34 - A Gift for Dumbledore

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In the headmaster's office, a quiet and solemn atmosphere hung in the air. Dumbledore and Wes sat opposite each other, an unspoken tension between them, as the ancient clock ticked steadily in the background.

"Have you finished reading the book?" Dumbledore asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. His gaze, sharp yet gentle behind his half-moon spectacles, fixed on Wes.

"No," Wes replied simply, his tone direct and unyielding, his expression unreadable.

"Is there anything you don't understand?" Dumbledore asked, a note of curiosity lacing his voice.

Wes shook his head, a faint, almost imperceptible smile curling on his lips. "No," he responded again, but this time, his demeanor seemed more relaxed, as though he wasn't in any rush to elaborate.

Dumbledore's expression shifted into one of slight frustration as he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a hint of reproach. "Then what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice carrying a touch of irritation. "As the headmaster, my duties are extensive, and time is precious."

Wes, however, remained unfazed. His gaze shifted to the plate of candies sitting on Dumbledore's desk, and with a teasing grin, he spoke. "What are you busy with? Enjoying your afternoon tea?" His eyes twinkled with mischief, and he leaned slightly forward. "Aren't you worried about diabetes?"

"Diabetes?" Dumbledore asked, genuinely curious, his voice soft with intrigue.

Wes started to explain, but as he spoke, he realized he had veered off course, pulled by Dumbledore's harmless curiosity. He stopped himself mid-sentence and redirected the conversation. "I'm here to give you a gift," he said, his tone becoming more serious.

From his pocket, Wes withdrew an unassuming diary, its leather cover worn and slightly faded. He placed it gently on the table between them, the action almost reverential.

Dumbledore's eyes flicked to the diary, his curiosity piqued, but he said nothing at first. "A gift?" he murmured, his gaze softening. "A diary?"

Wes nodded, his eyes gleaming with the unspoken knowledge that this was no ordinary book.

Dumbledore, ever cautious, did not immediately touch it. Instead, he carefully retrieved a long, slender wand from within his robes. It was unmistakable—the Elder Wand, the most powerful of all wands, part of the fabled Deathly Hallows. With a deep, almost inaudible mutter, Dumbledore placed the wand on the diary, his hand steady as he worked a subtle but powerful spell.

The diary lifted into the air, hovering as blue light flickered around it. In an instant, a figure began to materialize from the light. The boy that took shape before them was dressed in Slytherin robes, his black hair messy, his eyes cold and unyielding. His sharp features were framed by a high nose, thin lips, and an angular face that seemed almost too handsome for comfort. Yet, the cold, calculating glare in his eyes twisted his features into something unsettling.

"You dare to lie to me?" The boy's voice rang out, full of fury and accusation, as his eyes locked onto Wes.

Wes simply shrugged, his expression calm, not a hint of concern flickering across his face.

The boy's anger only grew, and his eyes burned with an intensity that could almost scorch the air around them. His hands clenched at his sides, as though he were ready to unleash his wrath upon Wes.

"Long time no see, Tom," Dumbledore's voice cut through the tension, calm and unwavering. The boy—Tom Riddle, or Voldemort as he would one day be known—shuddered at the sound of his name, his expression momentarily flickering with surprise before it was overtaken by something far more primal: fear.

"Dumbledore!" Voldemort's voice trembled, betraying the fear that lurked just beneath his anger, an emotion he could never quite suppress.

Dumbledore, seeing the young version of Voldemort, felt a pang of regret. "I didn't expect you to have created a Horcrux while still a student," he murmured, the words heavy with unspoken sorrow. "If only I had guided you differently back then…"

Voldemort's face twisted in outrage. "Stop pretending, Dumbledore! You never liked me! You've always been wary of me!" he screamed, his voice echoing off the walls of the office, full of unrelenting anger and bitterness. His words lashed out, sharp and full of resentment, as though he were trying to tear down everything in his path.

The air in the office seemed to thicken with Voldemort's fury, and the portraits that adorned the walls could no longer remain silent. The voices of the past headmasters rose in a chorus of condemnation.

"Stubborn fool!" one portrait cried, its frame rattling as the headmaster within gestured furiously.

"You disgrace Hogwarts!" another portrait added, its voice trembling with outrage.

"Destroy him, quickly!" came another urgent cry, as yet another headmaster joined in.

A final voice, older and filled with exasperation, spoke. "Merlin's beard, he's already committed murder at such a young age. This is unforgivable!"

Voldemort, however, stood unyielding, lifting his chin in defiance, unashamed and completely unrepentant. He met the scornful gazes of the portraits with a cold, defiant stare, showing no remorse for his actions.

"Quiet, everyone," Dumbledore's voice commanded with authority. The room fell silent, the portraits reluctantly falling still as Dumbledore closed the diary, causing Voldemort's apparition to vanish into the book in a flash of light. The atmosphere in the room seemed to settle, the tension dissipating, though it left a lingering unease in the air.

"How was the gift?" Wes asked, a note of pride in his voice, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.

"Impressive," Dumbledore said, his voice warm with approval. "Where did you find this?" he asked. "You know, Voldemort places immense importance on his Horcruxes. They're hidden with great care."

Wes recounted the details of his visit to Flourish and Blotts, where the diary had come into his possession.

Dumbledore's expression darkened as he processed the information. "Lucius Malfoy," he muttered under his breath, as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. "He was a Death Eater once, and Voldemort may well have entrusted him with the Horcrux for safekeeping. But why would he return it to Hogwarts now?"

Wes suggested, "We could ask Mr. Malfoy directly."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed with concern. "Lucius Malfoy is not an honest man. He may not provide us with the answers we seek."

"I have a plan, but I'll need your cooperation, Headmaster," Wes said confidently, his voice full of assurance.

Dumbledore nodded without hesitation. "No problem," he agreed, trusting Wes's judgment.

"We'll need the diary when the time comes," Wes added, his tone turning more serious.

Dumbledore sighed, adjusting his robes. "I had intended to destroy this Horcrux immediately, but perhaps we can afford to wait a few more days. After all, this was Voldemort's first Horcrux, made when he was still a mere sixteen-year-old. Even I, in my old age, have a certain interest in watching it closely."

The two of them agreed that the timing of their plans would align with the upcoming Quidditch match. The whole school would be focused on the game, providing the perfect cover for their actions.

This year, Draco Malfoy had joined the Slytherin team as a new player, and Dumbledore decided to invite Lucius Malfoy to watch his son's debut game.

With a flourish, Dumbledore took up a quill, dipped it in ink, and carefully wrote an invitation on a piece of sheepskin parchment. As he finished, he blew gently on the ink to dry it, then folded the letter with meticulous care and placed it in a fine envelope.

He summoned an owl, and the bird perched on his arm, ready to carry the message. "Go, my friend," Dumbledore instructed, his voice calm yet firm. "Deliver this letter to Malfoy Manor."

The owl took off into the air, wings beating softly as it flew through the open window and headed toward the distant manor.

Meanwhile, in the Malfoy household, Lucius was consumed with worry. Since the start of the school year, he had been anxious about the diary, but had heard no unusual news from Hogwarts. His mind was racing, unsure whether the diary had made its way back to the school, or whether its supposed power had failed to materialize.

His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, noticed his preoccupation and asked with concern, "Dear, what's troubling you? Ever since we returned from Diagon Alley, you've been distant. Is something wrong with the batch of items we purchased?"

Lucius forced a smile, his anxiety barely masked. "You know there was a little trouble with Weasley at the bookstore. He's been watching me ever since, which makes things… complicated."

Narcissa, believing his explanation, nodded in understanding.

At that moment, the house-elf Dobby entered the room, his head bowed low in servitude. His voice trembled as he announced, "Master, a letter from Hogwarts."

Narcissa snapped irritably, "Can't you see we're speaking? Why must you interrupt?"

Dobby flinched, fearful of the reprimand.

Narcissa took the envelope from the trembling elf, spraying it with perfume before she tore it open and read aloud, "Dumbledore has invited us to watch the Quidditch match."

Lucius raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "He's never invited us before. Why now, I wonder?"

Narcissa, however, was thrilled. "This is Draco's first game as a player! I don't want to miss it, and it's a good chance for you to relax, too."

Lucius thought for a moment, weighing his options, before finally agreeing. But in his mind, he was plotting his next move:

I must find out whether the diary is truly at Hogwarts, and why there has been no sign of anything unusual.