Chapter 195: Starting As An Assistant Teacher
The room was left with only the young professor and a young snake. Tom Riddle’s face emerged from the silver mist, the earlier greeting echoing in the room. Riddle’s gaze swept over the surroundings, examining the furnishings in the room.
Although the furniture arrangement had undergone subtle changes, the main layout of the room remained familiar. He gradually realized this was Hogwarts’ office, and his consciousness felt somewhat dazed.
The young snake curled up, its scales rubbing together with an extremely faint sound. Memories deep in Riddle’s soul surfaced. He recalled that castle, the banquet in the Great Hall under candlelight, and how after dinner he still refused to leave, his face bearing a false smile as he stayed by the high table waiting for the professor to ask about knowledge beyond the textbooks.
Riddle realized something was wrong. Deeper memories surfaced. He should be in the hands of some inner circle Death Eater right now, either hidden in the attic of some dark old house or in Gringotts underground vault, quietly sealed off from the world.
Returning to the real world, he should be greeted not by the main soul’s original body, but at least by some Death Eater.
The phantom drifted out from the golden goblet, silent. With a glance out the window, a full moon hung in the sky, moonlight spilling over the grounds, Forbidden Forest, and distant mountains, as if draped in a layer of light gauze. The entire world was shrouded in cool moonlight, the Black Lake shimmering with ripples.
Riddle saw no other wizards, let alone Death Eaters. After long ages, returning to the world felt like another world to him. This was the Hogwarts most familiar in his memory.
Riddle didn’t know why he had returned here, to a Hogwarts professor’s office, with a strange young wizard standing before him.
Why had a stranger awakened him?
Why could this person call his name?
Why did this person know about the remnant soul in the golden goblet?
He found it very strange and said nothing for the moment. The young wizard opposite didn’t continue speaking either. The office was filled with an indescribable silence.
One person and one snake stood by the desk, looking up at him in eye contact.
From his attire, the young wizard was Muggle-born, about twenty years old, wearing a black long trench coat. His young face showed a calmness beyond his age, with deep eyes.
Riddle always felt that the expression and gaze on this person’s face were very familiar, reminding him of his younger self facing other professors and classmates. When trying to close the distance to extract information, he would have a similar expression and eyes, while inwardly harboring calculations only he knew.
The two thus silently stared at each other, sharing a wordless tacit understanding, time slowly passing as if they were old friends long acquainted.
“Hiss…” Yurm instinctively flicked its tongue.
Riddle noticed a snake nearby. This discovery pleased him. He slowly turned his head, his slit pupils flowing with ominous magic power, like a cold viper. His lips moved toward the young snake, accompanied by low hissing sounds as magic power spread over.
Parseltongue—for snakes, this language was the Imperius Curse.
Yurm’s snake eyes froze for an instant, its will swallowed by that gaze and hissing. Its whole body jerked, as if plunged into the iced Black Lake. A force arose from nowhere in its body, and it spun around sharply, then whipped its tail at Voldemort’s phantom.
The illusory soul fragment had no physical form, but the silver mist from the potion was scattered. The phantom dispersed, slowly reforming after a few seconds.
“Woof!”
Yurm let out an angry bark, learned from Fang.
Unfortunately, Hagrid wasn’t here, and neither Melvin nor Voldemort understood dog language. They vaguely heard it was very foul-mouthed, but didn’t know exactly how foul.
“…”
One person and one remnant soul looked at each other speechless, listening to the young snake’s scolding. The atmosphere was slightly awkward.
Finally, Melvin stroked the young snake’s back, smoothing down the raised scales. The young snake barked at him once, looking aggrieved, then burrowed aggrievedly into the emerald on the ring, ignoring these two guys.
Melvin pondered briefly and asked softly, “How do you feel?”
Riddle frowned tightly. He still hadn’t figured out the situation: “Who are you?”
“Melvin Lavent. Just call me Melvin. We’re friends, Tom.”
Countless thoughts flashed through Riddle’s mind. He clearly knew he was just a soul fragment, residing in the Horcrux golden goblet. The true Voldemort was the main soul outside. This person claimed to be his friend, but was actually the main soul’s friend.
He had never experienced anything like this, as if two selves existed in the world. He hadn’t thought so much when making the Horcrux. Now he inexplicably felt a sense of absurdity.
“What time is it now?”
“1993.”
Nearly fifty years had passed since the golden goblet was made into a Horcrux. Riddle felt slightly dazed. Voldemort should have become the world’s most powerful dark wizard, ruling the wizarding world or even the entire world by now.
The true Voldemort must now be at the peak of power, even willing to reveal the Horcrux secret to other wizards, letting outsiders awaken the remnant soul.
With strange emotions, Riddle asked again: “Are you a Death Eater too?”
“…”
Seeing his pen pal seemed to have misunderstood something, Melvin thought briefly and decided to tell him about the past few decades.
First, the Dark Lord led Death Eaters to stir up disturbance, darkness and blood enveloping the wizarding world. Then at their strongest, the Dark Lord was defeated by a baby in swaddling clothes. The Death Eaters scattered like apes after the tree fell, and the wizarding world welcomed peace.
He had told the diary once before and had experience. Melvin’s retelling this time was much smoother, omitting unnecessary side stories, focusing on the boy who lived. The whole process dealt a huge shock to the soul phantom.
Last time the diary Horcrux gave no feedback. This time the soul fragment was right in front of him. Though trying hard to conceal it, Melvin could still catch the changes in his expression—from smug smile to shocked pupil contraction, then to incredulity and disbelief.
Melvin inexplicably felt a sense of accomplishment.
Not counting the piece in Harry’s scar, this sense of accomplishment could be experienced twice more.
Riddle clearly had no physical form at the moment, yet felt sweat on his forehead, unprecedented panic and fear rising in his heart. The mighty Dark Lord defeated by a one-year-old baby? A foreign wizard knowing the truth of Horcruxes? Death Eaters fallen, main soul whereabouts unknown?
Massive information assaulted the soul fragment, leaving his head dizzy.
In the memories of twenty-year-old Tom Riddle, he had just poisoned Hepzibah Smith not long ago, obtained Hufflepuff’s Goblet and Slytherin’s locket, refined them into two Horcruxes, then returned to reality. Things had changed, people gone, like a dream.
He suddenly remembered something and looked up sharply: “Even so, how do you know about Horcruxes?”
Melvin’s face showed an unsettling smile: “I happened to get an old diary and tricked the information out of it.”
Riddle’s figure flickered like an old television with signal failure, just short of moiré patterns and snowflakes. He stabilized the soul phantom and stared dead at the young wizard before him:
“What all do you know? What did you do to the diary?”
“That’s not the Dark Lord’s style, Tom. Whatever happened in the past is past. Right now, you should be asking what I want.” Melvin said.
By timeline, when Hufflepuff’s Goblet was made into a Horcrux, Tom Riddle was only twenty, freshly graduated from Hogwarts not long, hiding in Borgin and Burkes doing some murderous business for profit, not yet grown into the later life-and-death wielding Dark Lord. Immature, fun to toy with.
Riddle calmed down. He thought it was some big figure, but it was just a greedy despicable dark wizard who got lucky. He concealed his anger and asked with a cold laugh: “What do you want?”
“What do you have?”
Riddle’s anger flared again but he didn’t show it, saying evenly: “Power, wealth. If we join hands, Melvin, the whole world is ours.”
Melvin shook his head: “You don’t look very convincing right now.”
Riddle’s phantom took a deep breath: “I also have profound knowledge. You should know my achievements. If we cooperate, I’ll unlock magic’s mysteries for you, let you master dark magic you’ve never seen. Trust me, Melvin, this power exceeds your imagination.”
“Powerful meaning can’t beat a baby in swaddling clothes?” Melvin saw the phantom flickering and quickly cleared his throat. “Cough… I mean, before this, the diary and I already discussed many dark magic secrets. I have no plans to delve deeper for now.”
Riddle could no longer suppress his churning thoughts and asked gravely: “What exactly did you do to the diary?”
“I assure you, the diary is intact and very safe now.”
Melvin said sincerely. After all, the headmaster promised to let him watch when destroying the Horcrux. He hadn’t received the invitation yet, so the headmaster was probably still giving little Tom tutoring lessons.
Riddle looked deeply at him, silent for a moment, then continued: “I can share with you the secret of eternal life, endless life, endless time. Any treasure will fall into your hands.”
“Herpo’s Horcrux has major flaws. I have no plans to tear my soul in the short term, and…”
Melvin paused briefly and said solemnly, “Horcruxes just make you unable to be killed, but don’t say unable to be controlled. That Dark Lord has been down for over a decade—I mean the later you. There’s no news of you even now. What if someone captured your main soul and imprisoned it?”
Riddle fell silent, eyes flickering with uncertain suspicion.
He also thought this made reason. The powerful main soul defeated by a baby, the immortal Dark Lord missing for over a decade… Sealed in the goblet for too long, too many inconceivable things had happened.
“What do you want from me?” Riddle asked coldly.
Melvin felt this tone more sincere and smiled slightly: “In the post-war reckoning period, many Death Eaters escaped trial with Galleons and are still active outside. These are pure-blood families passed down for centuries. I want to borrow their resources and wealth. As their former leader, Tom, I think you can give me useful advice.”
“…”
“I don’t think there’s anything to hesitate about. These wizards swore eternal loyalty to the Dark Lord, but when he faced trouble, they did nothing. They slipped back among your enemies, claiming innocence and ignorance, living stably all these years…”
“Put away your clumsy provocation!”
Riddle said darkly, a cold smile on his face. He thought Melvin didn’t crave power or immortality, hard to control like Dumbledore, but turned out just a slave to power. This fool needed patience to seduce, but no difficulty.
“But they should indeed pay a price for it. I can help you drive these two-faced servants.”
“Also, I want the goblet to function normally.”
Riddle’s gaze swept over the golden goblet on the desk, feeling he had regained the initiative. Instead of responding, he counterasked: “What do I get in return first?”
“What do you want?”
“Intelligence. I want you to investigate the truth of that night in Godric’s Hollow, and the whereabouts of the real me.”
“Is this your threat?”
“This is our cooperation, Melvin.” The phantom floated above the golden goblet and said softly.
“I don’t have time to play detective game.” Melvin pondered briefly and said thoughtfully, “But I can create conditions for you to investigate the truth yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know substitute professor?”
…
Third Wednesday in March, morning.
Melvin first taught the sixth-year Muggle Studies class, discussing the positive effects and negative influences of the projection mirror with the students, casually calling a few to answer questions. Those who couldn’t came up to be embarrassed. After class, he went downstairs and ran into Professor Flitwick on the way.
The goblin-halfblood professor had just finished second-year Charms class, with toad footprints from Trevor on his head and half his beard blown off by Seamus, yet still smiling cheerfully.
Melvin carried textbooks in one hand and a golden goblet engraved with badger ornament in the other.
Due to his height, Professor Flitwick’s line of sight was slightly lower than ordinary wizards and he didn’t notice at first. Only at the staircase corner did he spot the golden goblet, his gaze sticking to it.
He sensed the golden goblet’s typical features, showing a conflicted hesitant expression. After hesitating, he couldn’t help asking:
“Melvin, what you’re holding… is that Hufflepuff’s Goblet?”
“You can tell at a glance, right?”
Melvin smiled with his eyes and tossed the golden goblet in his hand twice, seemingly not caring at all: “I plan to use it as a teaching aid for Defence Against the Dark Arts class, next period, Harry, Neville, and their second year.”
Professor Flitwick relaxed, assuming it was a fake golden goblet, and said smilingly: “No wonder you surveyed Hufflepuff Common Room last weekend. It was to prepare Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching aids. Watch that bunch of kids closely; several are troublemakers.”
“Mm.”
Melvin nodded. Professor Flitwick didn’t ask, so he didn’t explain proactively. At the fork, he bid farewell and headed to the Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom.
Professor Flitwick watched him enter the classroom. Young handsome professors always maintained classroom discipline more easily. Standing on the podium, he tapped the lectern, and the chaotic classroom quieted instantly.
Then came Melvin’s gentle voice:
“For this class today, I’ve invited an assistant teacher for everyone…”
