After thoroughly examining the blast crater, Snape hurried back to the castle with Damian. They headed straight for the Headmaster's Office on the eighth floor.
A large stone gargoyle stood guard at the entrance.
"Sherbet lemon," Snape said flatly.
The gargoyle sprang aside, and the wall behind it split in two, revealing a moving spiral staircase.
Portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses lined the circular office walls, all gently snoring within their gilded frames. A massive claw-footed desk dominated the room, and on a shelf behind it sat a patched, frayed wizard's hat—the Sorting Hat.
Dumbledore was still awake, quietly reading through a stack of parchment letters. Seeing Snape and Damian enter, he slowly removed his half-moon spectacles.
"Severus, what brings you here so late?"
"An incident just occurred in the Forbidden Forest. Another unicorn is dead, slaughtered by a Black-Robed Figure. Potter, Malfoy, and Damian encountered him," Snape rattled off with grim efficiency.
Dumbledore's expression instantly turned serious. "And the younger students—were they hurt?"
Around the room, the portraits on the walls suddenly woke up, feigning sleep but clearly eager for gossip.
Snape shook his head. "No students were injured. I had Hagrid escort them back to their common rooms. Damian is the only one who directly engaged the Black-Robed Figure tonight".
"Oh?" Dumbledore's sharp blue eyes shifted toward the boy. "Damian, could you describe exactly what happened?"
"Of course, Professor." Damian nodded and calmly recounted the events of the skirmish.
When he finished, Dumbledore fell into a deep silence, pondering the information. Before the headmaster could speak, the portraits on the wall began to chatter excitedly.
"Haha! Truly worthy of a Black descendant! You kept your head in front of a deadly enemy, Damian Black. You are an excellent Slytherin!" declared a bearded old wizard with a hearty laugh.
This was Phineas Nigellus Black, a famous ancestor of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and a former Hogwarts Headmaster.
Ignoring the portrait, Snape looked at the pensive Dumbledore. "Who do you think it was?"
Dumbledore blinked, coming back to himself. "I would like to confirm my suspicions first."
He pulled a tin of sweets and some pastries from his desk drawer. "Damian, this honeycomb cake is rather excellent—do try some. Professor Snape and I must make a quick trip to the Forest. Would you like anything to drink?"
"A glass of milk, please, Professor."
Dumbledore tapped the desk lightly with his wand, and a cold glass of milk from the Hogwarts kitchens instantly appeared.
"Fawkes." Dumbledore laid a hand on Snape's shoulder.
The magnificent red-and-gold phoenix left its perch, swooped down to land on Dumbledore's free arm, and in a flash of brilliant fire, carried both men out of the office.
Left alone, Damian sat by the desk and began eating the cake. It was incredibly late, and after an intense magical duel with Voldemort, he was ravenous.
The portraits on the walls fully animated, leaning out of their frames to chat with him.
Phineas Black immediately started to boast. "As a Black, one must be exceptional, just as I was! I remain Hogwarts' greatest headmaster—"
"Greatest? Shameless!" Headmistress Dilys Derwent cut in sharply from her frame, instantly exposing his record. "You were the most unpopular headmaster this school has ever seen!"
Damian knew enough about Phineas Black's canonical history to agree with Derwent. The ancestor had indeed been notoriously caustic and despised by the student body.
Unfazed, Phineas adjusted his painted robes and continued. "Damian Black, I believe I must reconsider the Black succession. When you have the time, you must visit the ancestral family home—Number 12, Grimmauld Place—and we shall discuss it properly".
With the House of Black in steep decline and its direct descendants dwindling, especially with Sirius Black currently rotting in Azkaban, Phineas was clearly looking to anoint a new heir. Damian, showing both immense power and Slytherin cunning, seemed like the ideal candidate.
Damian, pleasantly surprised by this sudden windfall, readily agreed. "Very well, Ancestor Phineas. I will find the time to visit Number 12, Grimmauld Place".
Meanwhile, Fawkes had deposited Dumbledore and Snape deep within the Forbidden Forest. Snape quickly led the Headmaster to the exact clearing where Damian had fought the Black-Robed Figure.
A massive, scorched blast crater still marked the ground. Dumbledore crouched down, pinched some of the blackened earth, and rubbed it thoughtfully between his fingers.
His expression turned extraordinarily grave. After a long moment, he murmured, "Tom… you have truly returned…"
Snape, not catching the whispered words, stepped closer. "Dumbledore?"
Dusting the ash from his fingers, Dumbledore slowly rose to his feet. "I mean... Lord Voldemort. He is back."
Snape's pale face darkened considerably. He had suspected as much. "And what state is the Dark Lord currently in?"
Dumbledore sighed softly into the cold night air. "I do not know. But he must be in a terrible state. Killing unicorns... he must be drinking their blood to prolong his life. Unicorn blood can sustain a life and temporarily stave off death... yet anyone who slays something so pure is cursed with a half-life. It is absolute proof that he is desperate."
Dumbledore had long suspected Quirrell was up to no good, though he hadn't yet realized Voldemort was actively possessing the man's body. He assumed Quirrell was merely serving as an agent. This was exactly why Dumbledore had set his elaborate trap, using the Philosopher's Stone as bait to draw Voldemort out into the open.
After thoroughly confirming their findings, the two men used Fawkes to return to the Headmaster's Office.
They said very little in front of Damian. Once the boy had finished his cake and milk, Dumbledore gently dismissed him for the night.
After Damian left, Dumbledore stood perfectly still, staring at the empty doorway. He murmured softly, "Such an independent child… remarkable charisma… astonishing talent… they are so very alike…"
Snape sneered, his voice dropping into a dangerous drawl. "Another Slytherin. Ancient blood, yet a half-blood. Does Damian remind you of anyone, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore turned to meet the Potions Master's eyes. "He is not like Voldemort. He has known warmth. He has love within him, Severus, and love is the greatest power of all."
Snape's lip curled in deep disgust. "Another one of your grand plans, the great Albus Dumbledore?"
Without waiting for an answer, he spun on his heel and swept from the office, his robes billowing behind him.
Silence returned to the circular room.
After a long while, standing alone among the sleeping portraits, Dumbledore let out a low, weary murmur.
"Grindelwald…"
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