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The terrifying accident with the Dark Mark brought a chaotic, abrupt end to the lavish birthday party. Under the strict, tense supervision of Professor Slughorn, Professor McGonagall, Filch, and Hagrid, batches of pale-faced guests were quickly sent out of the Castle via the Floo Network and other secured means. The murmuring students were also immediately escorted back to their respective common rooms, the joyful atmosphere shattered.
The next afternoon, the air in the Charms classroom still smelled faintly of ozone and burning feathers from a levitation exercise. After the bell rang and the room emptied, Regulus specifically stayed behind.
He approached the stack of thick books on the desk. "Professor, many students in the common room are asking about that 'green skull'," Regulus said, furrowing his brow slightly to feign innocent concern. "That's the Dark Mark, right? How did it appear at the school?"
"Ah, you actually know about the Dark Mark—"
Professor Flitwick's eyes widened behind his spectacles. He nervously glanced around the empty classroom before lowering his squeaky voice to a whisper. "The Principal found some residual powder in the far corner of the stone fireplace. It was the burning of this specific powder that caused that terrifying visual effect—"
Regulus nodded slowly. In the world of magic, if a hostile faction wants to pull some lethal tricks, it seems that at Hogwarts, the things to pay the most attention to are food and magic from unknown, untraceable sources. He suddenly understood Riddle's tactical method a little better. That elusive senior never had to worry about careless mistakes leaving physical evidence behind.
"Is there a direction for the investigation now?" Regulus asked.
"Not yet," Professor Flitwick sighed, his small shoulders dropping. "We can't even be sure if it was someone from outside the school."
Even if it was just a small, cowardly prank, it was terribly detrimental to the school's public reputation.
"Professor," Regulus pressed, leaning closer. "Can we use the Principal's Pensieve to investigate the memories of the guests?"
"I'm afraid not," Professor Flitwick shook his head ruefully. "Besides the powder, Albus found some melted alchemical casings. Only after the outer shell melted from the ambient heat did the powder scatter into the flames. Because of this delayed fuse, we can't determine the time it was planted."
Moreover, there were far too many Wizards present brushing past the fireplace, making the screening process a bureaucratic nightmare—and the school also had to respect the privacy of its influential guests.
Regulus blinked thoughtfully, his CEO mindset analyzing the enemy's play. Not only could this stunt vent frustration towards Slughorn's networking empire, but it could also brilliantly show off the dark organization's reach and influence within the safest school in Britain.
Or, they could simply be executing a campaign to boost the public visibility of the Dark Mark.
This kind of brand-building PR is indeed very easy to remember and worth learning from, Regulus noted internally. It establishes fear and brand recognition simultaneously.
Hmm, I need to find a good tactical opportunity to suggest to the Principal to let Fawkes be featured more prominently and create a recognizable logo for the Order of the Phoenix to counter this marketing.
"So, Professor, will this also be handled discreetly?" Regulus asked.
How does this little guy know everything? Professor Flitwick thought, looking at the twelve-year-old with a mix of pride and worry. He quietly instructed, "Yes. Especially this, it needs to be swept under the rug to prevent mass panic."
"Mm." Regulus nodded again. He just didn't know how long this boiling undercurrent of conflict could be hidden beneath the rug before it burned the house down.
...
When roosters gather, they always love to fight fiercely. The muddy backyard of Hagrid's cabin was filled with the sounds of flapping wings and sharp squawks. If it weren't for the excellent, muscular physique of the alpha rooster, Claws, they could open an underground Duelling Club in the mud every single day.
Just as Hagrid was pouring a heavy wooden scoop of dry corn kernels into the long trough, a tall, thin figure appeared in the gloom. Splashing raindrops hadn't even touched his purple, pointed Wizard hat before they seemed to be gently blown away by an invisible, repelling wind.
"Ah, Principal!" Seeing who it was, the little Giant immediately grinned, wiping rain from his bushy beard. "Good evening!"
"Good evening, Rubeus," Dumbledore smiled gently, his blue eyes examining the sturdy, curved wooden structure resembling a massive coop. "It looks very good. Did you build it recently?"
"Regulus helped me with it!" Hagrid scratched his head, his booming voice filled with pride. "He said he might need them later. I don't know what he needs so many roosters for, but these little fellows are really quite spirited..."
Dumbledore looked at the noisy chicken coop again, marveling inwardly at the boy's bizarre requests, but not thinking too much about the poultry itself.
"Principal, come inside and get out of the cold rain," Hagrid greeted him warmly, gesturing to the glowing windows of his cabin.
"How has Regulus been lately?" Dumbledore asked casually, a faint, grandfatherly smile playing on his lips.
Hagrid's face suddenly shifted, growing serious. He leaned in closer, his massive shadow blocking the rain. "Regulus, from somewhere, learned about—that terrible accident thirty years ago—He..."
He must have gotten many hidden details, Dumbledore's mind supplied instantly.
"I originally didn't want to tell him at all, but Regulus said—he got the story from Myrtle. During the summer break, he met that Rid—"
"—Riddle," Hagrid took a deep, shuddering breath, "and he also discovered something—maybe—"
Genuine, undisguised surprise appeared in Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes. Regulus had met 'Riddle'?
Today's Tom Riddle had been busy reaching out to wealthy pure-blood families to build his forces. It wasn't surprising that Regulus, as a prime heir of the Black Family, had met the charming facade several times at high-society galas.
But how did a twelve-year-old boy discover that the polite 'Lord Voldemort' he met was the very person trying desperately to cover up his teenage crimes?
He even followed the cold clues, tracing the mystery all the way back to Hagrid.
As soon as Mary Macdonald's petrification incident happened in the corridor, Dumbledore and Horace had immediately thought of the old, bloody matter—that tragic Chamber of Secrets incident in 1943.
Horace's first panicked reaction was even to suspect Regulus; after all, the boy was very 'Slytherin' and frighteningly talented. Not to mention, several of the 'parties involved' back then—now notorious Death Eaters—had all studied in Slytherin House.
But after a rigorous investigation, these little snakes had rock-solid alibis with no time to commit the crime, and all were cleared of suspicion.
The teaching staff handled the attack as discreetly as possible to prevent terror from spreading through the student body, but they were sharp enough to draw the corresponding, grim conclusions. The Heir was active again.
Who knows how much else Regulus, this clever little devil, has pieced together.
Indeed, you can never underestimate students.
"Principal, could the Dark Mark at Professor Slughorn's birthday party also be related?" Hagrid asked hesitantly, wringing his massive hands together.
Dumbledore stroked his silver beard, the raindrops sizzling as they hit his ward, and pondered for a long moment.
Back then, there was no conclusive evidence pointing to Hagrid being the true culprit—therefore, Dumbledore was able to use the bureaucratic excuse of 'monitoring Hagrid' to convince the Ministry and Principal Dippet to keep this gentle half-giant at Hogwarts as gamekeeper.
Hagrid was simple-minded, didn't understand the treacherous twists and turns of political power struggles, and only felt pure gratitude towards the Transfiguration Professor who saved him.
Looking up into Hagrid's trusting, honest gaze, Dumbledore's eyes held a deep gentleness.
It's just... it's been so long. Could Regulus still find some vital clue that I missed thirty years ago? Don't underestimate students.
"Rubeus," Dumbledore suddenly spoke, his tone turning sharp and focused over the sound of the rain. "Did Regulus mention anything specific about what he observed from Riddle?"
"Hmm—" Hagrid frowned deeply, his bushy eyebrows knitting together as he tried hard to remember the boy's exact words. "He said—he said during the summer, at the Malfoy's wedding reception, he saw Riddle out in the gardens—talking to a snake."
Talking to a snake?
Parseltongue?
Dumbledore froze, the pieces of a thirty-year-old puzzle violently slamming into place inside his brilliant mind.
Could it be.