As the old man, the child, the wizard, and the ghost enjoyed their peculiar reunion…
Within the mural, Gryffindor's consciousness stirred, sensing an intruder.
He was, in a sense, "Gryffindor," yet not truly him.
He was an echo of Godric Gryffindor's will, a being similar to the portraits in the Headmaster's Office, but with a stronger sense of self — more "intelligent."
Gryffindor had left him here because his best friend had left a legacy for his descendants, and he wouldn't let Slytherin outdo him!
Thus, Gryffindor decided to renovate his "gym," making it grander and leaving behind a legacy unique to himself.
Unlike that stingy old man Slytherin, who only catered to his bloodline, anyone who entered his Gryffindor-style gymnasium—the legacy room—could receive his gift! This avatar of his will was that legacy, possessing all his memories and capable of imparting complex knowledge.
Furthermore, this self-aware avatar could even help him gauge the worthiness of the incoming successor.
Though Gryffindor firmly believed that only those who embodied his spirit could reach this place, a closer look couldn't hurt.
And so, the stage was set for the unfolding drama…
"Are you my successor?"
A grayish-white, transparent, smoke-like substance emerged from the mural, solidifying into a resolute-faced, long-haired wizard "ghost."
"…"
Hearing the familiar voice, Slytherin instinctively turned.
Seeing the oh-so-familiar old face, Gryffindor was equally stunned: "…"
The two old ghosts locked eyes, and a heavy silence filled the space.
Finally, Slytherin broke the quiet with a somber remark, "Old ghost, are you blind? You dare consider me your successor!"
Gryffindor, taken aback by Slytherin's retort, seemed momentarily flustered.
Although he couldn't fathom how the old man had arrived here, Slytherin's ghostly state suggested he was indeed dead. Logically, his curse should prevent ghosts from entering this place.
Even Slytherin shouldn't be an exception. As a ghost, it was uncertain if he could even wield the magic he once possessed.
But regardless, the matter at hand took precedence…
Gryffindor glanced around, his gaze settling on Tom. He was the only living person present, so the mantle of successor seemed to fall to him.
After scrutinizing Tom's appearance, Gryffindor couldn't help but exclaim, "Hmm... no wonder you're destined to be my heir; you're as handsome as I was in my day. I daresay you're a brave Gryffindor through and through."
"He's my grandson."
"..."
Perhaps due to his incorporeal nature, Gryffindor's jaw dropped wide enough to accommodate a dragon's egg.
Unsurprisingly, Slytherin's revelation left him speechless.
Tom's subsequent words struck another heavy blow: "Actually, I sorted into Slytherin House."
"..."
What in Merlin's name was going on?
Had the wizarding world descended into utter chaos?
Had Slytherin's admission standards become as lax as his own?
Otherwise, how had this boy slipped through?
Wait, what had his house's admission standards become? Pure-blood supremacy?
Gryffindor's mind reeled. He yearned to break free and witness the current state of affairs. If his house was truly in disarray, perhaps he could salvage what remained.
Seeing Gryffindor frozen in shock for so long, Tom couldn't resist urging, "Ahem, old Tom, is there something you forgot to give me?"
He had clearly heard the word "successor" earlier.
"..."
Snapping out of his daze, Gryffindor felt reluctant to bequeath his life's work to a Slytherin, especially the grandson of that old devil Salazar.
But, bound by his own rules, he couldn't retract his offer.
"Sigh..."
With a resigned sigh, Gryffindor wore an expression of defeat. "Of course. But before that, would you humor an old ghost with a question?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Tom's face. "Go ahead."
"How do you interpret my ideals?"
"I do not understand."
Upon hearing this, Gryffindor froze once more, then hastily inquired, "Then how did you gain entry?"
Tom remained silent, casting a glance towards Slytherin, who was observing the scene with detached amusement.
"..."
At that moment, Gryffindor grasped the truth.
Just as he understood Slytherin, Slytherin understood him perfectly.
Logically, Slytherin shouldn't have permitted his descendant to learn from his arch-nemesis.
But he hadn't anticipated that this particular descendant of Slytherin would be so formidable and possess a nature so uncompromising that Slytherin held no sway over him.
"..."
After a prolonged silence, Gryffindor finally whispered, "In that case, you are not my true heir."
Tom wasn't surprised. He had anticipated this outcome when answering Gryffindor's question.
After all, Gryffindor's criteria for an heir had always been "to inherit his will."
Gaining entry to this room was merely a formality.
"Alright, then just stick your head out."
Tom had no intention of letting his prize slip away. Besides, this approach suited him better.
"What do you intend?"
Gryffindor's eyes widened, and he cautiously floated backward.
But his efforts were futile. With a casual gesture, Tom summoned Gryffindor towards him.
Then, to Gryffindor's utter disbelief, Tom seized him by the neck with his right hand.
At that moment, Tom stood inches away, and Gryffindor could see the "it's only right" expression etched upon that handsome face.
"Then naturally I shall probe your soul to extract what I desire. Furthermore, your existence is rather unique, so studying you afterward would not be unwelcome. I wonder how many curses you can withstand?"
"..."
Good heavens, was he truly that ruthless?!
This sense of utter powerlessness sent ripples of panic through Gryffindor, a ghost seasoned by centuries. "Wait! We can still negotiate!"
"I have no patience for idle chatter."
With that, Tom prepared to act.
This time, Gryffindor abandoned all pretense of composure and shrieked, "Old ghost, save me!"
Hearing this desperate plea, Tom paused, turning his gaze towards Slytherin.
Under the weight of his beloved grandson's stare, Slytherin's composure faltered. Though he could comprehend, even condone, Tom's actions—after all, he himself had been ruthless in pursuing his goals—the situation was different now. This was, after all, his best friend, someone with whom he had shared both love and animosity for so many years.
...
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