Since he was already here, and since whatever Dumbledore wanted to discuss was coming regardless, Tom saw no reason not to eat well first.
He reached without ceremony for what he mentally called a sausage pie, a whole sausage baked inside Yorkshire pudding batter until golden. It sounded humble. It tasted considerably better than it sounded, which was saying something given that Tom's palate ran fastidious.
Dumbledore, by contrast, ate with the measured elegance of a man who had somewhere to be only after dinner. He carved slowly at the roasted meat on his plate, and the overall impression was that the real purpose of this invitation might have been nothing more complicated than sharing a meal.
But when Tom finally reached the olives served as a closing course, Dumbledore could no longer resist.
"Tom. Slytherin's locket is still in my possession. It has not been destroyed."
And there it was.
Tom finished the last olive, settled back in his chair, and arranged his expression into something that read as genuinely puzzled. "Still intact? Did something go wrong?"
Then, as if in afterthought, he added, "Shall I help?"
"I appreciate the offer, Tom." Dumbledore shook his head, and reached toward the silver instrument on the stand beside him. A thin, constant stream of silver mist began to curl outward, quietly dispersing the last traces of food and warmth from the room.
"What I've been considering is whether there might be another way. A method of extracting Voldemort's soul from the Horcrux without damaging the vessel itself."
He paused, then continued with the measured care of someone choosing each word. "Every relic left behind by the four founders carries significance. I cannot allow one man's evil to render these objects unfit for the world."
"I see." Tom nodded slowly, expression open, internal monologue considerably less charitable. What Dumbledore meant, stripped of the noble framing, was: he had worked out that Harry might be carrying a piece of Voldemort inside him. The locket was a test case.
It had probably started with the diary. Once Dumbledore confirmed that Voldemort had used Horcruxes to anchor himself to life, the rest followed inevitably. He had likely spent months turning the question over: was Harry one? And if so, how do you destroy the fragment without destroying the boy?
"So why tell me?" Tom asked, genuinely uncertain which direction this was heading.
Dumbledore stated his purpose without deflection. "Nicolas mentioned that you possess a method for extracting what he called 'spiritual essence.' The concept interests me. If essence can be drawn out, I find myself wondering whether a soul might be as well."
He folded his hands on the desk. "I'd like to learn the method from you. In return, you may ask something of me in exchange."
Tom thought for one measured moment.
"Let me be headmaster."
The old man's characteristic warmth faltered, visibly, before reassembling itself into something considerably more strained. "Tom. Isn't that... perhaps a little premature? Though I'm very glad to know you feel such deep affection for Hogwarts."
Tom was not, in fact, feeling deep affection for Hogwarts. He wanted the administrative authority to restructure the curriculum and accumulate an unreasonable number of academic credits.
Dumbledore was having a quietly difficult moment. He had anticipated that Tom would make some outlandish request. The boy's perspective was simply not that of an ordinary student. But this particular outlandishness had not made the list.
The man is still alive, and you're already angling for the throne?
"Tom," Dumbledore said, with the tone of a person exercising great patience. "Could you perhaps suggest something I'm actually capable of giving you?"
"I'll hold onto it for now."
Tom decided the request was more useful as a standing debt. Dumbledore had nothing at the moment that Tom needed badly enough to cash in. Better to let the obligation sit there, quietly making him uncomfortable.
Dumbledore understood perfectly well that being in perpetual debt was not a pleasant condition, but there was little he could do about it. He had walked himself into the same corner Snape had, with one of Tom's secrets held just out of reach and the terms entirely on Tom's side.
Tom wrote out the method for extracting spiritual essence without hesitation, without omitting a single detail. He was not, by nature, the sort of person who hoarded knowledge out of possessiveness. If anything, he was curious to see what Dumbledore would manage to do with it. Something interesting, hopefully. Something that might eventually benefit Tom as well.
Dumbledore read through the parchment and smiled, with the quiet satisfaction of a man whose afternoon had gone better than expected.
This had been smoother than he'd anticipated.
Tom really was a good child. Extending trust like this, without hedging.
The warmth in Dumbledore's eyes deepened slightly. Compared to Voldemort's performance of academic excellence, Tom was simply better, even if he did cause trouble with some regularity, and even if that trouble was rarely small.
"If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave." Tom checked the time, pushed back from the desk, and took his exit from the headmaster's office with a toothpick between his teeth.
Now that Dumbledore had begun working toward a solution for the Horcrux problem, Tom supposed it was time to move as well.
The longer he delayed, the more irritable Ravenclaw would get about the diadem. And beyond appeasing that particular scheming old woman, Tom had his own reasons to want it resolved. Destroying the diadem, he suspected, would be the key to reaching the fifth stage of Occlumency.
A legendary witch taking up residence in your mind. He was genuinely curious what that would feel like.
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