Inside the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore finally reclaimed his authority , if only briefly.
"Minerva," he said, smiling with that grandfatherly patience, "now that we're here, would you mind telling us what this is all about?"
"It's a piece of wonderful news," Professor McGonagall replied, her tone brightening. She turned toward Tom with a rare, genuine smile.
"Mr. Riddle," she began, "your Imaginative Potion has been officially recognized by a number of transfiguration experts. The news has also reached the Extraordinary Potioneers' Association. Many esteemed masters agree that your potion bridges the two disciplines beautifully , transfiguration and alchemy , in a way never seen before.
Some have even proposed you for a Merlin Medal."
She looked delighted. "Albus, our school is about to witness the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin in history. As Headmaster, I trust you'll support this application for both Mr. Riddle's sake , and Hogwarts' honor."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. He understood her meaning at once. She was asking him to lend his name , to speak for Tom's merit and ensure the award's approval.
And truly, he saw no reason to object. Tom's potion was remarkable , a spell-enhancing brew that allowed even mediocre students to grasp the essence of transfiguration faster. It was revolutionary.
But before he could speak, Tom raised a hand.
"Professor," he said calmly, "I think… I'll pass."
McGonagall blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Tom inched subtly away from her and placed Fawkes between them as a fiery buffer. "What I mean is, I don't think I deserve the honor yet. I'd like more time to refine my work before accepting such recognition. Please, Professor, help me tell those esteemed wizards not to file the application. When I feel I've earned it , I'll apply myself."
Of course, it was nonsense.
Tom had no intention of rejecting the medal out of modesty , he was simply saving it.
He wanted to stockpile prestige, to build toward something grander: the First-Class Order of Merlin, the highest tier.
While the Merlin Medals weren't technically cumulative, the Wizengamot did consider a wizard's prior achievements when deliberating higher honors. Past brilliance often tipped the scales.
McGonagall studied him for several long seconds. When she realized he wasn't joking, her stern face softened. "You truly feel that way, Mr. Riddle?"
"Of course," he said sincerely. "I'm certain there will be other opportunities. There's no need to rush."
"Well… very well." McGonagall sighed, the faintest trace of disappointment slipping into her tone. "I'll send them a reply in two days. If you change your mind, you may still tell me."
"Thank you, Professor. I appreciate your understanding."
She turned to Dumbledore. "That's all from me, Albus."
"Then get some rest, Minerva," Dumbledore said, smiling. "I'll stay and discuss something else with Mr. Riddle."
When she left, the portraits around the room, which had been feigning sleep, erupted.
"Riddle! You're not serious!" cried Phineas Nigellus, his voice echoing off the walls. "The Order of Merlin isn't just a medal , it's immortality! To have your name etched into history, and you just, turned it down?!"
Another portrait added, "Are you truly that humble?"
Tom shrugged. "Fine, I'll admit it. It's not humility , it's pride. The committee would probably give me a Third-Class Medal, maybe Second-Class at best.
And honestly…" He raised an eyebrow. "That would put me on the same level as Lockhart. Do you think I'd let myself be ranked alongside him?"
The portraits burst out laughing , even the usually stoic Headmasters.
There he is, they thought. The real Tom Riddle , arrogant, ambitious, and utterly unapologetic.
For a moment, they'd almost believed Dumbledore had bewitched him with the Imperius Curse when he'd started talking about modesty.
Dumbledore chuckled too, shaking his head. "A perfectly in-character reason," he admitted. "Though I must say, Gilderoy's ability to serve as an eternal counterexample never ceases to amaze me."
Tom grinned faintly. "Professor, if that's all, I'd like to be excused. I have someone I need to speak with , Professor Rouse."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Actually, Mr. Riddle, there's one more matter."
He opened a drawer and pulled out something black, thin, and pulsing faintly with old magic.
A diary.
Tom froze.
"Tom," Dumbledore said quietly , and notably, he did not say "Mr. Riddle." "I'm returning this to you."
Tom blinked. "…You're joking."
Dumbledore smiled lightly. "I do enjoy a good joke, yes , I could tell you a few if you like , but this time, I'm quite serious."
He waved his wand. Blue sealing runes shimmered over the diary and then dissolved into air like mist.
"This diary holds the secret that shaped Voldemort's entire life. But to me, he remains… closed. Resistant. He will not speak to me, no matter how I try.
However, " Dumbledore's eyes gleamed. "He reacts strongly whenever I mention you."
Tom stared. "Oh, brilliant. So I'm his favorite topic."
"I believe," Dumbledore continued, ignoring the sarcasm, "that if you converse with him , casually, without pressing , his emotions may betray secrets he would never reveal to me. What he says may help us understand him… and perhaps, one day, undo what he became."
Tom frowned, crossing his arms. "Professor, this is Lord Voldemort we're talking about. What if he manipulates me? Or curses me? What if this is all some elaborate trap? That's not just irresponsible , it's borderline insane."
Dumbledore smiled serenely. "I trust you, Mr. Riddle."
In truth, Tom had carried that diary for months now and not only resisted corruption , he'd managed to infuriate the fragment within it.
If anyone should be afraid in that conversation, it was Voldemort.
"As a gesture of faith," Dumbledore added, "I'll share with you some of my… modest magical insights. Think of it as my way of opening a door for you."
Tom straightened immediately, face glowing with noble determination. "Professor, for the peace and safety of the wizarding world, I'm willing to risk it."
Dumbledore's smile twitched. So transparent, he thought.
He'd prepared an entire speech , persuasive, heartfelt , and now it was utterly useless. Tom's greed for knowledge had done all the work for him.
"I appreciate your courage," Dumbledore said finally, though the corners of his mouth betrayed amusement.
"Let's see how he reacts, then," Tom murmured, taking the diary in both hands. He opened it slowly, the parchment glinting faintly in the candlelight, and picked up a quill.
He wrote, simply:
"Hi, Tom."
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, words began to scrawl themselves violently across the page in jagged handwriting , angry, alive, and dripping with emotion.
"BLOODY HELL, TOM!?"
Tom smirked.
"Oh, this is going to be fun."