Douglas was a man of action.
He paid no mind to the furious questions Tom Riddle was scrawling across the diary's pages. In Riddle's current state, there was no way he could escape the diary anyway.
With practiced calm, Douglas sealed the diary back inside the rune-engraved stone box, tucked it into a special pouch, and waited. He watched the Marauder's Map until he saw the castle had fallen silent, the only movement a gentle rain beginning to fall outside. Even the weather seemed to be on his side.
He slipped quietly through the castle, avoiding the areas haunted by ghosts, and found an open-air corridor facing the Forbidden Forest. Transforming into his Animagus form, he soared into the forest's depths, skillfully dodging the territories of magical creatures until he reached a wide, secluded clearing.
Shifting back into human form, Douglas quickly cast an Impervius Charm on himself—a spell to ward off water, fire, and even mist, useful on both people and objects. Then he drew out the stone box.
The moment he opened it, an enraged voice bellowed from within:
"You filthy Mudblood! What are you doing?"
Douglas snapped his fingers. Instantly, a Lumos Maxima—his own version of a Righteous Light spell—flared into being, flooding the clearing with brilliant light.
A tall, dark-haired boy materialized above the diary, his form indistinct and smoky, lower body trailing away like a genie from a lamp. It was clear Riddle had poured every scrap of his magic into this feeble apparition.
But before Douglas could get a good look, the phantom flickered twice under the spell's glare and vanished with a hiss.
A furious, guttural hissing echoed from the diary.
Douglas shrugged—he'd given Riddle a chance to show himself, but apparently the boy's strength failed him.
But then Douglas noticed something odd: the hissing wasn't human. The tone was strange—sinister, serpentine.
Parseltongue.
He remembered: Parseltongue's real power wasn't just talking to snakes, but commanding them.
Though this clearing was far from Hogwarts, the Chamber of Secrets' true location was a mystery. What if it lay beneath the forest? What if Riddle tried to summon the Forbidden Forest's magical serpents?
Not that Douglas thought any snake would dare show itself after what he was about to do.
He didn't waste another second.
Drawing his thunderstruck wood wand, he pointed skyward and shouted, "Divine Lightning of Righteousness!"
In an instant, a storm cloud gathered thirty feet above the clearing, lightning crackling within its depths.
Douglas swept his wand in a wide arc, then leveled it at the stone box.
A bolt of lightning, thick as a grown man's arm, shot from the clouds and struck the diary.
CRACK!
The stone box exploded in a shower of dirt and stone. Douglas flicked his wand, casting Protego to shield himself from the debris, his eyes never leaving the diary as it hurtled skyward.
In that instant, he heard a scream—long, piercing, and inhuman—tear through the air.
The diary crashed to the ground, landing nearby with a heavy thud, ink spilling from its pages and mixing with the rain.
By the light of his spell, Douglas saw black ink gushing from the diary, pooling on the ground. A jagged, fist-sized hole smoked in its center, the cover charred and sizzling.
He waited, watching as the ink and rainwater formed a dark puddle.
Just how much ink had this thing consumed?
"Tom?"
"Riddle?"
"Voldemort?"
He called out, voice mocking. "If you don't answer, I'll go again! I hear Fiendfyre really does wonders for Horcruxes."
No matter what he said, the diary remained silent.
Still, Douglas wasn't satisfied. Pointing his wand at the storm clouds, he shouted, "Lightning Fall One Hundred!"
Instantly, a hundred bolts of lightning crashed down in a tight circle, centered on the diary. The earth was scorched and churned, insects vaporized in the onslaught.
He waited a while longer, then cautiously cast Accio.
The diary flew toward him, but Douglas let it drop to the ground at his feet.
He examined it: the cover was riddled with holes, the name "Tom Riddle" barely legible—only fragments of "…m…del" remained. Wisps of black smoke and the acrid scent of burning lingered.
Douglas let out a breath of relief. As long as the name was still faintly discernible, Dumbledore could verify this was Voldemort's diary. If it was destroyed beyond recognition, things might get complicated.
He tapped the diary with his wand. Aside from a faint residue of Dark Magic, it was now little more than an ordinary notebook. Even the sinister aura was fading fast.
Startled, Douglas quickly pulled out his old school wand and cast a weak Dark Magic Preservation Charm to keep the lingering magic from dissipating—he'd need that as evidence.
He picked up a twig, transfigured it into a small pouch, and—wrinkling his nose—stuffed the diary inside. Only then did he disperse the storm clouds overhead.
Looking around, he realized that, despite Voldemort's final hissing, no snakes had appeared. Perhaps they'd been summoned, but the lightning had frightened them away.
A shame, really. He'd heard from Slytherin classmates that the Forbidden Forest was home to Runespoors—three-headed snakes bred by Salazar Slytherin's descendants. He'd searched for them before, and once found their tracks, but had never seen one in person.
Not that he wanted to tangle with one—he was just curious.
He'd hoped Voldemort might summon such a snake for him.
No such luck.
Suddenly, hoofbeats echoed from the woods.
Douglas muttered a curse, extinguished his Lumos, and transformed, flying off into the night.
He needed to get the diary to Dumbledore while it was still "fresh."
Moments after he left, two Centaurs appeared at the lightning-blasted clearing, torches and bows slung across their backs.
One swept his torch across the scene and declared,
"A human was here just now. I smell dark magic, but it's been shattered by righteous thunder. That's what left these marks."
The other sniffed the air, frowning.
"Bane, I smell something familiar… Sigh, the heavens have been shifting again lately…"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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