Aight, so, my update schedule says that I'll be posting new chapters on Tuesdays and Saturdays bUT tHeN I was told that I had to do stuff on Saturdays whether I like it or not, therefore I'll be updating on Tuesdays and fRiDaYS.
aND, the previous translator sent me all the nice-sounding chapter names, sO LeT's giVE a biG tHaNK yOU tO tHE pREViOUs snow_owl01!
Tom heard the news from Joan. The Slytherin descendant's dark eyes instantly turned thick-red as if they were bleeding.
Joan was startled by his eyes. She thought he'd be furious, but he was unexpectedly calm; his tone even made it seem like they were discussing today's weather. "Oh, I understand."
Joan couldn't even imagine; with his eyes such a shade of red, how could he still retain such a calm posture? This intense feeling of conflict made the wiser witch instinctively feel unnerved.
Joan thought these days were probably the most surprising for her. She knitted her brows together and looked into the boy's eyes, both of which had gone back to normal - as quiet as an ancient, black pond, as though the red was just a hallucination. Was it really just her hallucination?
"It's Harry. He's leaving." The short-haired woman couldn't help but frown and repeat her words.
Tom Riddle, who was taller than her, paused before a sudden perfectly flawless smile spread across his lips. "I heard you, Ms Joan. Can I go now?"
Joan's frown deepened as she watched the tall, handsome boy gracefully walk away, his pace steady. Just as he thought, the power he was feeling was unshakable. But Joan thought something was off; when did Tom get so weird? Harry too.
The Slytherin prefect returned to his private bedroom; it was small, but he was alone.
Tom tore off the neat tie from his collar, threw it onto the bed, and took a deep; trying to calm his restless emotions.
None of this was normal!
Without anyone present, the Slytherin could vent his emotions freely without having to suppress his thoughts. Nobody could see the pair of blood-red eyes - more intense than the sun - that displayed a sense of cold, broken beauty.
Yes, none of this was normal.
An endless, suffocating pain spread through his chest; though it was small, it was still too clear to be ignored. Tom was very familiar with this feeling. This was what he felt as he spent seven days alone at 15 London St; during the Christmas holidays in first grade.
The tall, handsome boy took another deep breath. With this, the feeling seemed to fade quite a bit.
It's just the residual toxins! The Slytherin told himself.
Using the Summoning Charm, he waved over a box engraved with runes from the bottom of his bed. He opened the box, revealing a diary with a black cover laid inside.
He took out the diary; beneath it was a miscellaneous collection of goods, all of which came from his adoptive father Harry Potter.
Tom looked at his collection and laughed. His actions seemed so disgusting, so stupid and so ridiculous now. Tom went to the trash can and poured everything in unhesitatingly, including the bullets with Harry's blood and the broken Holly wand.
The next morning, a house-elf would take them away and pour them into the dump, where they'd magically disappear without a single trace.
Tom looked coldly at the pile of 'garbage' and chuckled with endless pride - yes, these were just residues.
Look, he could still so mercilessly abandon the yearning inside of him.
The Slytherin's crazy and paranoid actions were in no doubt an attempt to prove his pathetic 'unshakable power'. However, the cracks had already formed; no matter how strong a fortress is, following the accumulation of such cracks and their conversion to qualitative change, it will collapse.
"Tom, your reaction this time is strange." Abraxas was staring at the side of the boy's face and only spoke after observing him for a while. Malfoy may be frivolous, but he had keen insight. "I know that Harry left."
Tom lazily flipped over a page of his book, his dark eyes unmoving from the page; with an absent-minded look and an even more casual tone, he replied, "Joan told me, you don't have to tell me again."
Malfoy played with his long, platinum hair, his grey-blue eyes fixed on the boy, and laughed. "What? Got tired of playing?"
"...How fickle. I was still thinking about how obsessed you were over him." Malfoy chuckled but received a look from the librarian. He shrugged uninterestedly; guess he just had to shut his mouth and regret following Tom to the library.
Since Harry's departure, Tom's actions became increasingly arrogant - he even began to swim at night. Of course, using his title as Prefect, he called it 'night patrol'.
As for the purpose of these 'night patrols'? For the Chamber of Secrets, of course.
Think of Slytherin's legacy! Slytherin was one of the four founders; how could Tom's inheritance possibly be generic? Finding the Chamber of Secrets was equivalent to obtaining Slytherin's power!
Tom Riddle had a fatal attraction to power, so just thinking about it caused a surge of possessive emotions to flash through his eyes; although he had handsome facial features, smudged by such an expression he immediately became hideous.
"Tom, why aren't you back at your dorm?" Teased an elderly, kind voice from behind. "There isn't a meeting for friends in the bathroom, is there?"
Tom turned, his eyes filled with youthful vitality; it's a pity how disgusting hypocrisy could be.
"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore." Tom hooked up a corner of his mouth, put his hands behind his back, and plastered a look of respect and humbleness; however, the extreme pressure that emanated from his body was impossible to ignore. "I'm just making a night patrol. The bathroom seemed more prone to accidents lately." Yes, didn't the girl die in this bathroom?
The wise old man's eyebrows trembled and his eyes, hidden under the half-moon spectacles, darkened. He had no children, so his students were equivalent to his children. Although Mylene wasn't a Hogwarts student, how could the passing of life not make one feel dejected?
He looked carefully at the teenager in front of him and was reminded of Harry's warning three or four months ago. The auburn-bearded old man couldn't help but *feel a bit older.
*Feel more tired and weary
Mylene's incident couldn't have been so simple; although there was no evidence pointing to the boy before him, Harry's expression and behaviour from that time meant Tom must've had something to do with it.
However, he chose the same path of neglect and selfishness as Harry - because Tom Riddle was his student.
"Tom, don't make the wrong choices. Harry will be sad." Albus faced the youth, his blue eyes distant like the sky. The old man continued to speak in a serious tone, his words consisting of warnings, comfort, and at the same time encouragement.
"Now Tom, I don't think you'd mind if I went back first to enjoy my lemonade?" The old man's serious expression immediately converged into a joking one, making Tom feel inexplicably unhappy.
"Of course not, Professor."
Tom turned away. To say this much, Dumbledore must've known something was up. But the Slytherin wasn't worried.
What could that old bee do to him? Even if he publicly told everyone what he had planned, even if there were people who believed him, he wouldn't care. He didn't even care about Harry anymore, so why would he care about the blames and accusations of other people?
The teenager went about freely, enjoying his 'unshakable power'.
The rattling in his ears finally stopped; his eardrums stopped shaking and his nose unblocked. Harry gulped in the air and fell on the cold floor, trying to curl up on himself to reduce the frequency of painful spasms.
This was the first time he hadn't come back to the present at the agreed time; his previous jump lasted 12 months in the past, and only 3 days in real-time.
Hermione once said that with his body, he could only withstand the intensity of five days back-and-forth time jumps. Five days were equivalent to two years in the past.
There was nobody in the lab; Hermione probably didn't expect Harry to come back four days early. Without help, Harry could only lie on the floor in embarrassment and wait for the pain to ease.
It was still February in 2001. Harry was dressed quite warmly but, attached to the cold floor, he was unable to withstand the invasion of chills. However, the coldness allowed his painful, groggy head to sober up a lot though.
Tom's Horcrux was made successfully, was the first thought that came out from his moment of sobriety.
In his head, two Hermiones appeared. "You can't change history, because it's a game that has been long set up by Fate!" One said with a stern expression.
The other patted his shoulder, the lines of her lower jaw soft. "Your presence cannot be erased, Harry, so no matter how you change the trajectory of history, Fate can't kill you. Your presence is the biggest bargaining chip. So do what you want."
Harry climbed up from the floor and wriggled towards the door.
He needed Hermione, he needed Ron, he needed someone, anyone, to give him some advice; even if they couldn't give him that, then just to accompany and think with him would be good.
"My Lord, at around 10 o'clock this morning, the entire Dumbledore's Army saw Harry Potter... Crawling out of the laboratory."
The Dark Lord was immediately interested - it seemed his opponent was in a state of disorder. "Hm? Crawling?"
The man, whose face was hidden underneath the black cloak, seemed embarrassed for a while. "He wasn't crawling, but... He looked in pain."
"I was just wondering when the name Harry Potter would become fitting for a dog!" The minions gathered beside the Dark Lord laughed arrogantly. They'd do anything to insult their enemies; it was as if it would help them defeat them.
"Shut up," the handsome young man on the throne said impatiently. "I can't hear him talk."
With just a few words, those who had laughed out shuddered and the next individual who wanted to laugh choked it back into his throat, afraid to let it out.
"Well...?" The devil narrowed his eyes, as red as they were back in 1943. "Where is the laboratory?" The Slytherin was dreadfully wise and keen, asking only the most critical questions.
"I don't know; the laboratory is very well protected. Other than Potter only Granger can go in, nobody else."
"Continue your mission."
Voldemort suddenly felt as if everything was beginning to become fun.
A reckless little boy, now with his little friends... He wondered what kind of mysterious thing they were tampering with.
Nevertheless, it was too late.
His beloved Saviour should take a listen to the rumours circulating the Wizarding World.
The Saviour of the past, the Traitor of the present!
The Saviour is timid, will there still be hope for the world?
Voldemort rolled his wrists comfortably as he sat in the dark, overlooking a chessboard overrun by black chess pieces. A pair of crimson eyes overflowed with malicious intent.
The Boy Who Lived? Only one of the two can survive?
How could he ever give up on his own life? Even if he did fuse his Horcruxes, he would still be the undead Voldemort.
Voldemort, Flight of Death.