Light!
Blinding green light suddenly filled Riddle's eyes. Scorching rays pierced through his body, burning not just his flesh but his very soul.
Riddle felt himself splitting apart.
It wasn't his body that was breaking, it was his soul.
A fragment of his soul cracked and began to separate, spilling out of his body.
The sensation was hauntingly familiar. This was exactly how he had been torn from Voldemort years ago and turned into a Horcrux.
But there was no time for reflection. An invisible force grabbed hold of him, trying to yank him out of his newly formed body.
No!
Please, no!
This body was freshly created; it hadn't even had time to grow warm!
Riddle screamed in fury, over and over, his cries both powerful and filled with unbearable pain.
His soul convulsed as waves of torment coursed through him. His chest and throat burned as if seared by fire.
Then, at last, he was forcibly pulled out of his body.
Cold air rushed into his immaterial form, and he felt like a newborn gasping for its first breath. But the world was unforgiving. Riddle wanted nothing more than to return to his body.
But that was impossible.
His body was dead.
In a daze, Riddle realized what had happened.
His Killing Curse had rebounded!
He had been struck by his own Avada Kedavra.
What did it feel like to be hit by the Killing Curse?
Few could answer that question, as most who were struck by it died instantly.
Only Voldemort, through his "special precautions," had managed to survive such an ordeal.
But Riddle, as a Horcrux from fifty years ago, was separate from his original self. He wasn't entitled to those protections.
Now, he had experienced it for himself.
Better late than never, right?
What Riddle wanted most at this moment was to crawl into a quiet corner and cry his heart out.
He hated Potter.
He hated Stark.
But most of all, he hated... Avada Kedavra.
From William's perspective, things were much simpler.
He saw Riddle cast the green light of the Killing Curse, striking Harry squarely on the forehead.
But instead of killing him, the curse rebounded like it had hit a mirror, following its original path straight back to Riddle.
Riddle's body was lifted into the air, his head snapping back as if pierced by an invisible arrow. In a grotesque, inverted posture, his head struck the ground first, and his lifeless body crumpled to the floor.
William's face lit up with sheer delight.
He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so hard, it was almost enough to leave him breathless!
Dumbledore had told him countless times: when Lily died, she cast an ancient magical protection on Harry at the cost of her life.
This protective charm would last until Harry came of age.
During that time, Voldemort would be unable to kill Harry. This protection had caused the Killing Curse to rebound all those years ago.
And now, twelve years later, Riddle, who shared the same soul as Voldemort, couldn't kill Harry either.
Casting the Killing Curse on Harry would inevitably lead to the same result as before.
Wizards might not fall for the same trick twice—but Voldemort certainly did.
William's laughter abruptly stopped. His gaze turned cold as he stared at Riddle's lifeless body.
Though Riddle was undeniably dead, magical energy radiated outward from his corpse.
Strange. Was he about to become a ghost?
William's brow furrowed.
He soon realized something was off. Next to Riddle's body, another form began to take shape, a shadowy, vaporous figure.
This entity was hazy and indistinct, more like a wisp of smoke or steam than a ghost.
This was not a typical ghost. Its state was eerily similar to Voldemort's form after he had fled Quirrell's body.
William stared in shock. "Tom, you're not dead?"
The shadowy figure glared at him with pure hatred, a cold sneer twisting its spectral features. "I told you, I've been reborn with a body. Unlike the simple soul fragment I once was, now that I've gained physical form, as long as my main body survives, I cannot die.
"I will return. I will have my revenge!"
Riddle spat his threat before floating toward the wall like a ghost. He passed straight through it, disappearing from sight.
William's expression changed as a sudden realization struck him. He bolted toward the door of the Sanctum of the Chamber of Secrets.
The door remained tightly sealed, just as Riddle had claimed:
"The door can only be opened with Parseltongue."
But William couldn't speak Parseltongue!
Damn it, was he going to be trapped in here forever?
...
Meanwhile, in a shabby, dusty house...
The wallpaper had peeled from the walls, the floor was stained and filthy, and the furniture lay in ruins, as if smashed by someone. The windows were boarded up with planks of wood.
A wizard in fine robes stepped through a low, dark passage and pushed open a door to enter the room.
"Come out, Wormtail," the wizard said.
But the voice didn't come from his mouth, it seemed to emanate from his very body.
The room remained silent.
"Now!" the wizard barked, his tone cold.
After a moment, a rat scurried out of a hole in the wall.
It paused, twitching its head and tail as it surveyed the room. Then, in an instant, its body began to change, morphing into a man.
The man was short, with thinning, matted hair and a large bald patch atop his head.
His filthy skin resembled a rat's fur, and his sharp nose and beady eyes retained their rodent-like features.
Despite his unkempt appearance, he had clearly been eating well, his round, protruding belly was evidence enough.
The man's eyes darted around nervously as he spoke in a high-pitched voice:
"Master, what happened to you? Why do you look like this? Isn't that... Lockhart?"
"My resurrection didn't go as planned, so I've taken over this fool's body for now."
Lockhart turned his head, pulling off his hat. On the back of his head was a youthful face:
Tom Riddle.
Lockhart had become the second Quirrell!
"Is it serious?" Peter Pettigrew asked, shrinking back and glancing warily at the door.
"Not too serious."
Even Wormtail could tell that Riddle himself didn't fully believe his own words.
"I told you... we could have used any wizard for the ritual. There was no need to insist on Potter..." Wormtail muttered, sweat pouring down his face and making it glisten.
"I had already succeeded," Riddle snapped, "It was that Stark boy who interfered and ruined everything."
"Stark is powerful, I don't dare show myself in front of him. That child terrifies me," Wormtail confessed with a shiver.
"Enough about that," Riddle said curtly, "I'm leaving. I need to leave Britain."
"Master, where are you going?!"
"I'm going to follow in Slytherin's footsteps. He left behind guidance for me... a way to grow stronger, stronger than the Voldemort you knew, stronger than even Dumbledore.
"Will you come with me?" Riddle asked, fixing Pettigrew with a piercing gaze.
"I need a loyal assistant, a capable subordinate."
Riddle, controlling Lockhart's body, extended a hand in an inviting gesture.
Pettigrew remained silent, his eyes darting as if deep in thought.
"I know what you're thinking..." Riddle said, a charming smile playing on his borrowed lips.
"You're hesitant. Your new master looks weak and powerless, just like Voldemort did all those years ago..."
"I didn't say that!" Pettigrew squeaked defensively.
"Think carefully, Peter," Riddle said softly, his tone almost coaxing.
"It's time for you to choose your side. Decide who you truly serve.
"Don't you want to put an end to these twelve years of hiding, of living like a rat in humiliation?"