Chapter 61: The Secret in the Stone

"Tom Riddle is Voldemort?" Dracula's eyebrows shot up, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes as he looked at Dumbledore.

"The very same," Dumbledore confirmed, his voice heavy with the weight of memory. He began to recount the tale. "More than fifty years ago, I brought him from Wool's Orphanage to Hogwarts, giving him his first opportunity to learn magic."

"He was a master of manipulation, even as a boy. He charmed his way into everyone's hearts. During his school years, he gathered a following in Slytherin, the first seeds of what would become the Death Eaters. It was then that he shed the name 'Tom'—a name he despised for its commonness—and the surname 'Riddle,' which came from the Muggle father he so loathed."

"His academic performance was flawless. A brilliant student, a charming prefect. Nearly every professor adored him," Dumbledore said, a deep sadness in his voice. "He fooled them all. Only I, having seen the cruelty he inflicted on the other children at the orphanage, remained wary of his true nature. But I had no proof..."

"Oh?" A slow, dangerous smile spread across Dracula's face, cutting through the solemn atmosphere. "Now this is getting interesting." He began to pace slowly. "Let me see... a boy from nothing, an orphan, enduring the suspicion of a powerful wizard, yet he not only survives but thrives. He emerges from Hogwarts to build a terrifying army from scratch. What a touching, inspirational tale of ambition!"

He let out a sigh of genuine regret. "Damn it all, why didn't that old fool Nicolas wake me then? I could have met this 'Little Tom' in his youth. Perhaps even have a hand in his clandestine rise to power. Just imagine the entertainment!"

After hearing Dumbledore's story, Dracula's perception of the so-called Dark Lord had shifted. Voldemort was no longer a one-dimensional caricature of evil but a far more intriguing figure.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, watched him with a growing sense of unease. He was beginning to seriously question the wisdom of bringing Dracula to Hogwarts.

"Uncle Dracula!" Helena's anxious voice broke the silence. She floated forward, her expression pleading. "Don't forget, Tom Riddle stole my mother's diadem! You must help me teach him a lesson!" She was terrified that Dracula's "interest" might lead him to join Voldemort's side.

"Do not worry, Helena," Dracula reassured her with a confident look. "I will teach him a lesson he will never forget. I will make him weep as he returns your mother's diadem to you."

Just then, a faint splashing sound reminded them of their forgotten fourth companion. Moaning Myrtle, feeling left out of the dramatic revelations, had once again retreated to her toilet. The sound seemed to jolt Dumbledore back to the present.

"Professor Dracula, I believe we must act quickly," Dumbledore said, his tone urgent. "If Tom has been brazen enough to reveal his younger self, it means he knows we are aware of his plan. He knows we have set a trap."

"And yet, to get the Philosopher's Stone, he has no choice but to spring it, does he?" Dracula replied with an easy smile. He turned back to Helena. "When he does, I will deal with him personally. And I will bring you back your diadem. Agreed?"

"Agreed!" Helena nodded, her eyes shining with hope.

"Alright, Professor, time to get to work," Dumbledore urged, his focus now sharp. "Let us discover what secret Voldemort and Quirrell have been hiding in this bathroom."

Dracula nodded and produced an old, worn piece of parchment from his coat—the deed to Hogwarts, a tool he was becoming quite adept at using. As he channeled his magic into it, intricate lines of light began to flow across its surface, weaving themselves into a glowing blueprint of the castle.

With a flicker of his eyes, Dracula zoomed in on their location. A perfect, three-dimensional schematic of the abandoned lavatory appeared on the parchment, every pipe, every stone, every magical conduit laid bare.

"You know," Dumbledore sighed, watching with a mixture of awe and resignation, "seeing the authority you wield over this castle, I sometimes wonder why I am needed as Headmaster at all."

Dracula ignored him, his full attention on the deed. He frowned. "The magical nodes here are... complex."

He suddenly turned, his gaze falling upon the central bank of sinks he had been leaning against moments before. It was an ancient, marble basin, the stone cracked and stained with age. Moss grew in the crevices, and the tarnished taps dripped water onto the wet floor with a rhythmic plink... plink... plink. Behind it, a large, grimy mirror reflected their distorted figures.

"Is there something amiss?" Dumbledore asked, moving closer to inspect the sinks.

Dracula held out the deed. "As Headmaster, you are familiar with the castle's intrinsic magic, are you not?" he said. "Look at the layout. The magical nodes everywhere else are standard. But here, at this basin, there is a dense cluster of them, four, maybe five, tightly packed. And behind them... nothing. The deed goes blank, as if the space has been artificially shielded from view."

"So, there is something behind this basin?" Dumbledore mused. "A space concealed even from the deed's authority?"

"Yes. I am the lord of this land, but it was Salazar, Godric, and the others who built this castle," Dracula explained. "It is entirely possible they added secrets of their own during its construction, secrets hidden even from the land itself."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding, his eyes scanning the row of tarnished taps.

"Well, now," he murmured, his gaze stopping on one of them. "It seems this one is different."

He pointed to a single bronze tap, unremarkable except for one small, exquisitely carved detail.

***

(End of Chapter)

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