Dumbledore regarded Douglas through his half-moon spectacles, eyes sweeping up and down as if trying to see right through him.
It made Douglas feel just a touch uneasy.
"Ahem, let me continue," he said, clearing his throat. "After I turned him down—firmly and righteously—he got a bit agitated. He even managed to manifest out of the diary—a tall, dark-haired boy. Far too young, honestly. It wasn't at all the Voldemort I'd pictured."
"He claimed this was proof of his immortality, that he could stay young forever…" Douglas gave a wry chuckle. "But I didn't buy it. A blurry phantom, barely clinging to existence through a magical trinket? That's not immortality—ghosts have it better."
"My words seemed to get under his skin. He called me a Mudblood." Douglas's tone sharpened. "You know, Professor, I'm Muggle-born. I don't take kindly to that sort of insult. So I cast a little spell—though, in hindsight, I might've overestimated him. My spell blasted him away completely, along with the diary. Both were destroyed."
He paused, letting the memory settle. "But I did learn something. The way he vanished… I'm pretty sure what was hidden in that diary was a fragment of his soul. It's obvious—after failing last year, he snuck back into Hogwarts this year, hiding inside the diary, looking for trouble."
Douglas blinked at Dumbledore, signaling that he'd finished his account.
Dumbledore looked surprised by the brevity. "That's all?"
Douglas nodded, his tone utterly certain. "That's all! Professor, I'm truly sorry about how it turned out. I meant to bring you the diary intact. I never expected him to be so fragile—and so arrogant. Couldn't even handle a simple spell. This won't mess up your plans, will it?"
Dumbledore blinked, then broke into a gentle smile. "A simple spell? Douglas, you're far too modest. Or perhaps you underestimate yourself. I found dozens of protective enchantments on that diary—each one formidable. Even for me, breaking them would take considerable effort. I might even get caught by a trap if I wasn't careful. Yet you destroyed all of them with a 'simple spell'…"
He arched an eyebrow. "I wonder what you consider truly powerful magic? Perhaps one of those forbidden curses in your books—the ones that could destroy Hogwarts with a single incantation?"
Douglas coughed lightly, masking his embarrassment.
Dumbledore just smiled and pressed on. "Douglas, I don't blame you in the slightest. In fact, I think you handled things brilliantly. Tempting others—that's Tom's specialty. So many young wizards fell for his promises and ended up as Death Eaters. But you… you're exceptional. Brave, too. So young, with such achievements, and yet you can resist the lure of fame, power, even authority. That's something I deeply admire. Don't be so humble—this praise is well earned."
He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Actually, I've been thinking about something else."
As he spoke, a copy of The Quibbler floated across the room and landed in Douglas's hands. He recognized it immediately—the special issue.
He put on a puzzled expression, then let his face light up in sudden realization. "Professor, you don't mean to say… this diary is the 'boudoir diary' from that article? Was Voldemort really such a heartbreaker in his youth, chased by seven mistresses? And didn't he claim to be Salazar Slytherin's heir? That doesn't match the story's orphanage background or the whole 'half-blood' thing."
Douglas's gossipy curiosity nearly made Dumbledore choke.
Shaking his head, Dumbledore explained, "I see you've read the story, so I won't repeat it. Actually, some parts of it are remarkably similar to Tom's real experiences…"
Here, Dumbledore's gaze sharpened, pinning Douglas once more.
Unfazed, Douglas flipped open the magazine, feigning confusion. "Really? The part about being popular with girls? Hogwarts has plenty of handsome boys who get attention. I got quite a few love letters myself, back in the day."
Seeing such sincere innocence, Dumbledore finally set aside his last lingering doubts. He felt he'd investigated Douglas's background thoroughly—perhaps even more thoroughly than Douglas himself realized. Still, the timing of events and Douglas's status as a writer had left both him and Snape with a few nagging suspicions.
But now, Douglas's reactions had nearly erased all of them.
All that remained was to wait for replies from Tom Riddle and Professor Horace Slughorn—Snape's former Head of House and Potions Master—confirming that Douglas had never heard stories about either man from Slughorn. Once that was done, Dumbledore was sure even Severus would let go of his doubts.
The Muggle girl in the story—Snape thought it referred to Lily. And Douglas understood that was why Snape was so fixated on the matter.
When Dumbledore fell silent, simply staring at him, Douglas instinctively checked himself over, wondering if he'd spilled tea on his robes.
"Professor? Professor? Is there something on my face?"
Dumbledore snapped out of his reverie. "Oh! No, of course not. There's nothing at all. I was just thinking about how to answer your question. Well… I imagine you noticed the Wool's Orphanage mentioned in the story. It's not fictional—there really was such an orphanage in London, many years ago. I was the one who brought Tom from there into the wizarding world. He was right about one thing: as far as I know, Tom was Salazar Slytherin's last heir. But that doesn't change the fact that he was a half-blood."
He waved a hand. "But that's not what we're here to discuss tonight. At first, I thought the article was a friend's prank—after all, it involved not just Tom. Oh, and I'm sorry, Douglas, but unless the person involved is willing, I can't tell you who it is. Honestly, I only found out about this by accident. When I saw Wool's Orphanage mentioned, I thought something was off. So I visited The Quibbler's editor, Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood, and there I met the other person from the story…"
He paused, then continued, "But that's beside the point. No matter how we pressed Mr. Lovegood, he only admitted the story wasn't his own, but a gift from a mysterious reader. There was no trace of the reader on the letter or the manuscript… Don't be confused; I'm certain he wasn't lying, and he had no contact with Tom. What convinced me was a crumpled scrap of paper I happened to find on Mr. Lovegood's floor. I hadn't meant to pry, but he said it was just a strange note, asking if he knew someone named Tom Marvolo Riddle…"
Douglas put on a look of genuine shock—he really hadn't expected Dumbledore and the other person to go straight to Lovegood, or to stumble across a letter from Voldemort.
"Professor, you mean Voldemort—or someone very close to him—read the article and thought it was about him? Oh, no… So now we can be sure that note was written by Voldemort himself, using the diary to control Mr. Tom Cruise. So, Professor, you're quite certain this story is about Voldemort? At least, mostly true?"
Watching Douglas catch on so quickly, Dumbledore's expression was one of unmistakable appreciation and satisfaction.
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