TN: First of all, I want to apologize for disappearing for almost two months without saying anything.
A lot of things happened during that time. I had to deal with my thesis, school requirements, final defense, final examinations, and, finally, graduation. Needless to say, it was an extremely busy and exhausting period for me.
There were also times when I was technically free, but I was either too tired to translate anything or I had to deal with some personal problems, so I just couldn't bring myself to work on it.
I know that isn't much of an excuse, especially since I wasn't able to let everyone know what was going on, and I'm genuinely sorry for that. I know some of you have been waiting patiently for updates, and I really appreciate all of you for sticking around.
I also want to reassure everyone that I have absolutely no intention of dropping this fic. I love this story far too much to abandon it, and I fully intend to continue translating it.
I can't promise a perfectly consistent schedule, but I can promise that I'll continue working on it.
Thank you all for your patience, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy the story alongside me.
Anyway, that's all from me. Sorry for the long note, and enjoy the chapter!
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There was now a gaping hole in the middle of the the diary, so blackened and charred it looked as though a fire had burned straight through its very core.
This was the strange power of the Gryffindor sword. Any foe defeated by it would leave behind a trace of their essence, a fragment of their ability, infused into the blade.
For instance, the venom of the basilisk.
Harley had slain the serpent with the sword, and now the weapon carried the basilisk's lethal toxin. That venom had not only pierced the diary but scorched it as though the paper itself recoiled from the touch.
Lucius Malfoy's face twitched when his eyes fell on the ruined diary. The recognition was instant, unmistakable. His lips pressed tight, and a muscle in his jaw jumped twice.
After all, this was the very diary he had slipped into Ginny Weasley's cauldron—a cursed object that had opened the Chamber of Secrets.
The Chamber incident had grown into such a scandal that even his own son had nearly paid with his life. And now, here stood a boy—no, a second-year student—with the evidence in hand.
Lucius forced himself into composure, guided Draco to sit upon the bed, then straightened his robes.
His gaze flicked to Ted. "We should speak outside."
Ted didn't wait for Dumbledore or the Weasleys to react. Without a glance back, he strode from the hospital wing.
In a deserted corridor, lit only by a swaying brazier, Ted stopped. His hand tightened around the ruined diary.
Lucius followed, his expression grim and his eyes darting constantly to the book. His fingers twitched ever so slightly, weighing whether he could seize it.
Just beyond, at a cautious distance, stood his house-elf, Dobby.
Ted, sensing the tension, smiled faintly.
He could feel Lucius's turmoil, the storm of greed, fear, and desperation spilling out so strongly it was almost palpable.
"Mr. Malfoy," Ted said, raising the diary just enough to taunt, "you must be eager to have this back, aren't you?"
He shook the blackened diary casually, his tone turning sharp. "You could always try."
Lucius's eyes narrowed. "Careful, boy. Who do you think you are, daring to address me like that?" His voice was edged with venom, though his expression remained smooth, aristocratic. He spoke with false calm. "What is it you mean to do? Do you intend to return it to me?"
Ted's grin widened. "No need for pretenses. We both know Dumbledore is waiting. Let's not waste time dancing around, shall we?"
Lucius's wand flicked upward in a blur, and without a single incantation, he sent a silent Summoning Charm whipping toward Ted's hand.
The spell was sharp, efficient—the kind of casting that revealed what Lucius preferred to keep hidden. Though he presented himself as the picture of a haughty pure-blood, in truth he had been one of Voldemort's favored Death Eaters.
His magic was dangerous.
Ted had judged him shrewdly: spellwork at level 6. formidable by any standard. Against an ordinary student, the diary would have flown straight into his hand.
But it didn't budge.
Ted's grip held firm. The cursed diary remained exactly where it was.
Lucius's face flickered in the brazier's glow, eyes narrowing as he reassessed. He realized the boy before him—his son's age, no older—was no ordinary Hogwarts student.
His magic was deep, formidable… frightening.
The Summoning Charm should not have failed, even against a prepared opponent. And yet Ted had blocked him—silently.
Impossible, Lucius thought. 'A second-year? A boy?'
He had heard Draco speak of Ted Epifani, had dismissed the stories of his genius. Even Draco's nervous mutterings—"He should've been a Slytherin"—had been brushed aside as childish exaggeration.
But seeing it firsthand was something else entirely.
For a moment, Lucius almost laughed at the absurdity of it—him, wary of a child.
His mask reformed quickly. "Very well. Speak. You saved my son; I will hear what you want. I am not without gratitude." His tone dripped with polished civility.
Ted, however, did not lower his wand. With a casual flick, he raised it behind his ear, and without a word, unleashed a silent Petrification Charm.
The spell struck true. Dobby froze mid-step, wide-eyed and unmoving, locked in place like a statue.
Lucius, the cunning old dog, spoke to Ted with a calm facade, trying to sound relaxed.
Yet behind his back, his fingers twitched with subtle gestures, silently commanding the house-elves to strike.
He thought himself clever, hoping to rid the world of the diary before it could betray him.
After all, that diary was more than just ink and parchment—it was damning evidence, and if it survived, he might not.
Ted, however, didn't even need to glance over his shoulder. The trick unraveled before it began.
House-elves might wield a unique brand of magic and could Apparate within the walls of Hogwarts, but launching a sneak attack on Ted was impossible.
His mind stretched outward like a web, catching every flicker of thought within thirty meters.
No intent escaped him.
And hovering beside him, Parker—his psicrystal who had been his companion for years—gave him another layer of defense.
Lucius's face went pale. His grip on his wand was slick with sweat, and his jaw worked as though grinding invisible stone. For all his years of scheming and whispering in the shadows, Lucius was no duelist.
He thrived on influence, manipulation, and subtle poison—not the clash of spells in open combat. Now, stripped of his plots, he felt the sour taste of powerlessness. It reminded him far too much of another figure he loathed to think about.
"Sir… I surrender," Lucius muttered, bowing his head, his pride stinging. "Please—please, state your terms."
This was Hogwarts, after all, not some battlefield. And after two failed attempts, he knew better than to risk a third. The gap in power was simply too wide. The Malfoy family had always prided itself on adaptability, and Lucius was nothing if not a survivor.
Ted's expression softened faintly, though his eyes stayed sharp. "It seems you've already tested your luck, Mr. Malfoy. Let's move on to business. Don't be so tense—after all, I am Draco's classmate."
The mention of Draco struck like a dagger. Lucius swallowed hard, his mind racing.
His own son caught in the orbit of someone this dangerous—it was like having a hostage in plain sight.
With a flick of his wrist, Ted tossed the diary toward Lucius. Instinctively, Lucius moved to catch it, but midway he froze. An old fox never dropped his guard so easily. His wand remained clutched in his other hand, his eyes darting suspiciously at Ted. Dark magic often concealed traps in gifts so freely given.
But Ted made no move. The diary simply tumbled to the floor, torn and ragged. He ignored Lucius's hesitation and asked calmly, "Mr. Malfoy, do you know what this is?"
Lucius's eyes darted back and forth, calculating, scrambling for a harmless lie. He couldn't very well say it was the keystone to the Chamber of Secrets—Tom Riddle's gift, entrusted by the Dark Lord himself. But Ted wasn't giving him time to weave a story.
"What did Voldemort tell you when he handed this to you?" Ted pressed, voice like iron. "Does it open the Chamber of Secrets?"
The words landed like icy daggers. Lucius's chest tightened. This boy—no, this wizard—knew too much. His position was crumbling fast.
Slowly, Lucius crouched, gingerly lifting the diary. Yes, it was the same one he had slipped into young Ginny Weasley's cauldron at Flourish and Blotts. He masked his expression, wondering what Ted truly wanted. Perhaps the boy hadn't yet gone to Dumbledore. Perhaps there was still a chance to twist this encounter in his favor.
That fragile hope shattered with Ted's next revelation.
"Did you know Voldemort nearly rose again because of this?"
The words rang like a curse. Lucius's hand trembled, and the diary fell to the floor once more with a sharp crack against the stone.
"This diary holds the emotions, memories, and very soul-fragments of a young wizard named Tom Marvolo Riddle," Ted continued, his voice low but unyielding. "It is steeped in an enchantment darker than anything most wizards could even imagine."
He raised his wand, and shimmering golden letters began forming in the air. The name TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE blazed in elegant script before the letters twisted and rearranged themselves with cruel clarity into I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.
Ted's eyes never left Lucius as he finished, "He used Draco's magic to open the Chamber. He even tried to steal Draco's life force to restore himself. And it was through this diary that he revealed the birth of the name Voldemort."
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Word count: 1446
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