"Ravenclaw relies on the wisdom and judgment of its members when dealing with dark magic. I'm not just talking about myself, but every wizard who joins my house," Ravenclaw said.
Dylan nodded. "Exactly what I thought. Your approach to dark magic is spot-on."
Ravenclaw smiled. "The real danger isn't the magic itself, but the intentions of the person wielding it."
"I always encourage my students to think critically and learn, to form a rational understanding of dark magic, not just blindly follow bans."
Dylan gave a soft chuckle. "Harness knowledge with wisdom, don't be enslaved by it—your words still ring true and keep me grounded."
"Really? If they resonate with you, maybe they'll help other students too," Ravenclaw replied.
"Absolutely." Dylan opened the diary in his hand.
With a gentle tap, a soul floated out.
It seemed to break free from the diary's pages.
It was the young soul of Voldemort—Tom Riddle.
Hovering in midair, his white shirt cuffs were stained with grim, blood-red marks.
His handsome face carried a shadow of menace, his dark eyes like bottomless, icy pools, fixed on Dylan.
There was a youthful arrogance in his expression, but beneath it simmered resentment from being trapped and defied.
Still, he didn't dare show his hatred.
Instead, he buried it under a calm facade, his eyes narrowing as he silently watched Dylan.
Thirty years east, thirty years west.
Don't underestimate a fallen Dark Lord!
One day, he'd reclaim what was his!
For now, he just had to bide his time.
"This is the one you mentioned? The Dark Lord who turned my diadem into a Horcrux?" Ravenclaw's voice held a hint of surprise.
"He figured out how to make a Horcrux at this age?"
Riddle's gaze shifted past Dylan to the woman behind him.
She wore a bronze eagle ring, her demeanor cool and composed, her face beautiful yet radiating sharp intelligence.
Her familiar features made Riddle pause, his floating form barely trembling.
The menace in his eyes gave way to stunned disbelief.
He raised an eyebrow.
Opening his mouth, he looked dazed.
It was as if he'd encountered an unexpected twist for the first time.
"She…"
Dylan smirked. "Recognize her? Makes sense. With portraits of the four founders all over Hogwarts, and you turning her relic into a Horcrux, you'd know her face."
Riddle snapped out of it, his eyes scanning Ravenclaw, shock clear on his face.
"You… how is she… how could you…"
Dylan snapped his fingers.
Riddle's mouth sealed shut, like it was stitched, leaving him mumbling incoherently.
Dylan shook his head. "Don't worry about how I brought the former head of my house here. Maybe you'll meet the other three founders someday."
"Now, you've got a new job." Dylan eyed Riddle, a glint of amusement in his gaze, like he was appraising a valuable item.
Being looked at like that, even if Riddle was used to it, still stung with humiliation.
Especially with someone else—Ravenclaw—watching him be ordered around like a servant!
"Damn it… when I'm fully revived, I'll tear this kid to pieces!"
Riddle kept his thoughts locked tight.
One wrong word, and he'd face a barrage of dark magic.
Back in the day, the wizarding world trembled at his dark magic.
Now? He feared someone else's.
The ultimate disgrace!
Ravenclaw stifled a laugh. "This is his soul from when he was young?"
Dylan nodded.
She studied Riddle. "Slytherin, right?"
"Yup."
"Hmph. I knew his ideals would lead students astray," Ravenclaw said, shaking her head. "Making a Horcrux so young? Ruthless, but clearly gifted, or he wouldn't be your era's Dark Lord."
"Dark Lord…" Ravenclaw mulled the term.
Then she chuckled. "In our time, everyone had their own take on magic, but no one dared call themselves a Dark Lord—or even a lord."
Dylan nodded. "Besides this guy, there was another Dark Lord in the early 20th century, but he was defeated by the greatest white wizard of our time and locked up."
"The greatest white wizard?" Ravenclaw asked.
"Dumbledore. I've mentioned him before."
She nodded. "Sounds like a remarkable talent."
"What do you want me to do?" Riddle cut in, frowning as they ignored him.
Dylan shot him a glance.
Riddle froze, his eyelids twitching.
Months of torment had dulled his pride, no matter how much he told himself to endure until his main soul revived.
Deep down, he feared this young wizard might destroy his other soul fragments.
If that happened, he'd be tied to his main soul…
And now, in Dylan's hands, even revival seemed bleak.
Riddle tried not to dwell on it, but the thoughts circled endlessly.
Over time, he'd grown to fear Dylan.
His patience wasn't just about waiting for a chance.
It was also about survival—if he ended up entirely at this wretched wizard's mercy.
Right now, enduring might earn him a shred of leniency from this cunning, vile, ruthless kid.
Even if it was a last resort.
A smart person always finds the most comfortable path.
Even if he didn't believe in fate or gods, thinking himself a god…
Even gods could be brought low.
If he couldn't turn the world into his playground, he'd at least secure a few escape routes.
That's why Riddle had learned to endure, to yield, even to submit.
"Looks like you're eager for your new task. Good." Dylan nodded approvingly.
With a wave of his hand, Ravenclaw's diadem appeared on the table, next to the diary.
Its silver edges gleamed, spotless, the gem casting a mysterious blue glow.
It sat quietly beside the diary, illuminating the leather cover's texture.
Riddle, floating in midair, froze the moment he saw the diadem.
It was as if an invisible hand gripped him.
His dark eyes widened, pupils shrinking to pinpoints, his form wobbling, nearly collapsing back into the diary.
"This… impossible…" His voice cracked, laced with panic, words tumbling out like they'd been crushed.
"How is it here? No, where did you find it? This isn't right…"
Gone was his composure, replaced by raw shock, his gaze glued to the diadem.
His worst fears were coming true!
He'd groveled, let this kid treat him like a lab rat, all to survive until he could rise again and take revenge.
But now…
Another Horcrux was in Dylan's hands!
So close, he could feel the soul fragment inside it—his own—desperately hiding.
Trying to stay buried in the diadem, safe from being dragged out.
But with the Horcrux in Dylan's grasp, what was the point?
A few Unforgivable Curses, and no amount of hiding would save it.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go…
Why was this happening?
Riddle's soul flickered, growing dimmer.
Ravenclaw blinked.
This so-called Dark Lord had clearly suffered under Dylan's thumb.
Both were prisoners here, but she helped manage Dylan's world.
Meanwhile, this infamous Dark Lord was trapped in a tiny Horcrux, barely clinging on, enduring endless pain.
"I think you know your task," Dylan said, smiling at Riddle.
Riddle's face was stiff, his expression grim.
Another Horcrux in Dylan's hands—what did that mean?
This kid was hunting them all down!
What could he do?
Dylan could tell Riddle was scheming something.
The guy was clever and cunning—proven by how he'd pinned his crimes on Hagrid back at school.
Dylan knew Riddle was plotting, even now.
But it didn't matter.
This was his world.
Here, he was a god.
No scheme could stand against absolute power.
A single Unforgivable Curse could shatter any plot.
Unless Voldemort could break through the world itself.
But this wasn't some suitcase like Newt's.
This was Dylan's pet space, backed by a system, not just a pocket dimension.
Its rules were ironclad.
Even if Voldemort could break a world, he'd never escape this one.
Dylan's lips curved. "Your soul's hidden tight, giving me no way in. So, over the next few days, have a nice chat with him. Get him out. I won't hurt him."
Dylan's gaze settled on Riddle, calm but heavy. "But if you can't get him out, and I don't see him, well…"
Riddle felt the threat deep in his core.
His lips twitched, his face contorted, but he couldn't refuse.
The cold reality stared him down—he had no choice but to bow.
"I… understand. But if he won't come out, why punish me? Why not go after him?"
Dylan waved a hand. "This is my head's diadem, a founder's relic. Not your worthless, tattered diary. I could wear this diadem, and it'd clear my mind, boost my magic. What good's your diary?"
Riddle's mouth twisted, his eyelid twitching.
Bloody hell.
What kind of nonsense was this?
Making one soul fragment wake another?
And if he failed, he'd be punished, not the other?
Was there any justice in this world?
Riddle took a deep breath, forcing a smile, and nodded.
"I understand. I'll try to wake him."
He paused, cautiously meeting Dylan's eyes. "But you've been studying me. You know if one soul's intact, the others won't wake easily."
Dylan nodded. "Exactly why I'm leaving it to you."
Riddle: Bloody hell.
He exhaled heavily, silently screaming.
A noble wizard must stay elegant!
Even in ruin, he wouldn't stoop to crude outbursts.
As the greatest Dark Lord, he had to keep his pride.
"I understand," Riddle gritted out, each word like pulling teeth.