Chapter 348: Testing
The Headmaster's Office was one of the most mysterious locations in Hogwarts Castle.
Located on the eighth floor, it was guarded by a massive stone gargoyle—ugly, snarling, and very much alive in spirit. Only when the correct password was spoken would the gargoyle leap aside, allowing the wall behind it to split open and reveal a slowly rotating spiral staircase leading upward.
This alone ensured that even Hogwarts professors could not enter the office at will.
At exactly midnight, two figures stopped before the stone guardian.
"Well, Severus," said the handsome young man who looked more like a student than an adult, turning sideways with a lazy smile. "Long time no see."
The sallow-faced, middle-aged wizard beside him did not respond.
His expression was stiff, his eyes empty—as though the person speaking to him didn't exist at all.
"Blowing bubblegum," the young man said lightly, raising an eyebrow.
The gargoyle jumped aside.
Without hesitation, Severus Snape stepped onto the staircase as it began to rise.
The young man followed at an unhurried pace.
"Why so silent?" he continued. "Afraid to talk to me?"
"Or is it guilt?"
"Betraying your master and all that?"
Snape said nothing.
They stopped before a gleaming oak door, its surface polished to a soft glow, a brass knocker shaped like a griffin fixed at its center.
"We're here," Snape said at last.
The muscles around his lips tightened so severely that it felt like an eternity passed before the words escaped.
Before the other man could speak, a calm, gentle voice came from behind the door.
"Come in, Severus… and Tom."
The door swung open.
"Headmaster," Snape said sharply as he entered, his face regaining animation at once. "I don't understand why you insist on summoning me at this hour—with him."
The handsome young man—Tom Riddle—walked in behind him, expression relaxed.
"Clearly, Severus still resents keeping company with his former master," Tom remarked mildly.
"I'd like your opinion on Igor Karkaroff," Dumbledore said, folding his arms.
"Karkaroff?" Snape sneered. "A speculator. A coward who clings to power wherever he can find it."
"He's no different from Lucius Malfoy—just less fortunate."
Tom tilted his head. "So… Voldemort has his eye on him again?"
"Did Arthur Weasley's movements alert him?" he asked, his tone sharpening slightly.
"In my view," Snape said flatly, "Karkaroff is spineless. He thinks my disdain for the Ministry makes us allies. He even tried to mention my name while accusing others of being Death Eaters."
Both men turned to Dumbledore.
"Very good," Dumbledore said quietly. "Tom, your suspicion aligns with my own."
"Karkaroff wrote to me suddenly, proposing the revival of the Triwizard Tournament next year."
"Hogwarts. Durmstrang. Beauxbatons."
Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles.
"I believe Voldemort has taken control of Karkaroff's body—just as he did with Greyback."
"A temporary vessel can be sustained for over a year," he continued calmly. "Especially now that potions are affordable, and Karkaroff's position grants him access to both wealth and resources."
"As long as he's careful, he won't deteriorate as Quirrell did."
Dumbledore looked at Snape. "Severus, write to him. Test the waters."
Then to Tom. "And you—remain alert. Watch for signs of Voldemort's resurrection."
He paused.
"Above all… observe Harry. If something changes, he will react."
9:00 p.m. — the Quidditch Pitch
"Alright, everyone, listen up!"
Alexander Smith's voice rang clearly across the field despite the exhaustion creeping into it.
"The last match made one thing very clear—we still have work to do."
"Cho Chang," he called, turning toward the Ravenclaw Seeker. "You're fast, but you fly too directly. Bludgers won't always miss—learn to dodge unpredictably."
"Henry," he continued, "you've got experience, but as a Beater, you need more aggression."
"Roger, Phoenix—you're doing well. Keep it up."
"Bradley, Richard," Alexander said firmly, "I want you two training together. Bradley, pressure hard. Richard, focus on defense."
"And that's it. Training dismissed."
The team began heading back toward the castle, brooms slung over shoulders, laughter and complaints mixing in the cool night air.
That was when Hagrid stopped Alexander and Ron.
"What's wrong, Hagrid?" Ron asked, noticing Alexander's hoarse voice.
"Well…" Hagrid leaned closer, lowering his voice. "I'm thinkin' of introducin' some interestin' magical creatures for a competition. Wanted yer advice."
"A competition?" Ron blinked. "Since when do you ask us about magical creatures?"
Alexander took a swig of chilled pumpkin juice from his magically expanded bag, steadying himself.
"Dumbledore told me I'm not the best judge of danger," Hagrid admitted sheepishly. "After… Aragog."
"What kind of competition?" Alexander asked.
"Well—Dumbledore said I could mention it," Hagrid said. "Team captains already know. Wood and Flint, for example."
Ron groaned. "What? So we're the last ones again?"
"If I were Dumbledore," Hagrid said seriously, "I'd do the same."
"There'll be no Quidditch next school year."
Alexander froze.
"So for Wood and Flint," Hagrid continued quietly, "this year's their last."
"What?" Ron and Alexander exclaimed together.
"Because next year," Hagrid said, eyes shining, "Hogwarts will host somethin' far more important."
"An event that hasn't been held for over a century."
"The Triwizard Tournament."
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