The Headmaster's Office was silent. Dumbledore sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on the Time-Turner in front of him, deep in thought.
Kyle glanced up and, without intending to, noticed something on the shelf behind Dumbledore: an unfinished pair of woolen socks. They were white, each adorned with a beautifully embroidered blue "A."
"Headmaster, do you like blue?" Kyle asked suddenly.
"I tend to prefer purple," Dumbledore replied, his mind still elsewhere. "But why do you ask?"
"No reason, just curious," Kyle said with a shrug. "Professor Dumbledore, I'll leave the Time-Turner in your hands. I hope you'll be able to repair it soon."
"Thank you for your trust, Kyle," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling as he seemed to regain some energy.
"I think—"
"Knock!"
Just then, a loud knock—more of a banging, really—sounded from outside. Kyle glanced at Dumbledore and moved to answer, but before he could, Lucius Malfoy strode into the room, trailed by a House-elf covered in bandages, shrinking in fear.
It was unprecedented—no one had ever barged into the Headmaster's Office like this before.
Yet Dumbledore showed no hint of annoyance. He adjusted his glasses and greeted Lucius with cheerful composure.
"Good evening, Lucius."
"My apologies, Headmaster; I didn't realize how flimsy your door was," Lucius said, his tone laced with undisguised satisfaction. He unfurled a long roll of parchment. "You'll recall, I'm sure, what we discussed: if the attacks persisted, your position would be at stake. So… here is your suspension order, temporarily relieving you of your duties. Signed by all twelve board members. We've decided that your talents aren't being put to the best use, and poor Weasley—well, he likely trusted you to keep him safe..."
"Yes, I recall," Dumbledore replied calmly, "though it's odd—you see, I've received letters from the other eleven directors just today. They've changed their minds and wish to retract their signatures from the order after learning Arthur Weasley's son was the most recent victim."
Dumbledore placed the eleven letters on the desk. Lucius's face grew even paler, though he wasn't ready to back down.
"But you agreed to resign if you couldn't stop the attacks," he said smoothly. "Surely the esteemed Mr. Dumbledore doesn't plan to go back on his word? Of course, if you do, there might be some unfavorable headlines in The Daily Prophet tomorrow, though I assume you wouldn't mind."
Dumbledore regarded him with a strange expression.
He hadn't offered his resignation during the meeting; why was Lucius acting as if he had? Still, Dumbledore remained unbothered.
"So, did you catch the culprit?" Lucius asked, his voice sharp.
"I did," Dumbledore replied with a faint smile.
"Oh? And who might that be?"
"It's the same person as before, Lucius," Dumbledore said, nodding toward the diary on his desk. "Only this time, Voldemort employed a different approach."
Lucius remained silent, his face rigid and mask-like.
"Fortunately," Dumbledore continued, his gaze meeting Lucius's with calm determination, "only ten minutes ago, Kyle—this young man right here—managed to resolve the situation entirely on his own. I was just about to present him with a Special Award for Services to the School."
He patted Kyle's shoulder, adding, "With this award, Kyle, you've now earned three Special Awards for Services to the School. Quite a feat… one per year. You may be the most exceptional student Hogwarts has ever known."
"Thank you for the praise, Professor," Kyle replied modestly. "Though I've still got a long way to go to match your accomplishments."
"When I was a student, I didn't receive nearly as many awards for services to the school," Dumbledore said with a warm smile.
...
The two men exchanged smiles, ignoring everyone else as they began a lighthearted exchange of compliments—each praising the other in turn. The atmosphere was harmonious.
But there was always someone eager to disrupt the mood.
Malfoy's gaze shifted toward them, malicious and piercing. Kyle, irritated by the look, frowned and rested his hand on his suitcase. "What are you looking at?"
"Huh!" Lucius Malfoy let out a strange, throaty laugh. "I've known many so-called 'geniuses,' but in the end, they all faded away, leaving nothing behind. Let's hope you don't end up like them."
Kyle raised an eyebrow. So, that's the game he wants to play, he thought. Fine—he wouldn't hold back.
"Mr. Malfoy, do you know what this is?" Kyle held out the diary.
"It's just a cheap muggle notebook," Malfoy sneered, refusing to touch it. "I wouldn't lay a finger on something so filthy."
Though his words were dismissive, a flicker of anger crossed his face as he eyed the damaged diary.
"My mistake," Kyle said coolly. He grabbed a glove from a nearby shelf, slipped it over the diary, and, without further ado, thrust it toward Malfoy. "I found this in Ginny's old textbook. If I'm not mistaken, you must have slipped it in when we were at Flourish and Blotts."
Malfoy's pale hands clenched into fists before he forced them to relax.
"Do you have any proof?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"No, but that's beside the point," Kyle said with a dismissive wave. "The point is, this diary held Tom Riddle's soul—something he treasured more than life itself. Of course, that soul is gone now. It's vanished completely, leaving nothing behind."
For a moment, the diary seemed like a burning ember in Malfoy's eyes, and he instinctively recoiled, tossing it away. The House-elf behind him moved quickly, deftly catching it before it hit the ground.
"Mr. Malfoy, it appears you know who Tom Riddle is," Kyle remarked with a laugh. "In any case, we owe a debt of gratitude to whoever disposed of this diary. They've done us a great service."
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed with a pleasant smile. "They've also revealed one of Voldemort's greatest secrets. We really should thank them."
Malfoy's face was drained of color. His right hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach for his wand, but he restrained himself. Instead, he turned on his heel, opened the door, and exited in a daze, not saying a single word as he left.
"It seems someone will be losing sleep for a while," Dumbledore remarked, rising from his seat. Then he looked at Kyle with interest. "But, Kyle… would you mind telling me how you know about Horcruxes? This ancient, dark magic isn't even known by most professors."
His tone was light, as if he were asking about Kyle's lunch that day.
"Oh, I read about it once during the holidays in an article by Nicolas Flamel," Kyle replied casually. "It was about his work disproving the theory that Horcruxes were related to alchemy."
"The article from 1689?" Dumbledore asked thoughtfully, recalling that Flamel had indeed written such a piece.
"Yes, along with the supplement from 1691," Kyle confirmed. "It's a curious coincidence—this diary matches all the known traits of a Horcrux perfectly."
"I see," Dumbledore said. "I thought perhaps the Four Founders had shared the information with you in the Chamber of Secrets… Would you care for some tea? Or perhaps lemonade?"
"Lemonade," Kyle replied, glancing out the window as if captivated by the dreary sky, all the while thinking to himself, If I hadn't read that article… Well, that's what they'll believe.
Dumbledore let the conversation lapse, walking over to Fawkes and gently stroking the phoenix's feathers. "You were a bit impulsive just now."
"Impulsive?" Kyle echoed. "Do you mean I shouldn't have told Lucius about the Horcrux?"
"No, it's not that," Dumbledore sighed suddenly. "It took me two days to knit those gloves. I was planning to gift them to someone."
"Er…" Kyle was momentarily at a loss for words. "Should I go after him and ask for them back?"
Dumbledore considered this, then shook his head with a soft smile. "It's all right. I'll just knit another pair. I imagine I'll have plenty of free time after today."