The stone gargoyles guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's tower were far more than decorative statuary. They possessed a sharp, discerning sentience, functioning much like the elite security guards of a government building.
As Dumbledore approached, he offered no password. The gargoyles simply sprang aside, bowing low to grant him passage.
Ted Epifani stepped onto the moving spiral staircase, ascending slowly behind the silver-bearded wizard.
The Headmaster's office was situated at the very pinnacle of the highest tower, a circular room that felt detached from the rest of the castle. A secondary Griffin Staircase wound its way up to a mezzanine level on the right, presumably leading to Dumbledore's private quarters.
The walls were lined with the portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses. It was late, and most of the painted figures were fast asleep, snoring softly or blowing painted snot bubbles that inflated and popped with a rhythmic plip.
However, Ted noticed a few pairs of eyes crack open—sharp, alert, and feigning sleep.
'Do portraits actually need sleep?' Ted wondered. 'Or are they simply pantomiming the biological habits of their subjects?'
It would be a fatal error to underestimate them. They were the eyes and ears of the castle, bound by magic to serve the incumbent Headmaster. While they couldn't cast spells from their two-dimensional prisons, their mobility was their greatest weapon. A portrait could travel instantly between any other frame they inhabited across the world.
Take Phineas Nigellus Black, for instance. The unpopular Headmaster from a century ago had a portrait here, and another in the ancestral Black family home. While the Black residence was protected by ancient wards formidable enough to baffle even the Dark Lord, Phineas could slip through the canvas in an instant, acting as an unblockable spy.
And there were dozens of such spies on these walls—monitoring St. Mungo's, the Ministry, and the old Pure-blood estates.
To Ted's left, the walls were crammed with curved bookshelves reaching the ceiling. Ted's eyes swept over the spines—rare manuscripts, grimoires, and texts that would make a curse-breaker weep with joy.
Suddenly, his gaze snagged on a familiar title: Secrets of the Darkest Art.
'The book on Horcruxes,' Ted realized, his internal alarm bells ringing. 'He's already retrieved it. Efficient.'
As a practitioner of Mind Magic, Ted clamped down on his micro-expressions instantly. His heartbeat remained steady, his eyes moving past the forbidden tome as if it were a cookbook. He took the seat opposite the Headmaster's desk.
The desk itself was a magnificent claw-footed piece, the six slender legs carved to resemble the paws of a griffin. It looked ready to scuttle away at a moment's notice. The surface was cluttered with whirring silver instruments—smoke-puffing contraptions and delicate spinning gears that likely monitored the castle's wards.
On a shelf to the right sat the tattered, patched Sorting Hat.
"Ah, Ted! Good evening," the Hat rasped, recognizing the boy instantly.
"Good evening, Mr. Hat." Ted pantomimed doffing an invisible cap.
The Hat chuckled, the sound rousing a few of the lighter sleepers in the portraits.
"Sit, Ted. Do not be nervous," Dumbledore said gently, sinking into his high-backed chair. "I merely wish to hear your account of the Chamber."
"Thank you, Headmaster."
Ted glanced at the golden perch beside the desk. Fawkes the Phoenix was roosting there, head tucked under a wing, dozing.
'The Dumbledore bloodline and their affinity for Phoenixes,' Ted mused. 'A genetic lottery win if there ever was one.'
"Would you like some dessert?" Dumbledore offered, holding out a silver dish filled with dark, twitching clusters.
"Cockroach Clusters," Dumbledore said cheerfully, his blue eyes twinkling. "Honeydukes' latest recipe. Absolutely fascinating texture."
Ted didn't hesitate. He reached out, grabbed two of the wriggling confectionaries, and popped them into his mouth.
Crunch.
The candy crunched satisfyingly, the enchanted syrup bursting inside with a flavor that was undeniably sweet, despite the sensation of legs wiggling against his tongue and the gooey "viscera" of the candy coating.
"Hmm. Interesting," Ted swallowed, smiling politely. "But I try to avoid too many sweets. Bad for the teeth."
Dumbledore watched him closely.
Serving something as repulsive as Cockroach Clusters was a calculated test. Most students would recoil in disgust. A spy, or someone hiding deep guilt, might hesitate or overcompensate. Dumbledore used these small shocks to create emotional fluctuations—ripples in a person's mental defenses that a Master Legilimens could slip through.
It was the reason Professor Snape never ate or drank anything in this office. He remained perpetually guarded.
To be honest, Dumbledore trusted Snape, but the trust was not entirely mutual. Snape harbored a deep, festering resentment. He had betrayed the Death Eaters to warn Dumbledore, hoping to save Lily Potter.
And the result? The Potters were dead. The Longbottoms were destroyed.
Snape couldn't care less about the "Greater Good" or the intricacies of war. He only knew that the strongest White Wizard of the century had failed to save the one woman Snape cared for. If a leader is willing to sacrifice themselves for a cause, they are often willing to sacrifice others, too. Snape knew this, and he hated it.
But Ted? Ted's performance was flawless.
There were no ripples in his mind. No spike of fear, no flash of disgust. He was calm—almost unnervingly so. Dumbledore found this lack of emotional leakage even more troublesome than Snape's volatility.
"Please, Headmaster," Ted said, his voice even. "Ask whatever you wish."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "If you don't mind, let us start from the very beginning."
Ted obliged. He began the narrative, recounting the altercation between Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy at Flourish and Blotts—the "Diagon Alley Fist Tournament"—and detailed every step leading to the Chamber.
He spoke for a long time, omitting nothing of the physical events, though carefully curating his internal reasoning.
"And finally," Ted concluded, "I pierced the diary with the Sword of Gryffindor."
He withdrew the black, ruined book from his robe sleeve and placed it on the desk.
The hole in the center was jagged, stained with ink that looked disturbingly like dried blood.
Dumbledore's expression darkened. He opened a drawer and retrieved a delicate brass instrument that resembled a jeweler's loupe. He leaned over the diary, examining the destruction inch by inch.
Originally a common Muggle notebook, the object had been transformed into a vessel of high-level Dark Magic. Even now, destroyed, it radiated a cold, chaotic energy. A sensitive wizard could feel the malice clinging to the leather cover like radiation.
When Dumbledore opened the cover and saw the name Tom Marvolo Riddle, his breath hitched slightly.
"Very dangerous," Dumbledore murmured, leaning back in his chair. He repeated it, softer this time. "Very dangerous indeed."
He looked up, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Ted's. "Ted, you have done a remarkable thing. Few adult wizards could have navigated this crisis with such... efficiency."
Dumbledore was internally conflicted. The boy had performed well—too well. Fifty years ago, Tom Riddle had been a brilliant student, but even he hadn't achieved this level of capability in his second year.
"You flatter me, Headmaster," Ted replied, his tone humble but frank. "We were lucky. If not for the Sword of Gryffindor... well, we were focused on saving Malfoy. We didn't think it through. If Fawkes hadn't arrived, if Ron hadn't been there... we were reckless."
Ted knew he had to tread carefully. If he appeared too powerful, too distinct, he risked reminding Dumbledore of the other brilliant orphan. He didn't need the Headmaster looking at him the way a sealer looks at a Tailed Beast—a dangerous force to be contained.
Dumbledore had been watching Ted since the incident with the Philosopher's Stone in his first year. He had intended to test the boy slowly, to guide him.
If the Chamber of Secrets hadn't erupted, Dumbledore would likely have orchestrated a safer "hero's journey" for Ted and his friends to test their character.
But the situation had spiraled out of control. Lucius Malfoy had struck at Dumbledore's weak point, suspending him from the Board of Governors, leaving the school vulnerable.