Under Tom's persistent questioning, Arianna finally told him everything that had happened in Transfiguration class earlier.
According to her, all she did was show Professor McGonagall how the gloves worked when the professor asked before class began. Then, halfway through the demonstration, the magic inside the gloves ran out, so she simply asked McGonagall to help recharge them.
And after that?
Professor McGonagall acted unsettled the entire lesson—so much so that the moment class ended, she dragged Arianna straight to the Great Hall to look for Tom.
When she learned from a few Hufflepuff students that Tom had been hauled off by Professor Flitwick, she marched Arianna to his office next. Unfortunately, it was empty. Only then did they head to the Headmaster's office.
As for what exactly happened, or why McGonagall was searching for Tom—or her brother—Arianna had no idea. McGonagall didn't explain, and she didn't dare ask.
After all, this was her Head of House.
She wasn't going to sell her off in her own brother's school… probably.
After hearing Arianna's description, Tom quickly put the pieces together.
It had to be because of the gloves.
But… that didn't make sense.
They were just a minor trinket he'd thrown together casually—nothing special.
Why would something like that alarm the Headmaster?
Unless… the gloves had some hidden function he didn't even know about.
No way… right? Something this simple should be doable by other people too… I think?
While Tom was lost in thought, Dumbledore was paying full attention to McGonagall's explanation.
At first, hearing that the gloves could be worn by a ghost didn't surprise him too much. Considering what Tom himself was capable of—and the strange sack he'd used to kidnap Arianna before—tools that interacted with ghosts weren't completely unfamiliar.
But that calm lasted only a moment.
Because McGonagall's next sentence shattered it entirely:
"When the gloves are worn, a ghost can regain their sense of touch."
Dumbledore snapped upright in his chair.
Letting a ghost touch solid objects was already rare beyond belief.
But restoring a ghost's tactile sense?
If this became widely known, people would start thinking of death as more of a… magical inconvenience than an ending.
And just when he thought he'd heard the wildest part—
McGonagall delivered the real explosion:
"And according to Arianna—and based on my own testing—even with all the magic drained, the gloves still retain some functionality."
At that, Dumbledore nearly shot out of his chair.
Merlin's beard!
Did he hear that correctly?
An alchemical tool that keeps functioning with zero stored magic?!
At this point, conventional alchemy might as well pack its bags and leave Hogwarts entirely.
Looking at Dumbledore's expression—eyes unfocused, worldview cracking—McGonagall felt a strange sense of solidarity.
She'd gone through the exact same thing when she replenished the gloves' magic earlier, only to watch Arianna continue holding her wand even before the recharge was complete.
The more you understood alchemy, the more horrifying this discovery felt.
And now, Dumbledore finally understood why poor Flitwick had fainted.
Even he felt a wave of dizziness.
"Tom, Arianna—come here a moment."
Once McGonagall finished speaking, Dumbledore decided he had to test the gloves personally.
He trusted McGonagall's alchemy, of course—but what if… just maybe… she'd misinterpreted something?
Maybe there was a faint trace of magic left she'd overlooked.
Maybe she'd simply assumed the gloves were fully depleted.
Both explanations would still be spectacular—but far easier to accept than—
"functions with zero magic."
But the moment he took the gloves from Arianna, his doubts evaporated.
"Wait… What are these made of?"
The texture was unfamiliar.
Not dragonhide, not any magical leather he recognized.
Something about it felt vaguely familiar—but completely wrong.
(Oh, that? I made them with parchment, bandages, and powdered moonstone.)
Tom began counting on his fingers as he explained smugly:
(Parchment for the structure, bandages for softness, moonstone powder to harmonize their properties.
The problem is, this combo stores almost no magic.)
"???"
Dumbledore's worldview crumbled again.
You made this out of what?
This wasn't just unconventional—this was the magical equivalent of someone combining hydrogen and oxygen with their bare hands and producing liquid water.
And when he finally tested the gloves…
All remaining denial vanished.
Just as McGonagall said, even with no magic inside them at all, Arianna could still pick up lighter objects with ease.
If he hadn't already been mentally battered by Tom's existence—and stunned again by the revelation about the gloves' materials—he might have actually keeled over like Flitwick.
"I understand. I'll think carefully about the implications of this.
As for the two of you…"
Dumbledore looked from Tom to Arianna.
"It's getting late. Hurry to the Great Hall—you may still catch a warm meal."
Tom practically fled the moment he heard that, dragging Arianna with him.
He had no idea what was so upsetting about the gloves—nor did he care.
He'd made them for a friend.
As long as Arianna wasn't hurt, that was all that mattered.
After watching them leave, Dumbledore slumped back in his chair, eyes distant.
For a long moment he was silent.
Then suddenly he chuckled, pulled out a sheet of parchment, and began writing.
A philosophical crisis like this—
a "worldview shattered and rebuilt" sort of crisis—
was far too precious to keep to himself.
"My old friend… I hope this letter rekindles your interest in the world."
He whispered softly, handing the letter to Fawkes.
The phoenix gave a gentle cry, spread its wings, and soared into the sky.
---
As for what Dumbledore did afterward, Tom had no clue.
Right now, he and Arianna were standing just outside the Great Hall doors.
They wanted to go inside.
But someone blocked their path.
Someone surprising.
Very surprising.
"Malfoy? What are you doing here?"
Because standing alone in the corridor—without Crabbe and Goyle—
was none other than Draco Malfoy.