Another murmured, "I knew something was off about that one..."
"His eyes," one whispered. "They never looked at you. Like he was listening to something else."
"I say we give him to them," someone else said — firm, shaking, desperate. "If he's the heir, if he's what they want... let them have him."
"Would you leave the school?" someone called to Marvolo. "If we give you the boy... would you go?"
Minerva turned sharply. "No."
But she wasn't fast enough.
Too many voices. Too many questions. Too much fear.
And Marvolo just smiled.
He didn't answer right away — just let the weight of the moment fester.
Then—
a swirl of wind stirred the flags overhead.
And from behind the gates—
a figure walked through the archway.
Cloaked in deep navy.
Steps deliberate.
Eyes bright as stars behind half-moon spectacles.
Albus Dumbledore.
The crowd parted — not by spell, but by presence.
His voice rang across the courtyard.
Clear. Calm. Unbreakable.
"This is Hogwarts."
The Gaunts turned slowly. Even Morvannon's grin faltered for a breath.
Dumbledore continued.
"And here, students are not defined by prophecy, bloodline, or the fears of those around them.
They are protected."
He stopped beside Minerva — not looking at her, but standing with her.
"You speak of blood, Marvolo. Of inheritance. Of history too tangled to undo.
But let me speak now, on behalf of the present."
"That boy — Tom Riddle — is our student.
And at this school, our students are our topmost priority.
No matter who their father was.
No matter what name echoes in their bones."
The air around him grew steadier.
Stronger.
"You want the boy?" Dumbledore said, voice tightening.
"Then you will have to take him.
And you will have to go through me."
Far below, in the courtyard, truths were cracking through stone.
Names were spoken. Lines drawn.
But above... high within the hidden bones of the castle... the children were already standing inside the secret it had tried to bury.
The chamber pulsed softly.
Not with light.
With breath.
Green-glowing serpents curled along the stone walls — moving so slowly it was hard to tell if they were really moving at all.
The air was warm. Still. Watching.
Tom stood at the center of the chamber, staring upward — where one massive serpent, etched into the ceiling, stretched across the dome with its fangs bared wide.
None of them spoke at first.
Lucius was the first to blink out of the haze.
"What... is this place?"
Sirius walked along the wall, eyes narrowed. "Feels old. Like the Founders-old."
James trailed his hand near one of the markings, but didn't touch.
"It's like they were carved by the castle itself."
Lily stepped beside Tom, her voice low.
"Why was this hidden?"
Tom didn't answer.
The serpent ceiling blinked — or seemed to — as candlelight flickered below.
Sirius tried to laugh. "Just putting this out there — if that big one starts hissing, I'm jumping out a window."
Lucius crossed his arms. "If you think I'm letting this place bite me, you're mad."
But Tom still hadn't moved.
His eyes didn't leave the fanged serpent overhead.
"No one's ever seen this room before..." Lily murmured.
The chamber had gone silent again.
Too silent.
They all stared at Tom.
His mouth moved — but the words didn't sound like words.
They hissed, curled, coiled through the air like smoke made of sound.
"Sssskorr'vaath... eel'tharrah... naxissss..."
It wasn't gibberish.
It wasn't a spell.
It was a language — ancient, terrible, and alive.
A tongue that only serpents could understand.
Parseltongue.
Lucius blinked. "What... what's he saying?"
No one answered.
Tom wasn't speaking to them.
He was speaking to the walls.
To the serpents.
To the room.
And it was responding.
The markings began to shimmer brighter — no longer slow, no longer cold.
They pulsed with a quiet hunger.
Tom's eyes didn't blink. His voice lowered.
"Three tides of ruin," he whispered.
"The past that burned.
The present that breaks.
The future that bleeds."
The others froze.
James took a slow step back. "Okay, What is happening right now?"
Lily's eyes widened. "He's not... controlling it."
Sirius muttered, "Then what's he doing?"
She looked at Tom — his face pale, eyes glowing faintly green.
"He's listening."
Tom stood still.
The others had backed away slightly, unsure whether to interrupt — or run.
But Tom barely noticed them now.
The largest serpent carving above him — the one with the fanged mouth and emerald-glowing eyes — had begun to move.
Not in the stone.
In his mind.
A whisper slid into his thoughts, ancient and endless.
"You bear the blood. But not the name."
Tom's lips moved.
"Whose voice is this?"
"Not a voice. A memory. A warning."
The carvings on the wall flared.
"The line of Gaunt does not protect. It consumes. It devours its young. As it always has."
Tom frowned.
"I don't understand."
"The wolf that eats its cub is not a father, but a hunger in disguise."
Tom's eyes narrowed. "You speak in riddles."
"Because truth must be earned — not inherited."
He took a step forward.
"What are you trying to tell me?"
The serpent's voice darkened.
"Your grandfather smiles with fangs behind his tongue.
He speaks of legacy, but dreams only of control."
"He who buries the past cannot lead the future.
And a throne built on lies sinks into bone."
Tom blinked — a flicker of doubt breaking through.
"So... he's not the heir?"
"He was a torch. You are the fire."
"But even fire can burn wrong."
Tom whispered, "Then what am I supposed to be?"
The voice coiled tightly now, pressing deep into his mind:
"Not what they claim.
Not what they fear.
You are the question they cannot control —
And the answer they forgot to fear."
The carvings dimmed.
The whisper faded.
And Tom... blinked.
The chamber was silent again — but not empty.
He was back.
His heartbeat was loud in his ears, but steady.
His eyes no longer glowed.
But something inside him did.
He turned.
The others had moved.
Lucius was halfway to the door, gripping the handle like a lifeline.
Sirius stood beside him, wand half-raised, breathing fast.
James hovered near the edge of the circle, eyes wide with unease.
"Tell me we're leaving now," he muttered.
Lucius didn't answer. He just kept glancing over his shoulder at Tom, as if expecting him to change shape, explode, or hiss again.
Only Lily remained close — not at Tom's side, but not far.
She hadn't spoken.
She hadn't run.
She was watching him.
Really watching him.
Her voice came soft, but certain.
"You're not him."
Tom blinked at her. "What?"
She didn't look afraid.
"Your eyes were different," she said. "But not wrong.
You weren't controlling it. You were fighting something."
Tom looked away.
James took another step back. "I don't know what that was, but I say we let the professors deal with it. We're just kids, remember?"
Lucius tugged at the door. "It's not opening."
Sirius swore under his breath. "Oh, of course. Magic door. Loves to close after the snakes finish whispering doom."
Lily glanced back at them — then at Tom.
She didn't speak again.
But her eyes said it clearly:
I don't know what just happened to you.
But I'm not running yet.
The silence didn't last long.
A low rumble began beneath their feet — faint at first, like a growl buried in stone.
James spun around. "Okay, I definitely didn't do that."
Lucius pressed against the door harder. "It's not me!"
The rumble grew.
The candlelight flickered violently — and then, the floor cracked.
Right beneath Tom's feet, the center of the room began to split open.
A green light poured from the fissure — bright, swirling, alive.
"MOVE—!" Sirius shouted, but it was too late.
The ground gave way.
All of them dropped.
No time to scream. No time to grab.
They fell through nothing, wind howling around them — not cold wind, but thick, breathing air that coiled around their limbs like magic gone wild.
Lucius shouted.
James swore.
Sirius tried to grab Lily — missed.
Lily tried to grab Tom — didn't have to.
Tom wasn't falling.
He was being pulled.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Until— THUD.
They landed hard — stone beneath their backs, dust in the air, torches flickering on walls that were too low, too cold, too dark.
The dungeons.
The air here smelled of mold and metal.
The ceiling dripped. Chains lined the walls.
And standing just ahead in the shadows — arms folded, eyes glowing faintly green like coals —
was a man.
Not as tall as Marvolo.
Not as regal.
But crueler. Sharper.
Older in a different, rotted way.
He smiled at Tom like he'd been waiting for years.
"Nephew," the man rasped.
"Welcome home."
Tom pulled himself to his feet, dust clinging to his robes.
His eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
Beside him, Lily, James, Sirius, and Lucius all scrambled upright, eyes darting around the dungeon.
Lucius muttered, "Where are we?"
Sirius drew his wand. "And who the hell is that?"
The man stepped forward, just enough for the light to catch his face.
Lines carved deep into his skin.
Hair long, grey, unwashed.
His eyes glowed the same deep Gaunt green — but colder. More feral.
He gave a twisted smile.
"You brought friends," he rasped, voice like dry leaves crushed underfoot.
"Cute."
No one spoke.
James raised his wand. "Tom, who is this creep?"
Tom stared. "I don't know."
The man tilted his head.
"No one told you," he said softly, as if amused. "Of course they didn't."
"They told you about Marvolo — the proud one, the loud one.
But not about me."
He took one more step.
"My name is Morrigan Gaunt.
Brother to Marvolo.
And your uncle, by blood and by vow."
Silence snapped through the room.
James looked at Tom. "You've got two?"
Lucius muttered, "This just keeps getting better."
But Morrigan's smile vanished.
His eyes locked on Tom. And when he spoke next, his voice changed.
Slid.
Curled.
Coiled into something none of them understood.
Parseltongue.
"The time for masks is over."
"Empty out your friends."
Tom blinked.
"...What?"
The others were still — staring at him, confused, unsure what had just been said.
But Tom had heard it clearly.
"Now, boy."
"Let them go. Or I will."
The tension grew higher,
Far below, in the deepest halls of the dungeons, a boy stood before blood.
Before a command that threatened to unmake him.
But above — in the stone-broken courtyard — the storm had already broken.
Smoke drifted through the air like whispered curses.
Cracks webbed across the ground.
The faint shimmer of protective wards hovered — cracked, flickering, barely holding.
Most of the Gaunts were down.
Lying in charmed slumber.
Bound in magical chains.
Some gone entirely — expelled beyond Hogwarts' gates by Dumbledore's spells.
Only two remained.
One — a towering figure cloaked in shadow, face still hidden, robes untouched by flame.
The other — Marvolo Gaunt himself.
He stood in the center of the wreckage, cloak flowing in the poisoned wind, green eyes fixed... not on the battle... but the castle itself.
Across from them, Albus Dumbledore lowered his wand, steady but spent.
Sweat on his brow. Blood on his cheek.
But his eyes — cold and brilliant — burned like silver fire.
Around him, Professors remained — bruised, breathless, but unbroken.
Flitwick whispered, "There's only two left..."
Minerva, clutching her wand with trembling fingers, said quietly:
"There were always only two that mattered."
The tall figure took a slow step forward.
The ground hissed beneath him.
And then—
Marvolo smiled.
He looked toward the tallest tower — eyes narrowing — as if he could feel something stirring in the stone.
"You can strike down my warriors..."
"But the bloodline still breathes."
"And he is listening."
Dumbledore raised his wand again.
"Your war is over."
But Marvolo tilted his head.
"No, Albus."
"My war is only just beginning."
The torchlight flickered violently in the dungeon, casting dancing shadows on the damp stone walls.
All five students now had their wands drawn.
Lily moved beside Tom, her jaw tight.
Sirius took a protective half-step in front of James, though his own hands were steady.
Lucius, pale and tense, held his wand like a dagger.
And Morrigan Gaunt stood before them — unmoved, unshaken — wand already in hand, his eyes glinting serpent green.
His voice slithered out, low and cold:
"You brought children into a war you don't understand, Tom."
Tom stepped forward, slow but firm.
"They followed me because they're brave.
You're standing alone because you're afraid."
Morrigan tilted his head. "Afraid?"
"Of what I'll become."
There was a flicker in Morrigan's eye.
But before he could respond, James stepped forward too — wand still up, shoulders squared.
"Yeah, we might be just kids," James said, "but you're just a relic hiding behind your bloodline."
He glanced at Tom.
"We've got more than that."
Morrigan's wand twitched.
The green light in the dungeon deepened.
But before a spell could fly—
{Moments earlier...}
The stone swallowed them.
The moment they hit the dungeon floor, the torches flared.
Chains rattled. The walls groaned.
And the man stepped forward from the dark — Morrigan Gaunt.
"Nephew," he said with a twisted grin. "Welcome home."
Tom stared, chest still rising from the fall.
"Who are you?"
Morrigan didn't hesitate.
"I am the one they buried under your name.
The blade behind your bloodline."
He raised his wand — and his voice changed.
Low. Hissing. Ancient.
Parseltongue.
"Empty out your friends."
Tom didn't move.
His eyes flicked to Lily.
Just a second.
But it was enough.
She looked at him — really looked — and something passed between them.
Not fear. Not panic.
Just a quiet understanding.
Tom's jaw clenched.
He turned back to Morrigan — but before he could answer, Lily moved closer to James, whispering fast and low.
"Something bad's about to happen. Be ready."
James stiffened. "What's he saying?"
"Nothing good," she muttered.
Lucius caught it too — and raised his wand.
Sirius followed instantly.
And just like that—
They were ready.
Wands out.
Heartbeats pounding.
{Back to the present..}
Morrigan didn't move.
He looked at the five students standing before him — wands raised, shoulders squared, hearts racing but unyielding.
And then...
He laughed.
Not loud.
Not mockingly.
But slow. Dry. Measured.
"Bravery," he said, almost like a compliment.
"Real bravery. I haven't seen it in a long time."
He took one step forward — just one.
"You remind me of us," he added, eyes gleaming.
"Before the rot. Before the silence."
For a second, it felt like he would stop there.
But then—
His voice dropped.
Low. Cold. Final.
"But bravery is only beautiful... when it dies slow."
Tom's hand twitched at his side.
James's eyes widened.
Lucius whispered, "He's going to—"
Morrigan raised his wand—
And the torches blew out.
The torches blew out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
And then—
Red light burst.
Morrigan Gaunt's wand slashed forward, and a blast of searing green fire exploded toward the group.
"Protego!" James shouted — shield charm barely catching the edge of the blast.
"Expelliarmus!" Sirius fired, but Morrigan deflected it like flicking away dust.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Lucius shouted—
A rusted chain ripped from the wall and slammed toward Morrigan — but he ducked, spinning.
"Your tricks are for children!" he roared.
Another blast tore toward Lily.
"Protego!" she shouted, dropping behind a toppled bench.
Tom was silent — focused.
Dodging. Moving. Watching.
This wasn't a test.
This was war.
James charged in, wand raised. "Stupefy!"
The spell hit Morrigan's shield.
But Morrigan grinned.
"Foolish Gryffindor."
He flicked his wand — a serpent made of shadow lunged from his palm.
Tom blocked it with a quick flick — no words.
Lucius shouted, "That wasn't Latin—!"
"Keep going!" Lily yelled. "Keep him busy!"
Morrigan fired again — one, two, three bolts of magic faster than thought.
Everyone scattered.
Then—
He overextended.
Just for a second.
His wand rose too high. His shield dropped an inch.
Lily's eyes snapped open.
She remembered the page — buried deep in an ancient defense book she shouldn't have had.
She stepped forward — wand clenched — voice calm.
"Vincturae Infractum."
A beam of pale violet light lanced from her wand and struck Morrigan in the chest.
He froze.
Eyes wide.
Magic cracking around him like glass under pressure.
Chains — real ones this time — burst from the wall and coiled around him.
Wrists. Ankles. Throat.
He roared — the sound split the walls — but the chains held.
His wand dropped.
Silence.
Only their breathing remained.
For a few long seconds, none of them moved.
Morrigan Gaunt hung in place, wrapped in glowing chains, his mouth clamped shut by Lily's sealing curse.
The dungeon was still.
No torches.
No spells.
Just silence, and five kids catching their breath.
Then—
Lucius exhaled. "We're alive."
James looked at his wand like it was a trophy. "We actually won?"
Sirius laughed — high and wild. "I'm putting this on my tombstone."
Lily leaned against the wall, sweat on her forehead, eyes still wide.
Tom stood in the center, still facing his bound uncle... and then, quietly, turned around.
His voice was calm.
"Good spell, Evans."
Lily blinked. "Thanks."
Tom nodded once. That was all.
James dusted off his sleeves, then walked over, clapping Tom on the shoulder.
"You weren't bad yourself."
Tom raised an eyebrow. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"
"Take it or leave it."
Sirius gave a mock bow. "I think that's Potter-speak for 'thank you for not getting us all killed.'"
Lucius crossed his arms. "Can we all agree no more hidden snake chambers for at least a week?"
Lily finally smiled.
Tom looked around at the group — messy, tired, grinning like fools — and, for the first time in a long while...
He felt like he wasn't alone.
Smoke hung in the air.
The courtyard was broken — stone scorched, air trembling, time itself holding its breath.
Only two figures remained.
Albus Dumbledore, blood on his robes, hair loose in the wind, wand firm in his hand.
Marvolo Gaunt, standing like a ghost stitched to fire, green eyes blazing, robes swirling around him like a serpent.
The tall, hooded figure that once stood at his side had fallen — banished by light Dumbledore had summoned from inside the castle's heart.
Now it was just them.
Two ancient magics.
Two ideologies.
Two ends of a prophecy.
"You've held off my kin," Marvolo said, voice like cracked glass.
"But you won't hold me."
Dumbledore's voice was soft — but steady.
"I'm not holding anything, Marvolo.
I'm letting go of what you never could."
Marvolo raised his wand. "Sectum Infernum!"
A black slash tore through the air — curved like a sickle, faster than sound.
Dumbledore vanished.
He reappeared above — spinning in midair — and fired three spells at once: a wave of fire, a lasso of gold, and a blast of air that cracked the stone beneath their feet.
Marvolo blocked two.
The third hit his shoulder — he flinched but did not fall.
He retaliated:
"Vermificus Magra!"
A swarm of burning serpents exploded from his wand — hissing, striking.
Dumbledore caught them mid-air — and froze them with a single wordless flick. They shattered to ash before they landed.
"Still hiding behind snakes, Marvolo?"
"Still hiding behind mercy, Albus?"
They clashed.
Bolt after bolt.
Firelight. Green flashes.
Wind howled through the ruined towers.
A shield shattered.
A column cracked.
The sky itself seemed to darken.
But Dumbledore kept pushing forward.
"You've built a legacy of fear," he said, deflecting a jagged chain of blood-spells.
"But fear can't lead. It only follows."
Marvolo screamed, "Avada Kedavra!"
The green light raced toward Dumbledore.
But this time —
Dumbledore didn't dodge.
He raised both hands.
A wall of phoenix flame burst from his wand — not to block the curse...
To eat it.
Final part next page