Staring at the sealed door in front of him, Tver felt a headache coming on.
It was a massive stone gate, so tightly fitted it might as well have been a solid wall.
Two serpents were carved on its surface, coiled around each other. Emeralds were set into their eyes, gleaming under the light as if alive, watching him.
Tver knew the only way to open this door was with Parseltongue.
And the only two people in the castle who could speak Parseltongue were currently trapped behind it.
With a helpless shake of his head, Tver raised his wand toward the thousand-year-old stone gate.
Hopefully no one accuses me of destroying cultural heritage.
With a focused thought, a sharp bolt of black light shot from his wand tip.
The spell wasn't large—barely the size of one of the carved serpents' eyes.
But the moment it struck, the stone seemed to twist. There was no explosion, no dramatic blast—just a sharp, corrosive sizzle.
The black light clung to the surface like a smear of ink.
In less than a second, the stone where it hit rotted away, leaving a small hole.
And that hole grew rapidly.
Soon Tver had a clear view inside—of Harry, who was currently locked in a frantic struggle with the Basilisk.
He had a sword in his hand.
Although the Basilisk's eyes had been pecked out, its sheer size still made it anything but easy to fight.
And unlike the original story, Tom Riddle—now solidifying into physical form—looked far more agitated.
Holding Percy's wand, he fired off an attack every time he gathered even a spark of power.
Stray spells blasted chunks off the stone pillars around them.
Between the Basilisk and Riddle's intermittent attacks, Harry could only dodge desperately, relying on his smaller size and quick footwork to survive.
Thankfully, Riddle's spells were weak, and the badge Harry wore flickered with gold every so often, shielding him.
But that only made Riddle grow more impatient.
He remembered every word Percy had written in the diary.
Hogwarts had a new Dark Lord.
A Dark Lord even better at manipulating people than he was.
Even though Percy didn't know the full extent of Tver's abilities, the fact he'd defeated Flitwick and Snape meant his strength couldn't be underestimated.
(In Percy's eyes, those two draws in their duels were clearly Tver holding back. The real victor was Tver.)
At the very least, he was stronger than Riddle—a seventeen-year-old soul in a body pieced together from raw life force.
So even though Dumbledore had been forced out of the school, Riddle didn't dare provoke Professor Fawley.
He planned to fully form a body, escape Hogwarts under cover of night, and find a chance to resurrect himself.
He couldn't afford to fail because of delays.
His attacks on Harry grew more frantic, yet he couldn't stop glancing toward the entrance.
And with one look, all color drained from his already pale face.
The solid stone door now had a hole—and half a figure was visible through it.
Riddle watched as the hole widened quickly, the silhouette becoming clearer and clearer.
That calm-looking face carried a pressure like a crashing storm, sweeping straight toward him.
He swallowed hard, stunned with fear.
They had never met, but he knew instantly—
This was the Professor Fawley he dreaded.
The opening finally grew large enough, and Tver stepped through.
Funny, really—this version of Voldemort was only seventeen, younger than Tver himself.
His knowledge wasn't yet as refined as it would later become; trapped in a diary for years, he hadn't even had anyone to talk to.
Tver had no interest in studying him.
So he approached Riddle at a leisurely pace, stopping right in front of him.
Meanwhile, Harry was still being chased by the Basilisk at the far end of the Chamber.
But without Riddle's spells adding pressure, he was doing far better.
Riddle, however, stood frozen where he was, staring blankly at Tver.
"Good evening, Tom Riddle."
"G-good evening."
A moment later, he realized something was off.
"Wait… you know who I am?"
His eyes widened in disbelief, his grip tightening around the wand. The pressure Tver gave off was overwhelming. But Tver didn't strike. He only cast a glance at Percy lying on the floor, then at the diary beside him.
"I know plenty of things you don't. But those aren't things you get to be curious about."
Seventeen-year-old Voldemort simply didn't know enough. Even if Tver questioned him, nothing useful would come out of it. So Tver raised his wand. A golden orb shimmered with intricate runes as it descended onto the diary. It wrapped around it, forming a thin golden membrane.
The moment it sealed, Riddle felt his connection to Percy snap. The flow of life force stopped instantly.
"You—!"
Riddle lifted his wand in fury, but he didn't even finish the movement before he realized he couldn't move at all. Tver didn't spare him a glance. Instead, he looked toward Percy, who was beginning to wake up. There was still a child here who needed his help.
A soft groan escaped Percy as he stirred. He sat up, holding his aching head, his confused gaze drifting from the diary, to Riddle, then to Tver.
Wait… Professor?!
The realization jolted some clarity back into him. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs were too weak.
"Don't force it. Rest for a bit."
Tver handed him a piece of chocolate.
Come to think of it, ever since arriving at Hogwarts, his wallet had become dominated by chocolates with various magical effects. Good thing wizards didn't worry about cavities.
Percy stared at Tver in a daze. Only after confirming there was no blame on the professor's face did he accept the chocolate, guilt tightening his chest. He fumbled with the wrapper, tore it open, and took a huge bite—accidentally chewing off a bit of the wrapper too.
"Professor, I was wrong."
He swallowed a lump of chocolate and choked out the words, his voice almost breaking.
"Oh? And what exactly were you wrong about?"
"I… I shouldn't have studied the diary just because I was curious, and I definitely shouldn't have let it control me…"
Tver shook his head and bent down to pick up the diary.
"Do you know what this is?"
"This…" Percy looked lost. "It should be some kind of dark magic item… something that controls people?"
He answered without confidence.
"No. This is a Horcrux."
Tver briefly explained what a Horcrux was and what it did.
"So… this is young Voldemort?!"
Percy's eyes flew wide.
He'd actually been chatting with Voldemort for months—and even treated him like a trusted older brother?!
"That's right. So being controlled by Voldemort isn't something shameful. Plenty of people older than you couldn't have resisted."
"But…"
Percy still lowered his head in guilt.
"That doesn't mean you did nothing wrong."
Tver let out a cold, short laugh at the diary.
"Your mistake was meddling with a Horcrux before you had enough strength."
"Percy, in the world of dark magic, no one cares about right or wrong. If you're strong enough, no one will say you're wrong."
"So your only mistake this time was that you weren't strong enough."
...
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