The reason Professor Rouse had requested a meeting with Dumbledore was disarmingly simple , and predictably reckless.
He wanted permission to take students into the Forbidden Forest for combat training.
Not a casual walk near the treeline, not a few harmless excursions with Hagrid's watchful eye , but a real foray deep into the forest, into the domains of its magical beasts.
It was, by all standards, insane.
A single professor watching over dozens of students could barely guarantee their safety; all it would take was one moment of distraction, one misplaced spell, and someone could lose far more than house points.
Still, Dumbledore had listened quietly, steepled his fingers under his chin… and finally nodded.
"I will permit it," he said, "on two conditions. You may take only third-years and above , and you will bring Hagrid with you each time."
The moment Hagrid's name left Dumbledore's lips, Rouse nearly grinned with relief.
Having the half-giant at his side meant fewer responsibilities, fewer accidents, and, if things went wrong, someone else to take the blame.
"Of course, Headmaster," Rouse said with visible satisfaction, already rising from his seat. "Splendid arrangement. I'll get the rosters ready immediately."
He practically bounced out of the office, boots clacking cheerfully against the stone steps.
Dumbledore watched him leave with a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It had been years since he'd had a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who wasn't either cursed, incompetent, or criminally insane.
For once, things at Hogwarts almost felt… stable.
When the door closed behind Rouse, Dumbledore turned his gaze back to the student who remained seated before his desk.
"Well then, Mr. Riddle," he said, eyes twinkling. "I assume you've come to deliver good news as well?"
Tom tilted his head. "That depends on how you define 'good,' Professor. I'm only here to report my latest… conversation with Voldemort."
He flicked his wrist, and a roll of parchment floated neatly from his sleeve onto Dumbledore's desk.
The old wizard's expression sobered. Adjusting his half-moon spectacles, he began to read.
Meanwhile, Tom pulled a small, intricately carved comb from his robes , his wand reshaped into the elegant tool , and began running it through Fawkes's feathers.
The phoenix purred in contentment, trilling softly, even when Tom accidentally tugged too hard and dislodged a few glimmering feathers.
The office filled with nothing but the soft scrape of quill against parchment and the occasional musical note from Fawkes.
But as Dumbledore read on, his composed smile began to falter.
The dialogue on that parchment was… stunning.
Not because it revealed dark secrets , though there were plenty , but because it read like the transcript of two Dark Lords chatting over tea.
Tom was composed, charming, and cuttingly cruel, while Voldemort sounded like a sulking child being tutored by an elder serpent.
It was both horrifying and… oddly amusing.
By the time Dumbledore reached the end, his brows were deeply furrowed, and his blue eyes gleamed with complex emotion.
He leaned back slowly, setting the parchment aside.
"Grindelwald," he murmured at last.
Tom looked up, still brushing Fawkes's wing. "You read that part, huh?"
"I did." Dumbledore's tone was gentle, but his gaze sharp. "I must admit, I did not expect you to know so much about him , or to speak of him with such… insight. Most wizards your age know him only as a name tied to a war long over."
Tom shrugged, a faint, deliberate nonchalance in his voice.
"You know how it is," he said. "When Newt Scamander and I ran into some of the old Saints in Arizona, it piqued my curiosity. After that, I started digging."
His eyes glimmered with sly amusement.
"Most of the official records are useless , censored to oblivion. Every mention of Grindelwald in the Hogwarts Library just loops back to that final duel. Nothing about what came before , his ideology, his movement, what made people follow him."
"So," Tom continued, "I started reading pure-blood family journals. Some still remember. And, well, Newt and Nicolas Flamel filled in the rest. Between them, I got a… fairly complete picture."
Silence settled between them.
Dumbledore's eyes had drifted to the window, unfocused , lost somewhere decades in the past. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a softness that rarely surfaced.
"My apologies, Tom," he said quietly. "Old men are too easily pulled into old ghosts."
He sighed, then added, "You're right , the Ministry buried his history for a reason. Grindelwald's true strength was never his magic, but his charisma. He could infect the heart of anyone who listened. The very idea of him is dangerous."
The light in his eyes dimmed slightly.
"My advice, Mr. Riddle , learn what you must, but no more. Some flames are best left buried."
Tom's smile didn't falter. "Understood, Professor."
(He had already learned everything he needed , and much more than Dumbledore realized.)
The Headmaster folded his hands again. "Now then… back to your correspondence with Voldemort."
He adjusted his glasses, eyes narrowing. "I don't desire his secrets for myself. But for the sake of Hogwarts' safety , and yours , I would like to review whatever knowledge he's offered you."
Tom nodded immediately. "No problem. He's hesitating, but I'll nudge him a bit more."
Dumbledore's expression warmed. "It's only a matter of time. You've found his weakness, after all. If there's even a sliver of a chance to hinder me or the Order, he'll take it."
Tom smirked. "Oh, I know. He even offered to serve me if I killed Harry Potter."
Dumbledore froze , color draining faintly from his cheeks. He had seen that line in the transcript but hearing it aloud somehow made it worse.
"I… did read that part," he murmured, looking aside with a cough. "Quite… unorthodox."
Tom chuckled, clearly amused by the Headmaster's discomfort.
With business concluded, he straightened his robes. "Well, that's all for today. I assume the Whomping Willow is ready for planting?"
Dumbledore brightened instantly. "Indeed. Hagrid has nearly finished preparing the grounds. I'll send him a note this evening."
"Perfect. I'll speak with him tomorrow morning, then."
Tom reached for Fawkes, who nuzzled his arm like an affectionate cat, and turned toward the door.
"Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said suddenly.
Tom paused. "Yes, Professor?"
The Headmaster's gaze was clear and piercing, his tone carrying an unmistakable weight.
"Bloodline fusion," he said slowly, "can indeed strengthen an ordinary wizard , enhance body and magic alike. But you are not ordinary."
He leaned forward slightly. "There's already immense power in you. Don't chase strength blindly. Seek its root. Understanding that will give you far more than any ritual ever could."
His expression softened, wise and tired all at once.
"If you find yourself lost in that pursuit, my door is always open."
Tom's smile returned , polite, practiced, and unreadable.
"Thank you for the advice, Professor. I understand exactly what you mean."
And with that, he left , the phoenix following him out in a trail of gold and crimson light.