Sometimes, even Wayne felt he was being a bit unfair.
In terms of innate talent, he was undoubtedly superior to Tom—but the gap shouldn't have been this vast.
Tom, as a sixth-year, already showed glimpses of the future Dark Lord he'd become, while Wayne hadn't even reached the golden age of a wizard's fastest growth.
Alas, he was cheating.
The Manaflow Band, the immense magical power from Gathering Storm, the enhanced spell potency from being an Innate Saint...
Not to mention all the auxiliary talents and the proficiency boosts from his card draws.
The result? Sixth-year baby Tom got beaten to within an inch of his life.
Literally.
Tom lay motionless beneath Slytherin's statue, sprawled beneath his ancestor's gaze.
But Wayne knew better than to assume he was dead. The Basilisk's blood converged towards Tom, leaving scorched trails on the ground before vanishing completely.
"Lawrence, no—I'll call you Wayne instead."
Tom slowly rose from the ground, his wounds eerily half-healed already.
"I'd prefer you call me Young Master Lawrence," Wayne reminded him.
"Lawrence, you bloody—"
Tom tightened his grip on Lockhart's wand—Harry's wand had already been reclaimed by Wayne with a Disarming Charm, along with three broken ribs for good measure.
"Let's join forces," Tom ignored Wayne's erratic behaviour and said solemnly, "You allowed my resurrection for a reason. Someone as talented as you—Dumbledore would never tolerate it. Together, we can overthrow Dumbledore, eliminate my other self, and split the wizarding world between us."
Tom's voice dripped with persuasion: "Lawrence, are you truly content? Having someone always looming over you, forcing you to live by their rules and ideals, never free to embrace your true nature—doesn't it feel suffocating?"
Thwack!
A vine suddenly burst from the ground and lashed across Tom's face.
Wayne delivered a stinging slap before scolding him like a disappointed teacher:
"Still haven't figured out your place, have you? Trying to manipulate me? After all I've taught you, you've only grasped the superficial nonsense!"
"Bullshit!" Tom snarled. "I've mastered everything you taught me!"
"Then tell me—what's the conflict between me and Dumbledore?" Wayne glared sternly.
"He's suppressing you! With him around, you'll never rise to prominence," Tom said matter-of-factly.
"Now that's bullshit. You completely missed the core issue," Wayne scoffed.
"There is no conflict or clash of interests between me and Dumbledore."
"I've no desire to rule the wizarding world or wage war between Muggles and wizards. Even if I wanted to become Minister for Magic, old Dumbledore would support me from the shadows. And you thought you could drive a wedge between us?"
Tom's furious expression faltered.
That... did make some sense.
"Remember—never project your own ambitions onto others. Learn to see things from their perspective."
Just then, Ho-Oh let out a cry. Wayne frowned and ordered:
"Buy us a little more time."
"Scree~!"
Obediently, Ho-Oh unleashed waves of flame, engulfing the entire Chamber of Secrets.
The surrounding space warped—not even Fawkes or a house-elf could Apparate in now.
The searing heat made Harry stir uncomfortably, on the verge of waking, until Wayne deftly hit him with another Stunning Spell.
"Tom, let's cut the chatter. If you want to leave alive, agree to my terms."
"Go on," Tom's eyes narrowed.
Wayne tossed him a parchment. "Sign an Unbreakable Vow if you agree. If not..."
He left the threat unspoken, electricity crackling at his fingertips.
After reading the terms, Tom's eyelid twitched violently. He threw the parchment aside, spread his arms and closed his eyes: "Just kill me instead."
"No human would agree to this! Even house-elves don't get treated this badly!"
"Then bear with it—here I come." Wayne nodded and raised his wand.
"Young Master Lawrence!" Tom sensed the terrifying gathering of magical power and was truly desperate.
Unlike Voldemort's true form, which had Horcruxes as a safeguard, he had no such insurance after his resurrection. If killed now, he would die for real.
Both Voldemort and Tom shared one common trait—they feared death.
"Young Master Lawrence, I really can't agree to so many terms!"
"But we can negotiate further!"
"Dumbledore will be back soon, and Ho-Oh's flames won't hold him off for long," Wayne said coldly. "You must agree to the first four clauses, as well as the twenty-seventh."
"Fine!"
Tom gritted his teeth and agreed.
Damn it. He was now absolutely sure that Wayne had been waiting for this moment.
Fifty-six clauses in total—how long had it taken to draft all this?
But he had no choice. If Dumbledore arrived, he would have no chance of survival.
The clauses Wayne had mentioned were the most critical ones on the entire parchment.
First, no unjustified killing of wizards or Muggles.
Second, never disclose what has transpired today.
Third, leave Britain and not return for two years.
Fourth, kill Voldemort once.
Twenty-seventh, henceforth, he must address Wayne as "Young Master Lawrence."
Wayne then produced another parchment for an Unbreakable Vow. Their wands touched, and the contract was sealed instantly.
"Can I leave now?"
Feeling the invisible shackles binding his very soul, Tom seethed with resentment.
"Go. How you leave is your own problem."
Wayne waved dismissively, pulling the unconscious Harry closer to him.
"No need for your concern... Young Master Lawrence."
Tom snorted, rasping out a few words. The Basilisk, clinging to its last breath, struggled over and opened its massive maw, spitting out a battered cabinet.
"A Vanishing Cabinet?" Wayne raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Quite well-prepared, aren't you?"
Tom said nothing, inwardly on the verge of vomiting blood.
His original plan had been to kill Harry, then find Wayne, kill him too, and escape Hogwarts using the Vanishing Cabinet.
Now, not a single objective had been achieved, and he'd been forced to sign several humiliating clauses.
Tom stepped into the Vanishing Cabinet and vanished completely. With its final strength, the Basilisk crushed the cabinet between its jaws before falling silent.
Clearly, he feared Wayne or Dumbledore might trace him through the cabinet.
The Chamber of Secrets fell silent. Wayne cast several spells to thoroughly scramble the surrounding traces—even with Tracking Charms or the Revealing Charm, no one could reconstruct the scene. Only then did he stop, signalling Ho-Oh to withdraw its spatial-disrupting flames.
Before long, Fawkes arrived in a burst of fire.
"Chirp!"
"Chirp chirp!"
The two birds exchanged calls for a moment before Fawkes perched on Wayne's shoulder, nuzzling his cheek.
Then it glanced at the unconscious Harry.
"He's fine—just passed out."
"Is Dumbledore back?"
"Chirp chirp!"
"Alright, wait a moment." Wayne fired two Final Sparks at the Basilisk to ensure it was truly dead, then pulled out a bag and stowed the entire corpse away. He also collected the cauldron in the corner, which still held a few drops of potion residue—these would be handed over to Dumbledore.
The Basilisk's fangs, scales, venom, and even its flesh held immense value.
He had long since developed several potion recipes based on materials from the Basilisk, waiting only to acquire them for experimentation.
"Let's go. Take Harry with you to the office."
Only after completing all this did Wayne address Fawkes.
Fawkes landed on Harry, transforming into a whirlwind of flames before vanishing into the Chamber of Secrets alongside Wayne and Ho-Oh.
...
In the Headmaster's Office, Professor McGonagall sat weakly on the sofa as Dumbledore comforted her.
"Rest assured, Fawkes and Mr Lawrence have gone. There won't be any problems."
"Albus, why aren't you going yourself?" McGonagall asked impatiently. "Leaving everything to students is far too dangerous! This is a teacher's dereliction of duty!"
"Truthfully, I wanted to go as well. But the space there is highly unstable—even Fawkes couldn't take me along."
"Please trust Lawrence. He's far more capable than we imagine."
"To receive the Headmaster's praise upon arrival is rather embarrassing," Wayne said as he stepped forth from the flames, followed by Fawkes, who was carrying the unconscious Harry.
Professor McGonagall let out a shriek and rushed forward.
"Professor, Harry's merely unconscious. He'll be fine."
After examining him, McGonagall finally relaxed and waved her wand to cast a Reviving Spell on Harry.
"What exactly happened? Where's Lockhart?"
"The situation is... slightly complicated. I think we should wait until Harry wakes up."
Soon, Harry stirred groggily.
"Ouch..."
His first action upon waking was to rub his head, wincing as he touched the large bump on the back of his skull before taking in his surroundings.
Seeing he was in Dumbledore's office, Harry knew he was safe and immediately blurted out:
"Lockhart—no, Riddle—he—"
Hearing that name, Dumbledore's calm expression flickered.
"Er... Professor McGonagall," Wayne suddenly interrupted Harry, "Shouldn't you go maintain order?"
He pointed out the window where swathes of students were leaving the Quidditch Pitch and returning to the castle—the match must have ended.
'He doesn't want me listening?'
McGonagall quickly understood Wayne's meaning. After glancing at Dumbledore, who showed no objection, she nodded and left.
"Continue, Harry. Start from the beginning."
"Oh." Harry nodded blankly and recounted how Lockhart had taken him alone into the girls' bathroom, opened the pipe, and led them down to the Chamber.
Then Lockhart had ambushed him and produced a diary.
Dumbledore, who had maintained a gentle expression until now, suddenly spoke: "A diary? May I see it?"
"It's here."
Wayne handed the diary to Dumbledore. The old man ran his fingers over its wrinkled surface, his expression growing graver by the second.
"Truly remarkable. He was likely Hogwarts' most outstanding student—aside from Mr Lawrence, of course."
Yet something felt amiss. It resembled a certain Dark Artefact he knew, yet differed subtly.
"Professor, then this black mist poured out of the diary and into Lockhart's body, and then..."
Harry still felt nauseous recalling the scene.
"Then he became someone else. He said he was Tom Riddle—the future Voldemort."
"What?!"
For the first time, Dumbledore lost his composure. Harry felt an overwhelming pressure surge forth, making it hard to breathe.
Wayne stepped forward, shielding him slightly from the force.
"Professor, that's exactly what he said. He even summoned the Basilisk to kill me. Luckily, Ho-Oh arrived in time to save me, and then... I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up, I was here."
"Harry, you may leave now. Madam Pomfrey will give you a full examination," Dumbledore said calmly, quickly regaining his composure.
"But..." Harry was reluctant. He still wanted to know what had happened afterwards—whether Lockhart was alive, and whether Riddle was truly Voldemort.
"The crisis has been resolved," Wayne said, sensing his thoughts. "Professor Lockhart paid the price he deserved. The Basilisk was defeated and killed by Ho-Oh, and as for Tom Riddle..."
He glanced at the diary but didn't elaborate.
Harry assumed he understood Wayne's meaning and left the office cheerfully.
Only Dumbledore, Wayne, and Fawkes—preening his feathers—remained in the office.
Before Dumbledore could ask, Wayne spoke first.
"I'm sorry, Professor. The worst has come to pass."
"Tom has truly returned?" Dumbledore said gravely.
"Yes." Wayne nodded, producing the cauldron from the Chamber of Secrets, fragments of the Vanishing Cabinet, and a Time-Turner—loot from his earlier battle with Lockhart.
"I could sense it wasn't Lockhart anymore. He wielded Dark Magic effortlessly, casting the Killing Curse as easily as breathing."
"Though he was no match for me, the Basilisk fought desperately to cover his escape. He got away using this Vanishing Cabinet."
Dumbledore's hand trembled as he picked up a small vial and drained its contents in one gulp.
"Tom..."
Now he understood why the diary had felt different from the recorded descriptions of Horcruxes.
No signs of damage, no fluctuations of soul energy.
Because it had left on its own.
"May I see the details of what happened?" Dumbledore turned to the Pensieve.
"Of course."
Without hesitation, Wayne approached it, drawing silvery strands of memory from his temple and depositing them into the basin.
He had prepared for this. Memories could be falsified, which was why testimony obtained under Veritaserum couldn't be used as evidence.
But to deceive a meticulous wizard like Dumbledore, the fabrication had to be flawless.
Using his mastery of Meditation Technique, Wayne had crafted a near-perfect replica of events. The sequence was truthful—only the dialogue between him and Tom had been edited.
So what Dumbledore saw was this: Wayne arriving in the Chamber, exchanging words with Tom, then engaging in battle.
Wayne overpowered Tom throughout until the Basilisk intercepted the fatal Final Spark, allowing Tom to escape via the Vanishing Cabinet.
After viewing it, the old man seemed to age visibly. He returned to his seat and sat in silence for a long time.
The shock was simply too great.
So this was what "the darkness splits in two" meant.
Dumbledore suddenly recalled Trelawney's prophecy.
"The darkness splits in two, distant mists tinged with exquisite grey. When the Dark Lord returns, the world's change begins unseen."
All the Horcruxes recorded were merely means of self-preservation, with Tom Riddle's Diary being the only case possessing self-aware memories and resurrection capabilities.
What he'd seen in Wayne's memories wasn't actually Voldemort, but a sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle who'd crossed decades of time to reach the present.
Split in two, exquisite grey...
Dumbledore suddenly grasped something, his train of thought just forming when the chamber doors were violently thrown open.
Lucius Malfoy stormed in with an expression of uncontrollable fury.
"Well! Dumbledore!"
"You've returned without authorisation. The board suspended your position, yet you took it upon yourself to come back. What is this? Defying the collective will of the governors?"
The interrupted Dumbledore raised his head with displeasure, his icy gaze piercing through his spectacles straight into Lucius's core.
Lucius Malfoy felt his limbs turn to ice, his body frozen rigid where he stood.
"Lucius, did Abraxas not teach you to knock before entering... before he contracted dragon pox?"