Dumbledore and Maurise stepped into the second-floor girls' lavatory.
Moaning Myrtle had been hovering mid-air, her chest puffed out indignantly, ready to unleash another screaming fit. However, upon recognizing the Headmaster, she immediately deflated, pouting heavily before retreating into the safety of her stall.
Maurise took the initiative to explain exactly what had transpired over the past few hours.
After all, he had essentially resolved a massive, lethal crisis for the Headmaster. He had absolutely no reason to hide his achievements. Furthermore, Dumbledore likely already suspected the general location of the Chamber of Secrets. Why else would he wander into an abandoned girls' bathroom immediately after discovering an unconscious Lockhart?
"I just returned from the Chamber of Secrets. The Basilisk has been permanently dealt with. It was certainly a formidable beast, incredibly fast and highly lethal..."
Maurise chose his words incredibly carefully, deliberately omitting several crucial, highly incriminating details.
For instance, the fact that he had forcibly enslaved a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul was a detail absolutely not meant for public consumption. If Dumbledore found out about that, he would likely pre-book Maurise a luxury suite in Azkaban before breakfast.
Dumbledore listened intently to Maurise's recounting. His expression remained incredibly serene, completely undisturbed.
A second-year student single-handedly dispatching a millennium-old Basilisk sounded utterly absurd on paper. However, considering it was Maurise Black...
It was actually entirely logical.
After all, Dumbledore knew the boy commanded a fully functional bone dragon. In terms of sheer destructive power, the dragon was more than a match for a giant serpent.
"And where exactly is the entrance to the Chamber?" Dumbledore inquired.
"Right here," Maurise pointed to the central copper tap. "However, it requires Parseltongue to open."
Dumbledore leaned forward, his piercing blue eyes settling on the intricate, serpentine carving etched into the side of the tap.
"Parseltongue," Dumbledore murmured thoughtfully, tracing the carving with a long finger. "Salazar Slytherin's unique, inherited talent acting as the absolute key to his hidden Chamber. A truly brilliant and highly secure design. It is no wonder I was never able to locate the entrance myself."
"Professor," Maurise asked suddenly, "are you currently the official Headmaster of Hogwarts?"
"As long as this castle requires my presence, I remain the Headmaster," Dumbledore glanced at him, offering a warm, grandfatherly smile. "The suspension order has already been revoked. It was merely a petty, short-sighted scheme. Certain individuals utilized highly unsavory methods of intimidation to force the Board of Governors into making a deeply misguided decision."
"I am going to assume Malfoy was behind it. The older one, I mean."
"Indeed," Dumbledore did not bother denying it. He smoothly shifted the topic. "So, Maurise, if the entrance requires Parseltongue, how exactly did you open it?"
Maurise shook his head. "I didn't. I cannot speak Parseltongue."
Reaching into his robes, he produced the severely charred, ruined husk of the black notebook and handed it directly to Dumbledore.
"This is..." Dumbledore's serene expression finally cracked, a look of profound seriousness settling over his features.
"It is one of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes," Maurise shrugged, maintaining a perfectly casual tone. "But as you can plainly see, I have already destroyed it."
Dumbledore accepted the ruined notebook. He stared at the blistered leather cover for a long moment before nodding slowly. "I see. I believe I understand the general sequence of events."
Maurise raised an eyebrow. "Are you honestly not going to ask any follow-up questions?"
"You may share whatever details you feel comfortable sharing, Maurise," Dumbledore replied, his tone perfectly even.
Maurise's mouth twitched in mild annoyance.
'How incredibly boring. Could you at least pretend to be a little shocked?'
Deciding not to beat around the bush, Maurise offered a highly abridged version of the truth.
"The diary was originally in the possession of Ginny Weasley. My cat managed to steal it from her. Last night, Tom Riddle lured me down into the Chamber of Secrets. I utilized a few of my own methods to eliminate both him and his Basilisk."
He kept his explanation brief, closely observing Dumbledore's reaction.
Dumbledore merely offered another slow nod. "Fear, isolation, and confusion... Tom was always a master at exploiting those exact emotions. You handled the situation exceptionally well, Maurise."
'What a painfully generic response.'
"Perhaps you should check on Ginny Weasley's condition," Maurise suggested. "She had a significant amount of her life force aggressively siphoned by Voldemort. She might be in critical condition."
"Do not worry yourself. I will ensure she receives proper medical attention immediately," Dumbledore assured him.
Having run out of useful information to share, Maurise suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of exhaustion wash over him. He let out a massive yawn. "Well, am I free to go back to bed now? I am incredibly tired."
"Of course," Dumbledore's voice softened considerably. "You have accomplished more than enough for one night. Sleep well, Maurise."
"Goodnight, Professor."
As Maurise reached the lavatory door, he cast one final glance over his shoulder.
Dumbledore showed absolutely no intention of leaving. He was still standing before the central sink, deeply analyzing the copper tap.
Considering it was an ancient mechanism designed by Salazar Slytherin himself, it would likely take Dumbledore quite some time to crack it without Parseltongue. Regardless, Maurise needed to return and harvest the Basilisk corpse before the Headmaster managed to force his way inside.
---
By the time Maurise finally collapsed into his bed, it was the dead of night. He fell asleep instantly. He wasn't superhuman; the intense magical expenditure and psychological stress of the evening had drained him completely.
The next morning, the absolute first thing Maurise did upon opening his eyes was summon the skeletal wolf from his array.
"Tom," he commanded, "I want to know absolutely everything there is to know about Horcruxes."
He had been introduced to the concept the previous night, and he was intensely curious. Who in their right mind didn't desire eternal life?
Of course, Maurise had absolutely zero intention of actively fracturing his own soul. He possessed a profound understanding of soul mechanics and necromancy. Any magic that directly manipulated the fundamental structure of a soul required extreme caution.
"I obey your will, Master."
Tom began to lecture methodically. He covered the underlying theoretical principles, the exact creation rituals, the required sacrifices, and the inevitable, catastrophic side effects, holding absolutely nothing back.
"...Once the soul is fractured, it is permanently damaged. It can never be fully restored to its original state. Furthermore, the violent trauma of the split will inevitably cause severe, irreversible mental instability and profound psychological degradation."
Having concluded his comprehensive lecture, Tom fell silent.
The more Maurise heard, the more he realized that creating a Horcrux was an incredibly flawed, self-destructive piece of magic.
"Tell me, Tom," Maurise asked, genuinely baffled. "If the side effects are so catastrophic, why on earth did you choose to create one?"
The crimson light in the skeletal wolf's eye sockets flickered sharply.
"Because I simply did not care, Master," Tom answered without a second of hesitation. "For me, achieving immortality was the absolute, ultimate goal. To attain true power, especially power capable of conquering death itself, one must always be willing to pay the necessary price."
'Spoken like a true Dark Lord.'
"Well, your absolute conviction is certainly admirable," Maurise noted dryly. "It is just a pity the method itself is so monumentally stupid."
"You are entirely correct, Master," Tom bowed his skeletal head submissively.
Maurise chuckled, electing not to comment further.
Truthfully, he desperately desired a limitless lifespan as well. But utilizing Horcruxes was completely off the table. Given the choice, he would vastly prefer to die of old age than intentionally tear his own soul into pieces. The very concept was horrifying.
---
Foregoing his usual morning meditation routine, Maurise decided to head straight down to the Chamber of Secrets to properly harvest the Basilisk corpse.
As he was descending the grand, shifting staircase, a sudden, brilliant burst of golden and crimson flames erupted directly in front of him, accompanied by a melodious, trilling cry.
A magnificent red bird fluttered down, landing gracefully on the banister right beside him.
It was Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix.
Fawkes let out a few soft, urgent chirps, looking directly at Maurise.
Maurise paused. "You want me to grab hold of you?"
Fawkes nodded his head in a highly intelligent, human-like manner.
Maurise reached out and firmly grasped the phoenix's beautiful, trailing tail feathers.
Instantly, Fawkes whipped his head around and pecked Maurise sharply on the knuckles.
"Ouch!" Maurise hissed, rubbing his stinging hand. He quickly slipped the single, vibrant red tail feather he had accidentally yanked loose into his pocket.