In the office, the warm steam of the black tea slowly dispelled the chill that had gathered over the Scottish Highlands in October. As the silence stretched on, Fawkes, who had been awakened by Sirius, finally folded his wings and settled back into a slumber.
"So, you're still planning to 'fish', aren't you?"
After a long time, Dumbledore finally finished the sweet water in his cup and asked.
"This time, I'm afraid of catching a shark. After all, I'm not sure about the strength of those guys—"
William spoke while unconsciously tapping the edge of his teacup with his fingertips, producing a crisp sound. This time, even the warmth from the black tea couldn't dispel the coldness that had gathered in the office.
Dumbledore's blue eyes, seen through his half-moon spectacles, stared at the flames dancing in the fireplace, casting flickering shadows on his face.
"I suspect their target might be... Tom."
"It's not impossible—"
William nodded. He certainly knew which Tom Dumbledore was talking about. "Keep an eye on him lately. Even though the child seems obedient, it's clear that at just eight, he's already entered adolescence. However, Hermione said he gets along quite well with his classmates. Do you still think he could achieve this by entering Slytherin House?"
"..."
"If you ask me, we might as well just disband Slytherin House—"
"...That's a bit too much."
"Just kidding—How's your arm? Has it worsened?"
"The treatment is effective; at least it looks fine... William, about you bringing Regulus's ghost from the Illusory Realm—"
"...Wait, why did the topic change so quickly? Is it because some idiot couldn't think of filler and just decided to push the plot instead?"
(?)
...
"...Tom? Aren't you going back to the dormitory?"
"I need to go to the Potions Classroom for my cauldron—"
In the corridor near the entrance hall, without waiting for Tom to finish his sentence, at the mere mention of the Potions Class, Jack decisively let go of Tom's shoulder, his tone calm, expression solemn. "Take care, Tom Riddle, the organization will forever remember your sacrifice today—"
"..."
After bidding farewell to his dorm mates, Tom walked against the crowd and descended the stairs leading to the Slytherin Dungeon—
As he continued deeper, the crowd thinned out, until near the Potions Classroom, which was likely enchanted —it was an "absolute area" that no little wizard would set foot in if no class was in session.
But today, the absolute area had two unexpected guests—
One was naturally Tom, and the other—Regulus quietly "stood" there, though he had long lost the structure of feet. Before this, the newly born ghost had been aimlessly drifting around—
The cold stone walls, hard armor, whispering portraits... Everything was so familiar, as if it had just happened yesterday. But at the same time, it was as if through a gap of several decades, even between life and death. Regulus paused, eyes on a barren stone wall, nobody knew what he was thinking—
"...Hello?"
Except for Little Tom, the "natural" Legilimency master.
Yes, Little Tom possessed this "special ability", but he had hidden it well—it wasn't really hidden, as before officially enrolling, besides Harry and Sirius, no one around him had thoughts worth reading.
Once enrolled, Tom clearly realized the potential harm of this ability, since nobody would want their inner thoughts exposed to another person's view.
Thus, Tom had concealed it well until just now—
For some reason, he instinctively probed into the thoughts of this ghost—in reality, Legilimency magic has no effect on ghosts, as their mode of storing memories differs from humans—but coincidentally, Tom was William's "masterpiece".
Anything associated with William was never quite normal.
"..."
Thus, Regulus, whose nostalgic reverie had been interrupted, was somewhat displeased. He instinctively turned to see this uninvited guest, but the moment his eyes met those pitch-black pupils, his silvery-white soul felt like it had been electrocuted, causing its glow to flicker momentarily.
"You, you..."
His eyes widened, clearly questioning certain matters.
But just then, before he could speak further, a dark figure silently rose like a melting shadow from the Potions Classroom's door's shade, greasy black hair plastered to the sallow chain, with an expansive black robe encompassing a body that wasn't quite strong. His eyes, dark as a deep pond, showed no emotion.
It was Severus Snape.
So now, the confrontation turned into a three-way stare-down—Snape's steps halted. He was used to Gryffindor's Dark Lord wandering under his watchful eyes, but seeing that ghost now, those eyes unexpectedly flashed with pure astonishment.
His gaze latched onto Regulus's young yet lifeless face with the distinctively arrogant contours of the Black Clan's heritage.
"...Tom."
Finally, in the tacit agreement of silence, Snape turned to hand the cauldron to Tom. "Go back."
"...Alright."
Tom didn't linger. He just took a deep look at the unidentified ghost, then turned to head toward the stairs.
"..."
And the scene fell back into dead silence.
"...That student just now."
Regulus broke the suffocating silence. He recognized the "acquaintance" before him, a Potions genius who joined later than him yet earned more favor from the "Master". They had a brief encounter during a Death Eater's gathering; Snape's hair, which seemed unwashed for a year, had left Regulus a lasting impression.
Now, it looked like it hadn't been washed in eleven years.
"More importantly, how did you... You died recently?"
In his interaction with William, Snape gradually learned to speak directly, saying what needed to be said. "Did someone dig you out of the grave? Or—" The man's voice quivered; nobody knew what he imagined—
Except for the lurking Tom, eavesdropping on the conversation between a man and a ghost around the corner.