Chapter 351 – Wizard Spell
Time: 12:10 a.m.
Outside the abandoned girls' bathroom on the third floor, two unmistakably male figures lingered in the dim corridor.
"Dumbledore," Tom Riddle said after a moment of hesitation, "are we really going in?"
If this were the old him, he wouldn't have cared in the slightest.
But now things were different.
If he were caught entering the girls' bathroom, he would likely have to live under this identity for an uncomfortably long time—and more importantly, Myrtle was still inside.
The ghost of the girl he had once, unintentionally, killed.
At this hour, she should be sitting atop the water tank of the innermost cubicle, exactly as she always did.
"I mean," Riddle continued, clearly trying to talk himself out of it, "the wizard who appeared at Rotherham Church is very likely the same one connected to this place."
"And from what you showed earlier, you're the only one among us who can faintly sense that strange magic—magic that feels like time itself has stalled."
He paused, then frowned.
Only now did he realize their mistake.
They had been invincible for far too long.
When danger appeared, their instinct was no longer caution—but to charge forward first and think later.
"When did you get the illusion that I planned to go in immediately?" Dumbledore said calmly, rubbing his eyes.
"If I truly intended to enter right away, why would I be standing out here talking with you for so long?"
Riddle fell silent.
Dumbledore's expression grew serious.
"Inheriting a name—especially the name of a being worshipped as a god—is extraordinarily difficult. Almost impossible."
"The magic of a wizard repels the power bound to such a name. Even the weakest wizard cannot withstand it."
"Only Muggles can serve as vessels for fallen gods. Yet Muggles cannot perceive divine power through names—nor can the power of gods truly descend upon them."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"And yet, within this bathroom's hidden chamber… there exists a wizard who has inherited the name of Chronos, along with a fragment of the authority of the God of Time."
Riddle's eyes narrowed.
"I understand this better than you," he said quietly. "The name Voldemort itself represents my experiment."
"It was derived from Salazar Slytherin's research—his conjectures about higher realms—which I discovered in the Chamber of Secrets."
"Translated into modern Muggle terms, it's a process of compressing all information about a wizard into an invisible name."
He glanced sideways.
"Sound familiar? It's similar to how a spell is formed."
"This name circulates among wizards, within the magical field itself."
"It's another attempt to explore the boundary between life and death—wizard spellcasting at its extreme."
"But I never went that far," Riddle admitted. "The name Voldemort only allows me to sense the location—and sometimes the emotions—of those who invoke it."
"Perhaps that limitation comes from the incompleteness of my soul."
"After all, shortly after acquiring that manuscript, I created my first Horcrux—the diary."
He frowned, frustration evident.
"What I don't understand is why the so-called gods were so powerful."
"We've already reached the absolute limit of modern wizardry."
"Yet even at our peak, we're only comparable to the average beings referred to as gods in ancient texts."
"If we must label our current level…"
He exhaled.
"Then at best, we're demigods."
Strangely, although Riddle's lips were clearly moving, no sound could be heard.
And yet, from Dumbledore's expression, it was obvious—he heard every word.
"You believe this is bloodline degradation?" Dumbledore asked dryly. "Voldemort's old theory?"
"Yes—but we've already agreed that theory is flawed."
"Perhaps it was a curse left behind by the gods themselves," Riddle speculated. "A safeguard to prevent future wizards from surpassing them."
"Some gods opposed the war. Some sided with wizards."
"But in the end, the gods died."
"All that remains are myths—and the power bound to their names."
Dumbledore sighed.
"Perhaps. But Tom, you shouldn't have cast that soundproofing spell."
"If that wizard truly exists, we're openly discussing the secrets of divine realms. He should have appeared by now."
With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore dispelled the silencing magic.
"I doubt your spell is the reason he hasn't noticed us," he said gently.
Riddle scoffed.
"With his level, do you really think simple magic could block him?"
"Look at Rotherham Church. The old man survived—and remembered everything."
"He's not evil. At the very least, he's not like Voldemort."
"I don't even mind others knowing I exist."
"If he hasn't shown himself, then either he's occupied—perhaps with the basilisk—or he simply doesn't care."
Riddle studied Dumbledore closely.
"You've stayed here far longer than necessary."
"You have something else to say."
Dumbledore hesitated.
If he had merely wanted to draw that mysterious wizard out, this conversation could have taken place anywhere—even inside the bathroom itself.
The ghosts of Hogwarts obeyed him. Myrtle could have been asked to leave.
Finally, he spoke.
"…I wanted to thank you."
Riddle froze.
Color rose to his pale cheeks.
"Have you lost your mind?"
"For the letter," Dumbledore said quietly.
After Cornelius Fudge stepped down, and Arthur Weasley—long neglected—was finally taken seriously again, Dumbledore had come to understand how wrong he had been before.
"Oh," Riddle said, arching an eyebrow. "So you've finally realized the usefulness of power."
First power.
Then—eventually—lifespan.
"Dumbledore," Riddle snapped suddenly, still flushed, "don't you dare leave me behind."
No one knew what he was thinking in that moment.
Only that—for the first time in a long while—things seemed to be improving.
"No," Dumbledore replied softly. "I've simply realized that power should rest in the hands of those who deserve it."
"As for why I'm thanking you…"
"You likely already know the rest. So let me speak only of Fudge."
"Did you know he has a nephew? Rufus Fudge."
"Cornelius once wrote him a letter—advice on how to survive as a Ministry official."
Dumbledore's voice darkened.
"I remember one passage very clearly."
"First stage: Claim that nothing has happened."
"Second stage: Admit something may be happening—but insist action is unnecessary."
"Third stage: Agree action is required—but say it's impossible."
"Fourth stage: Admit action was needed all along—and that it's now too late."
"I'm sorry."
Anger flickered behind Dumbledore's eyes.
(End of Chapter)
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