Chapter 8: The Gaunt Legacy and a Second Tearing
The summer preceding their sixth year at Hogwarts was transformative, though in vastly different, yet intimately connected, ways for Corvus Blackwood and Tom Riddle. While Corvus immersed himself in the arcane depths of the Blackwood library, dissecting the theoretical underpinnings of soul magic with an intellect supercharged by his unique gift, Tom Riddle embarked on a journey into his own shadowed heritage, a quest that would irrevocably shape his destiny and flood Corvus with a torrent of dark, potent understanding.
Corvus felt Tom's burning curiosity about his maternal lineage, the Gaunts, the last direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin. He experienced, as if a ghostly observer, Tom's meticulous research, his tracing of the meagre Gaunt line to a dilapidated shack near Little Hangleton. The thrum connecting them vibrated with Tom's disdain for his Muggle father's ordinariness and his fervent hope for grandeur from his magical ancestry.
Then came the visit. Corvus lived, tenfold amplified, Tom's revulsion at the squalor of the Gaunt hovel, his contempt for his brutish uncle Morfin and his broken grandfather Marvolo. He felt Tom's thrill at confirming his Parseltongue lineage, his avarice upon seeing Marvolo's ring – an ancient, crudely set black stone – and Slytherin's locket. The raw, unfiltered emotions of Tom's experience – his disgust, his entitlement, his nascent cruelty – washed over Corvus, who processed them with his usual cold detachment, extracting the valuable insights into Tom's psychological makeup and the Gaunt family's debased magical legacy.
The truly harrowing experience came shortly after. Corvus felt Tom's calculated rage as he left the Gaunt shack, now armed with knowledge of his Muggle father's whereabouts in Little Hangleton. He experienced Tom's journey to the Riddle House, the cold fury with which Tom murdered his father, Thomas Riddle Sr., and his paternal grandparents, using Marvolo Gaunt's wand. The act of patricide, amplified tenfold, was a chilling wave of focused hatred and vicious satisfaction that Corvus had to consciously shield his core being against.
Immediately following the murders, Corvus felt Tom's cunning as he returned to the Gaunt shack, altered Morfin's memory to make him confess to the killings, and claimed Marvolo Gaunt's ring as his own. And then, with the fresh horror of his triple murder still potent, Tom performed the obscene ritual once more. He created his second Horcrux, pouring a fragment of his soul into the Gaunt ring.
The sensation for Corvus was even more jarring than the creation of the diary Horcrux. Perhaps because it was the second tearing, or because the murders were so personal, so fueled by direct hatred, the amplified experience was a spiritual agony. He felt the violent rending of Tom's soul, the infusion of that fragmented essence into the ancient ring, the dark magic sealing it within. The ring, already an object of some antiquity, now pulsed with a malevolent intelligence, a cold, dark echo of Tom's ambition and cruelty. Corvus understood, with sickening clarity, that Tom was becoming adept at this monstrous magic, the process smoother, more refined. He also gained an intrinsic understanding of the Gaunt ring itself – its Peverell origins were not immediately obvious through Tom's current knowledge, but its powerful, dark enchantments and its receptiveness to the Horcrux ritual were laid bare.
Corvus spent days at Blackwood Manor in deep, restorative meditation, the ancient wards of his family home a comforting bulwark against the psychic residue of Tom's atrocities. He emerged with an even deeper, more nuanced understanding of soul magic, its perils, and its terrible potential. He now knew, firsthand, the escalating cost to Tom's soul – a subtle thinning, a growing coldness that the multiplier relayed with chilling fidelity.
When they returned to Hogwarts for their sixth year, Tom Riddle was subtly changed. He was more self-assured than ever, a veneer of aristocratic charm overlaying a core of icy ruthlessness. He wore the Gaunt ring openly on his finger, a constant, tangible reminder of his heritage and his secret power. Corvus, meeting Tom's gaze in the corridor of the Hogwarts Express, saw not just the ambitious student, but the murderer, the soul-splitter, the nascent Dark Lord. And Tom, in turn, likely saw Corvus as the brilliant, enigmatic Blackwood heir – a rival, perhaps, but one whose true depth of understanding he could never fathom.
N.E.W.T. classes began, the curriculum far more demanding. Yet for Corvus, whose magical understanding was now stratospheric, they were almost trivial. While Tom applied himself with his customary diligence, particularly in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration, Corvus often found himself leagues ahead, grasping complex theories and mastering intricate spells with an ease that left professors both awed and faintly uneasy. He demonstrated a casual, almost unconscious, mastery of non-verbal and wandless magic that was unheard of in a student. During a Defence lesson on advanced shield charms, Corvus, without a word or gesture, erected a shimmering barrier that effortlessly repelled a volley of curses from Professor Trevanion (a new, rather bellicose, DADA teacher), who stared in stunned silence.
"Blackwood," Professor Trevanion finally managed, "that was… extraordinary. Such power, such control… Have you been receiving private tuition in Auror-level defensive techniques?"
"The Blackwood family has always emphasized practical self-preservation, Professor," Corvus replied smoothly. "Constant vigilance, as they say."
Slughorn's Slug Club remained a fixture, and both Tom and Corvus were star attendees. It was during one of these intimate gatherings, surrounded by Slughorn's collection of promising students, that Tom, with carefully feigned academic curiosity, broached the subject of Horcruxes.
"Sir," Tom began, his voice earnest, his dark eyes fixed on Slughorn, "I was in the library the other day, in the Restricted Section, and I read something rather odd about a rare piece of magic. It's called, I believe, a Horcrux."
Corvus, sipping his elf-made wine, observed the scene with keen interest. He felt Tom's calculated manipulation, his desire for confirmation and perhaps deeper knowledge from a master potioneer who dabbled in many obscure magical fields.
Slughorn, initially jovial, grew visibly uncomfortable. "I… I don't know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn't tell you if I did, Tom," he blustered, but Tom pressed on, his charm relentless.
"But you must know, sir… I mean, a wizard of your calibre… It's just academic curiosity, of course. I came across the term 'Horcrux,' and I was wondering, what exactly are they?"
Corvus felt the subtle shift in Slughorn's resolve, the way Tom's flattery and apparent sincerity were eroding his caution. He listened, with amplified clarity, as Slughorn, in hushed tones, reluctantly explained the abominable magic – how one could split their soul by committing murder and encase the fragment in an object, achieving a form of immortality. He even mentioned the theoretical possibility of creating multiple Horcruxes, though he dismissed it as an act of unimaginable evil that would leave the soul tattered beyond repair.
"And seven… seven is the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't you agree, sir?" Tom pressed, his eyes gleaming.
Slughorn, looking pale and shaken, refused to discuss it further, but the damage was done. Tom had received the validation he sought. Corvus, already possessing a far deeper, more visceral understanding of Horcruxes than Slughorn could ever impart, merely filed away the observation of Tom's manipulative skill and Slughorn's susceptibility. He noted, with a chilling certainty, Tom's fixation on the number seven.
The backdrop to their Hogwarts studies was the ever-escalating war with Grindelwald. Tales of entire cities falling under Grindelwald's sway, of devastating magical battles, and of Dumbledore's increasing efforts to rally opposition filled the wizarding world. Tom Riddle followed these events with an almost academic detachment, analyzing Grindelwald's strategies, his control over his followers, his use of fear as a weapon. Corvus, through their link, received these analyses tenfold, gaining a profound understanding of large-scale conflict, magical warfare, and the psychology of tyranny. It was a grim education, but invaluable.
Dumbledore, now Deputy Headmaster in addition to his Transfiguration duties, seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. His interactions with Tom were infrequent but charged with unspoken suspicion. His gaze often lingered on Corvus too, a mixture of admiration for his talent and a persistent, unshakeable wariness. During one private consultation about an exceptionally advanced Transfiguration theory Corvus had posited, Dumbledore paused, his blue eyes piercing.
"Your insights are often those of a wizard far beyond your years, Corvus," he said quietly. "Such profound understanding… it must require an extraordinary dedication, or perhaps… an extraordinary source. I trust you are mindful of the paths such knowledge can open?"
"Knowledge itself is neutral, Professor," Corvus replied, his voice even, meeting Dumbledore's gaze without flinching. "It is the intent of the wielder that defines its path. My intent remains the advancement of my House and the responsible stewardship of whatever talents I possess."
Dumbledore sighed softly. "A heavy burden for young shoulders. See that it does not lead you into shadows too deep to escape."
Tom's Knights of Walpurgis, now mostly composed of older Slytherins, regarded him with an almost religious fervor. He was their undisputed leader, his pronouncements treated as gospel. Corvus observed their training sessions – often held in secret, practicing dark curses and dueling techniques Tom had researched. The amplified skill and tactical understanding flowed directly to Corvus, who integrated it seamlessly, his own defensive and offensive capabilities growing exponentially without ever needing to cast a single overtly Dark spell in their company. He maintained his aloof, scholarly persona, a power distinct from Tom's, respected for his intellect and undeniable magical strength, but allied with no faction but his own.
As their sixth year drew to a close, the wizarding world braced for what many believed would be the final, cataclysmic confrontation with Grindelwald. Tom Riddle was on the cusp of adulthood, his Horcruxes created or planned, his power base solidified. He had already acquired Slytherin's Locket from Hepzibah Smith, a lonely, wealthy descendant of Hufflepuff, whom Tom had charmed and, Corvus knew with sickening certainty, would eventually murder to turn the locket into another Horcrux after leaving Hogwarts. He hadn't done so yet; the conditions, the specific murder, had not aligned. The knowledge of how to do so, however, was firmly in place.
Corvus Blackwood, too, stood at a precipice. His magical knowledge was encyclopedic, his power immense. He understood the darkest secrets of soul magic, the strategies of global conflict, the subtle arts of manipulation, all thanks to his unwilling, unwitting benefactor. He looked towards his final year at Hogwarts and the turbulent world beyond with a cold, calculating confidence. Lord Voldemort was rising, and Corvus, riding the wave of his dark magic, was ascending to heights of power no Blackwood before him had ever dreamed of. The future was a canvas of chaos and opportunity, and Corvus held the brush, ready to paint his own masterpiece of security and influence for House Blackwood, no matter the cost to the wider world.