Dumbledore stifled a sigh at the Minister’s request. The students must have sent owls out about their adventure yesterday. He really should have realized they would want to tell their parents of their unexpected Hogsmeade holiday, and the events at the castle.

“Why, yes, of course. Come on through.”

As soon as he could manage, he was going to change the owl-mail spells so that he only had to express the command and the owls would delay leaving until it was too late for the fastest of them to arrive at the parents’ homes until well after breakfast. That would delay reactions a bit, perhaps even until the next day.

And give him time to enjoy his breakfast in peace.

As soon as the Minister was in the room, and cleaning off the ashes from the fireplace, another voice came from the floo, “Headmaster Dumbledore? Are you there?” It was Augusta Longbottom, Neville’s Grandmother. He had no sooner allowed her through, than another voice spoke up, Lucius Malfoy.

Dumbledore quickly locked his floo, but not before Department for Magical Law Enforcement head Amelia Bones managed to come through, too.

After providing his four guests with nice hot cups of tea, and a smidgen of calming draft — what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him — they sat back to discuss the events of yesterday.

Dumbledore smiled genially, “Before you tell me what you were told happened yesterday, allow me to tell you what really happened.”

They all nodded.

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Late Monday, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were talking with Myrtle Warren — the former ghost, you’ll recall,” he glanced at them, his eyes twinkling. “About what she remembered of her former life and to gauge how much she retained of her days as a student. As you might imagine, the subject of precisely how she had died came up. The official record is one of a prank gone wrong, but nothing really explained what happened or how.” He sighed.

“After a long discussion, they realized that what had happened to Myrtle was a clue to Salazar Slytherin’s Chamber of Secrets!”

His audience was paying close attention. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but both Augusta and Amelia leaned forward. Fudge nervously rotated his bowler hat in his hands a bit more rapidly.

Dumbledore sat back up as he had a brainstorm. Yes, this would solve several problems at the same time.

“Here, rather than tell you, let me show you what we discovered.” He stood and went over to his cupboard, returning with Hogwarts’ Pensieve. There was already a silvery-smoky-liquid swirling inside.

He had to shake his head in chagrin as he thought about what was inside the pensieve. After his Atlantean guests had left last night and he had been about to put his pensieve bowl away, it had occurred to him that he could have viewed Myrtle’s memories Monday night. Then he would have been much better prepared, and not have so severely under-estimated the size of the beast. And possibly looked a bit more competent to the Atlanteans.

A quick floo-call to Flitwick had had him bring through the witch a few minutes later. Then the three of them had viewed the memory. It had been a great help, even if it was too late to plan for the basilisk’s removal.

He had been wondering, late last night, how he could use what the memory had shown him. And if he should keep it hidden. Now looked like the perfect opportunity to reveal and exploit its secrets without causing undue panic. And keeping secrets hadn’t helped him with Harry Potter.

He set the pensieve on his desk and invited his guests to come with him.

Moments later the five of them were standing in a stall in the second-floor witches’ toilets. Sitting on the toilet in the stall was a girl with a bad case of acne and wearing glasses, arms wrapped around her stomach, sobbing softly to herself. It was Myrtle.

“Please listen very closely. Forward.” The memory began to move.

They heard the door to the toilets open, footsteps came their way. Then there was a hissing sound. A boy was hissing.

“Stop,” Dumbledore said as he saw Lucius stiffen in recognition. Amelia had a deep frown. Augusta stared at him levelly while Fudge looked puzzled.

“Yes, Lucius, you recognize that hissing, don’t you. You’ve heard it before, I imagine.”

Malfoy gave a stiff nod.

“Forward,” Dumbledore said, starting the memory again.

The young witch stood up, her expression furious. She stepped through them and flung open the stall door. She took a step. And the memory stopped of its own accord. Myrtle had just died.

Everyone except Dumbledore gasped in shock and they all started talking at once.

Dumbledore sighed, and stepped into the rest of the toilet room. There, less than two yards in front of them, was a giant-snake’s head. It was almost as wide as he was. It had grown significantly since Myrtle had died, he could see, but it was still far larger than he had thought it would be on Tuesday morning.

He did wonder just what it had been eating. Hagrid would have told him if there had been any significant drops in the woodland population of the Forbidden Forest. And the centaur Bane would not have been silent if a basilisk had hunted them, as he thought the wizards were the source of all the centaurs’ troubles.

The beast’s head was coming out of a hole in the wall and floor where the sink used to be, and was hovering at about chest-height. To their left, as they walked out to inspect the beast, they saw a boy, a student in Slytherin robes.

“This is Tom Marvolo Riddle, a prefect at the time.” Dumbledore said. “Reverse.”

As the memory ran back to its start, they heard and saw the boy hissing and leaving the bathroom.

“Forward.”

There was no denying that the boy who walked into the Witches’ toilets on the second floor was the one doing the hissing, that the sink and part of the wall had opened, much like the wall in Diagnon Alley did, and that the giant snake, a basilisk, had come out in response.

Malfoy was looking quite pale, Dumbledore noticed. No doubt he had identified the boy, already.

“Tom Riddle,” Dumbledore said, “was a favourite of Headmaster Dippet. Tom was a poor, but brilliant, Slytherin. He was parentless, a school prefect, and a model student. He knew everyone and almost everyone liked him.

“But I knew that he wasn’t as he seemed. I had seen him in the orphanage, where he was anything but a model child. The other orphans feared him, and with good reason. He was not afraid to use his magic to enforce his will upon the others. Even the staff was fearful of him, not that they would admit it.

“Armando refused to listen to my suspicions that the boy was not to be trusted.”

Amelia was studying both the basilisk and the boy closely.

“Tom claimed that it was Rubeus Hagrid, a half-giant, who killed Myrtle. He fabricated a story, and convinced all of his lie. Armando even gave him an award, a shield, for special services to the school, fifty years ago, for finding the perpetrator of the ghastly attacks and Myrtle’s death. At that time no one suspected the monster that had killed her was a basilisk. And Armando stopped any further investigations by stating the matter was closed, it had been a terrible accident, a prank gone wrong. Nothing more. Myrtle’s memory shows Armando was fatally wrong.”

Dumbledore turned to the others. “I will be restoring Hagrid’s right to have a wand, and make sure he takes remedial classes until he achieves his OWLS. I will also remove Tom Riddle’s award from the records.”

Augusta watched and listened intently.

“And while this can’t be used as evidence in the Wizengamot that Tom Riddle did indeed kill Myrtle — polyjuice — even the pure-bloods will admit it exonerates Hagrid of anything to do with the incident. Unless,” he looked over at Lucius, “the purebloods are willing to admit that a half-giant half-blood is a Parselmouth — the ability that only descendants of Salazar Slytherin have — making him a legitimate descendant of the wizard.”

Lucius gave him a blank look, then shook his head slightly. Of the two choices, Dumbledore knew the pure-bloods would never accord a half-giant that status — it would be too big a blow to their pride.

“I want all the information you have on this Tom Riddle,” The Head Auror demanded, coming back to him.

“I will be happy to hand over the public information,” Dumbledore said, “But you already know most of it.”

They all gave him a sharp look. Malfoy’s look had more than a little dread in it. Dumbledore was sure the two witches noticed this. Fudge? Well, Fudge was still in the stall, staring at the basilisk in horror.

“What you do not yet know is that Tom Marvolo Riddle is the half-blood son of a witch by the name of Merope Gaunt, and his father was the son of a wealthy muggle land-owner, Tom Riddle. She had bewitched him with a love potion, and, when the potion ran out, Tom Riddle, Senior, went home. Leaving her destitute and with child.”

Dumbledore would have sworn it wasn’t possible for anyone to be paler than Lucius Malfoy at that point. And he couldn’t deny that the boy in front of them was Voldemort, the facial resemblance was too obvious. The only other explanation was that this boy was a sibling to Voldemort, or a cousin. But Voldemort had long claimed to be the only heir to Slytherin, to have no living relatives.

“Tom was born on December thirty-first, 1926, at Wool's Orphanage in London,” Dumbledore said softly. “He was named by his mother before she died moments after his birth. He lived there until he graduated from Hogwarts. Afterwards, there were rumours about him at various times, he even worked for fifteen years in Diagon Alley . . . at Borgin and Burkes. When Hepzibah Smith, a descendent of Helga Hufflepuff, died in 1961, Tom abruptly resigned his position and disappeared completely. He had known her quite well, and been a frequent visitor.”

Dumbledore paused, then continued, “I do not think it a coincidence that her family’s two most valuable treasures, Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff’s cup, disappeared at the same time. The next time I saw Tom Riddle, in 1971, he was applying for a job as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, here at Hogwarts. When I asked Riddle why he had requested the position, as he clearly had no desire whatsoever to teach, he left. From that day forward, I have been unable to keep a Professor for the Defence Against the Dark Arts for more than a year.”

Dumbledore stepped over to the Minister of Magic and gently pulled him out of the stall and past the King of Snakes. He turned him to face Tom.

“The next time I saw Tom Riddle, he was telling everyone he was the last member of a prestigious pure-blood family, and the heir to Salazar Slytherin’s legacy. Funny that he never specified which family, isn’t it,” Dumbledore said, staring at Lucius. “If you do the research, you’ll find the Gaunts were not a family to inspire either awe or respect. Quite the opposite, really.”

Lucius was leaning a bit heavily on his cane and refused to meet his eyes.

“He called himself Voldemort, at that time.” He shook his head sadly.

Three of his audience gasped at the revelation. Malfoy looked close to fainting, and swayed slightly, his eyes staring off into the distance.

“You can even make an anagram from his name, Tom Marvolo Riddle can be rearranged to say I am Lord Voldemort.” He paused a second. “I believe he came up with that while still at Hogwarts. It has that juvenile feel to it, don’t you think? Voldemort, French for Flight From Death?” He didn’t mention Mr. Tom, a Dildo Lover; Mr. Atom, Dildo Lover; Mom overdid a Troll, or the other eighteen possible anagrams he had found. Some of them were quite juvenile, indeed.

He glanced at two wizards and witches.

“It’s rather odd that almost none of his former classmates ever made the connection between Voldemort and Tom Riddle. Most of them are dead, though.” He sighed.

“And you know the rest of the story.”

Dumbledore looked away from Malfoy to Amelia. “I will forward the rest of Tom Riddle, Junior’s, Hogwarts public information. You will need an order from the Wizengamot if you wish his complete file.”

She nodded, her brow heavily furrowed.

They sat in his office quietly sipping at their tea, each contemplating what they had seen. Lucius was starting to get a bit of colour back in his face. Augusta was still watching both Lucius and Dumbledore. Amelia was staring into her cup, frowning. And Cornelius was staring at the wall blankly, and shivering every once in a while.

Dumbledore considered what he should do next. Conducting tours of the memory would be exhaustingly time-consuming, but there were a few people he felt should see the memory directly. Should he arrange a meeting with Miss Skeeter? That would spread the news quite efficiently. She might choose to attack the school for not pursuing the basilisk earlier, but then all the blame would fall to former Headmaster Dippet.

Perhaps if he stressed that a half-blood had terrorized the school, killed a muggle-born, and then framed another half-blood for the crime? And then went on to kill Hepzibah Smith, steal two priceless treasures, and eventually become the feared Voldemort? And point out Tom Marvolo Riddle’s anagram? Yes, that might work.

He cleared his throat. His four guests looked up at him. “I realize that wasn’t what you came here to learn,” he said, “but it does lead to what happened yesterday.”

They all shifted in the chairs, their attention once more fixed on the Headmaster.

“Knowing where the entrance was did not allow us entry to the Chamber. The entrance can only be opened and closed by a Parselmouth. Fawkes,” they all turned to look at the phoenix on his perch, who preened at the attention, “on the other hand, doesn’t require that the door be opened to pass to the other side. Fawkes took me down to the Chamber.” The phoenix trilled a short calming melody.

He took a breath. “It very much displays Salazar Slytherin’s touch, being bigger than the Great Hall, with his statue at the far end. The basilisk’s lair was behind the statue.” The less said about how it entered and left its lair, the better. “It was asleep at the time, which gave me a few minutes to explore.”

He sighed.

“As much as I wanted to wait until summer, when the castle was empty, to handle the King of Snakes, I couldn’t. There was simply too much at stake. The basilisk could wake at any time, and, as we know from what happened to Myrtle, not only could it kill, it had. And there was nothing to prevent it from doing so again. In addition, based on what happened forty-eight years ago, the snake has full access to Hogwarts. It could go anywhere without being tracked, as Headmaster Dippet tried everything we could think of at the time to find it. Apparently, Salazar bespelled the castle walls to conceal the basilisk from being found by the castle’s enchantments.

“So, I decided that I would declare a Hogsmeade holiday for the next day, and move all the students to safety. With the students safe, I and my professors could find and remove the basilisk. Which is what we did.”

“And the foreigners?” Lucius asked quietly.

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore nodded genially, “The foreigners.” He nodded a second time.

“To my surprise, during dinner in the Great Hall on Monday, a phoenix by the name of Philomena — it apparently belongs to Harry Potter — rather abruptly brought Princess Sparkle to Hogwarts.” He smiled. “She wanted to talk to her charges about what they had done in bringing Myrtle back from a ghost. She also wanted to discuss that event with Myrtle.

“When she heard about the basilisk and that it was controlled by a parselmouth, she suggested that one of her friends might be able to help us.” He tilted his head slightly. “It seems this friend doesn’t actually speak Parseltongue, but has a special talent that lets her understand animals.” He thought a moment, “Or perhaps it lets her understand their intent.” He paused and frowned. “Even seeing her do it, I’m not sure which of those apply.

“I didn’t notify the Ministry because, as far as I know, no one in the Aurors or Unspeakables understand Parseltongue or are a parselmouth.” He looked over at Amelia and Fudge, who both shook their heads, no.

“Trying to blast the King of Serpents out of its lair behind the statue could have been disastrous to both the Chamber and any wizards in it. Not to mention that snakes typically have more than one exit from their lairs and it might have simply fled, leaving us with no way to track it without blasting through Salazar’s statue.”

He sighed.

“So, I took her up on her offer, and she returned with a few of her friends the next morning.”

He sighed again. “After the students and house-elves were evacuated, Professors Snape, Flitwick, McGonagall, and I apparated with the foreigners into the Chamber. Miss Fluttershy, the one who understands animals, woke up the basilisk and talked to it.” He shifted in his chair and shook his head sadly.

“She spoke English, so I could hear what she said, and she translated what the snake said back.” He carefully did not mention that he could understand Parseltongue.

“She said, ‘The snake said that the last Speaker had told it to be ready to ‘clean out the muggle-born filth and those who would help them.’” He sighed and shook his head. “Clearly, the basilisk was a tragedy waiting to happen. Acting as we did was the correct move — we could not wait to resolve the situation.

“She tried to talk the basilisk into coming out peacefully, but it demanded we desist in trying to get it to ignore its master’s commands. It opened the door to its lair and attacked us.”

The four listeners were captivated at his description.

“At first, we were unable to make headway, but, finally, we managed to drive the snake back into its lair and blast the door open so it couldn’t hide.

“Its lair had a second exit, and we followed it into the Forbidden Forest. Once there, the basilisk was defeated. Unfortunately, that required reducing a sizeable portion of the forest to ashes, and there was nothing recoverable in that area. I did manage to salvage a few fangs in the Chamber of Secrets that escaped that destruction.”

He stood and walked over to his cabinet. He opened it and removed a half-yard-long box from one of the lower drawers. He brought it back, laid it on his desk, and opened it carefully. Nestled inside were two long bottles, each with two fangs in it.

“The bottles are purest crystal and spelled to be impervious, with a second spell inside that keeps the venom from touching the glass and breaking the spells.”

Amelia and Lucius came up to take a look, while Fudge and Augusta merely watched from their seats.

He turned to Amelia. “This is for the Unspeakables to store, I think. Any venom they drain from the fangs can be sold to potion researchers. Hogwarts will split the proceeds half-and-half with the Ministry.”

She nodded, carefully closed the lid, and carried the box back to her seat.

Dumbledore did not mention the other two fangs he had stored separately in the Come-and-Go Room, along with the quart-bottle of venom he had collected from the fangs.

“It is a pity that we were not able to salvage anything else from the basilisk.” He shook his head sadly, “It was a veritable fortune in venom, hide, and organs, and would have been a great boon to Hogwarts’ finances.”

Lucius arched an eyebrow. He was clearly getting over the shock of learning that his former leader had not been a pure-blood in the slightest, but a low-born half-blood from a family of what his father had called high-born degenerates.

“And, speaking of finances,” Lucius said. “What is this I hear about every student being given a sickle for spending in Hogsmeade? And their luncheons being charged to Hogwarts?”

“Yes, that is true.” Dumbledore nodded genially. “It was the Atlanteans’ suggestion. As you no doubt realize, sending nearly a thousand students into the village, unprepared for such an event, had the potential to be, well, a nasty problem. Especially with so many of them having limited or no funds of their own — the old adage of idle hands and idle minds lead to trouble. Rather than risk our good relationship with the village, it seemed reasonable to provide the students with an outlet for their mischievousness.”

He smiled, then continued. “You can be assured that the funds did not come from Hogwarts’ accounts, and that I will ensure the meal charges are reimbursed. I have to admit, under the circumstances, it was the best method of dealing with what could have been an unruly situation.”

Augusta looked at him a moment, then nodded approvingly. “You dipped into your own funds, then?”

Dumbledore sighed and looked out the windows. “I do not want word of precisely how things were managed to become general knowledge. It would draw the wrong sort of attention to Hogwarts. And my personal finances should never be a part of any discussion regarding Hogwarts’s students, and their education.

Cornelius looked at him with a startled expression. Someone not wanting the attention of the press and public was something he had difficulty understanding. “Oh,” he said. “We can’t have a fine citizen such as yourself bearing that financial burden all by yourself. I think the Ministry should bear the expenses. These are, after all, our children you were protecting.” He nodded firmly. “Yes, just tell everyone who asks that the Ministry paid the bills, and forward them to me, personally, when they arrive. I’ll make sure to have a courier bring over the thousand sickles you’ve already spent.” He nodded firmly, a second time, smiling.

Dumbledore smiled back. “Thank you for that offer, Cornelius.” He knew that the Minister would arrange to bring the sickles over himself, with a photographer to commemorate his handing over the money to Albus. That would be included in a press release about how the Ministry took the welfare of Hogwarts’ students very seriously, no doubt.

And the Headmaster would return the sickles to the Atlanteans to garner a bit of good will. An all-around satisfactory solution.

He considered a moment if he should show them more, then decided it would not hurt. It might actually strengthen his position. And after seeing the first memory, they should be receptive to another.

“There is another thing I need to show you,” he said. He used his wand to store the memory in the bowl to a small bottle, then tapped his wand to his head and drew out a new one, which he deposited in the pensieve.

Moments later, the four were in his office with the Atlanteans.

After naming the Atlanteans for them, and giving them a bit of time to examine the foreigners, Dumbledore said, “Forward.”

Memory Dumbledore turned to his Potions Professor. “Severus, show them, please.”

The memory played up to the moment that Severus scowled and said, “The Dark Lord is not one you can mock in safety! Be careful what you say.”

“So,” Dumbledore said to his stunned audience. “Now you understand why I’ve always maintained that Voldemort was not dead. Because he isn’t. And he is, right now, striving to come back to mortal form.” He turned to Lucius. “As, I am sure, you and every other marked Death Eater already know.”

Cornelius looked ready to faint. Lucius looked resigned, and rubbed his left arm. Amelia was grim. And, oddly, Augusta looked furious.

Amelia turned to Cornelius. “I think you need to give the Aurors a large budget increase so we can prepare for when he succeeds. And give us more latitude in checking the Ministry for spies.”

Fudge blinked at her, then said, “But this can’t be right, he’s dead! He was killed ten years ago!” He shook his head violently. “He is not coming back!”