, the pressure vanishing. "You must understand, old habits die hard."
"Professor, are you witnessing this?" Solim glanced toward Snape, who remained fused with the wall, offering no reaction.
"Do you know what this is, Solim?" Dumbledore asked, though the answer was evident.
"A Horcrux. It is how Riddle cheated death. My grandfather and I found it in the old Gaunt shack in Little Hangleton."
"Indeed, a Horcrux," Dumbledore said, his gaze lingering on the ring. "While I long suspected Tom had created them, I never had the evidence to confirm it." He stood up. "For that, I must thank you, Solim. You have confirmed my deepest fear."
Then why not offer a proper reward? Solim thought. Something of substance would be appreciated.
"Few know of Tom's connection to the Gaunt family, yet it seems he holds no secrets from you. Tom was the most gifted student I ever taught. He accomplished feats in his school years that many adult wizards could not match. But alas, he squandered that talent. He went down a dark path. I have often wondered if, with better guidance from me, he might have chosen a different one."
Dumbledore's voice carried a familiar weight of guilt. He had always blamed himself for not steering Tom Riddle away from darkness, believing a teacher's failure had led to the rise of Voldemort.
But was that truly the case?