"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 310: Dumbledore's Speculation
The Headmaster's office at Hogwarts glowed with a warm, golden light, cast by candles flickering atop ancient oak furniture. The portraits lining the stone walls had all turned, their painted eyes quietly watching the two men at the desk.
Albus Dumbledore, white-haired and wise-eyed, sat across from Douglas Holmes, his gaze equal parts patient and piercing as he regarded the Magical Radar clutched protectively in Douglas's hands.
A wry smile tugged at Dumbledore's lips, a glint of mischief flashing in those deep blue eyes. With a casual snap of his fingers, the air in the office seemed to ripple—then, with a soft whoosh, a vast, intricate map of the world unfurled before them like a living tapestry. It was covered in a dense web of magical symbols and place names, each one glowing softly in the candlelight.
With hands shaped by a lifetime of experience, Dumbledore traced the map, searching for a location that matched the signals on the Magical Radar. He spoke with a touch of gentle reproach, "Douglas, you really ought to let go of all that stubborn suspicion and learn to trust the old man sitting before you…"
A faint, enigmatic smile played at the corners of Douglas's mouth. If I didn't keep my guard up, this radar would end up like that tape recorder—confiscated and never seen again, he mused silently.
Aloud, he replied in a lightly teasing tone, "Professor, that finger snap was truly spectacular—one might even say dazzling, as if you'd bottled all the world's wisdom into a single gesture."
Dumbledore fixed him with a cool, penetrating look—the kind that seemed to see straight through to the heart. He gave a dry chuckle. "Oh? Are you suggesting that spark of wisdom came from you? …Ah, here we are. Peter appears to be in Ulcinj at the moment, and judging by the direction, he's heading for Britain."
He adjusted his half-moon glasses, the light behind the lenses glinting with quiet intensity as he turned back to Douglas.
"In your opinion, does this mean he's already reunited with Tom?"
Douglas didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached for a piece of dragon's beard candy from a delicate porcelain plate on the desk, the sweet aroma curling up as he spoke offhandedly, "With Wormtail's temperament, unless he's under some irresistible pressure or threat, there's no way a cunning survivor like him would abandon Albania—a place so loosely governed it's practically paradise for fugitives. And yet, neither of us has heard a word from the Ministry about any sightings there, so…"
Dumbledore's gaze grew thoughtful, a subtle furrow forming between his brows as he tapped the desk in contemplation. "From what I know of Tom, he's nothing if not cautious. He'd never risk returning to Britain at a time like this unless he was absolutely certain of his safety. What could possibly have changed to make him so anxious—so desperate—after merely acquiring Peter's help? Could it be that he's sensed some of his Horcruxes have been destroyed?"
Douglas, savoring the sweetness of a Honeydukes dragon's beard candy, found it even richer than usual—was this a special batch from Dumbledore himself? He took a sip of tea to cut the lingering sugar before replying,
"I doubt it's because a Horcrux has been destroyed. To him, every Horcrux is a lifeline—losing one is an irreversible blow to his immortality. Given how obsessively he guards his path to eternal life, I imagine he'd be even more cautious, not less. Fear would drive him deeper into hiding, not out into the open. Keeping Wormtail close would only add to the risk."
He set down his teacup with a soft clink.
"My guess is that he's preparing for resurrection. After all these years, Tom has never let go of his obsession with regaining his power. Now, with Wormtail as the only Death Eater to find and contact him, he's forced to gamble everything on this one, rather unreliable, ally. Not that he trusts Wormtail's loyalty or competence—but at this point, he simply has no one else left."
Dumbledore's thoughts drifted back to the previous year, to the day when Douglas had revealed a long-buried secret: the existence of a mysterious potion known as the Resurrection Elixir. His own investigations had traced its origins to a notorious Dark wizard of ancient Greece—a brew said to blur the very lines between life and death.
And Dumbledore couldn't shake the suspicion that, during his long exile in Albania, Tom Riddle had stumbled upon this forbidden knowledge.
"Resurrection Elixir…" he murmured.
"What was that?" Douglas asked, distracted as he surveyed the other sweets on the table, trying to guess which weren't Dumbledore's special confections.
Dumbledore looked up from a pile of parchment, his expression shadowed with worry and depth.
"I'm more inclined to think that Peter has brought Tom the latest news from the last two years… and perhaps even this very story."
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