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While the diadem Horcrux—blinded by rage, his IQ successfully dragged down to Tom's level, sporting that ridiculous crown and gleaming bald spot, and churning his "propeller legs"—plunged headlong behind a mountain of moldy textbooks, teetering shelves, and rotting scrolls in pursuit of the frantically scrambling cat...
Near the entrance of the Room of Requirement, two "lumps" pressed flat against the floor, practically blending into the dust and shadows, began to move with excruciating slowness and stealth.
It was Fred and George.
After the initial shock and their instinctual counterattack were so effortlessly swatted away, the survival instincts forged in the fires of countless pranks and midnight excursions instantly took over.
Fight him head-on? Only an idiot would do that!
Slip away in the chaos and get backup? Now that was Weasley wisdom!
They hit the deck almost simultaneously. Using the scattered junk as cover, they began to inch toward the door like two seasoned caterpillars.
Keeping their arms tucked tight against their bodies, they relied solely on tiny twists of their shoulders and core, paired with agonizingly slow knee-crawls, to inch their bodies forward.
The movement was maddeningly slow, but it minimized any noise or kicked-up dust.
Their eyes were fixed on the source of the crashing, meowing, and furious roaring echoing from behind the junk mountain, their ears straining for every sound.
When the final massive crash of a collapsing bookshelf and the phantom's infuriated bellow were sufficiently muffled by layers of debris...
The twins exchanged a look. They both saw the Now! shining in each other's eyes.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Moving as one, the two "caterpillars" sprang up, transforming into two agile, red-haired blurs. Like startled Doxies, they lunged silently toward the scratched wooden door of the Room of Requirement.
Fred's hand clamped onto the doorknob while George threw one last, wary glance deep into the junk piles.
Dust billowed heavily back there, and through the haze, they could just make out a blue-grey streak and a black shadow darting over the higher peaks of trash.
Years of evading Filch in the dead of night paid off spectacularly.
Open the door. Slip through. Close the door.
One fluid, silent, lightning-fast motion.
The heavy wooden door shut soundlessly behind them, sealing off that bizarre, perilous magical space.
The dim lighting of the corridor momentarily blinded them, but it was quickly overshadowed by the sheer, adrenaline-fueled exhaustion of surviving.
"Hah... hah..." The two leaned against the cold stone wall, gasping for air, their faces flushed with a mix of exhilaration and lingering terror.
"Fred," George said, wiping cold sweat from his forehead, his eyes bright. "We need to find Professor Viktor."
"Right," Fred nodded, taking a deep breath, his voice still a little shaky. "Even though I figure that bald, angry ghost popping out of a broken crown probably isn't a match for Boss Tom..."
"...having an evil, cat-life-sucking alchemical artifact just sitting in a pile of school junk is way too dangerous! We have to tell the professor!"
Agreement reached, the twins didn't hesitate. They spun around and sprinted toward the end of the third-floor corridor—straight toward the Care of Magical Creatures office!
Red hair flying, footsteps echoing in the empty hall, they only had one thought: Faster! Boss Tom is still in there fighting!
---
Third Floor, Care of Magical Creatures Professor's Office.
Viktor had just finished logging the final observation data regarding the magical coordination of tail feathers during a Golden Snidget's transfiguration.
As his quill tapped the final, elegant period onto the parchment, he let out a soft sigh and rubbed his tired eyes.
The fire in the hearth crackled quietly, filling the room with the warm scent of pine.
The office was filled with marvelous animal specimens, magical plants, and faintly glowing alchemical instruments. Everything was meticulously organized, radiating the quiet peace that follows intense academic focus.
However, that peace was short-lived.
BANG-BANG-BANG! BANG-BANG-BANG!
A frantic knocking—bordering on pounding—shattered the quiet, sounding exceptionally harsh in the silent corridor and office.
Viktor frowned, setting his quill down and walking toward the door.
Who could it be at this hour? And in such a panic?
Surely Tom hadn't pulled another stunt and sent the students running to tattle?
He pulled open the heavy oak door.
Outside stood two nearly identical faces, flushed bright red, covered in sweat and dust, their eyes wide with manic urgency.
The Weasley twins, Fred and George.
Their chests heaved violently; they were panting too hard to form complete sentences.
"Pro—Professor! Hah... eighth floor... Room of Requirement!" Fred gasped out first, his voice hoarse.
"A crown! A ghost came out of a crown! Black hair, handsome but super scary, sucks life! Chasing Tom!" George added in a rapid-fire burst, gesturing wildly.
"Boss Tom knocked his soul out to fight him! But the ghost is strong! He's bald and wearing the crown!" Fred finally caught his breath enough to deliver the key details.
A crown? A ghost? Sucking life? Soul leaving the body? Bald?
Viktor instantly extracted the crucial keywords from the twins' chaotic babbling.
His eyes sharpened instantly.
Whether that crown was a dark artifact or a dark creature, anything that could go toe-to-toe with Tom was no simple matter.
His expression darkened. All traces of relaxation and fatigue vanished, replaced by a grim, decisive intensity.
"Stay here. Don't move," he ordered the twins, his voice calm but ringing with undeniable authority.
At the same time, his wand was already in his hand—though the twins couldn't tell when he'd drawn it.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Silvery-white light erupted from the tip of his wand like a geyser, rapidly condensing and stretching.
It formed into a... Patronus entirely shrouded in a dense, almost tangible silvery mist.
Its exact shape was hidden within the fog, but what was unmistakably clear was the overwhelming wave of warm, positive emotion and absolute protective will it radiated.
Viktor spoke quickly to the unique, misty Patronus.
"Headmaster. Eighth floor, Room of Requirement. Suspected high-level dark artifact disturbance, currently engaging Tom. I am en route. Come quickly."
The misty Patronus let out a silent, ringing chime that seemed to echo directly in the soul, then transformed into a streak of condensed silver light. It shot through the ceiling at astonishing speed—heading straight for the Headmaster's office!
Meanwhile, under the shocked gaze of the twins, Viktor grabbed a worn, complex-looking suitcase that always sat by his desk.
He didn't even spare them another glance before his entire body began to violently twist, shrink, and warp!
His robes melded into his skin, his physical structure reconfiguring in a blaze of magical light, his human silhouette vanishing in the blink of an eye.
Swoosh!
A streak of brilliant gold, like solidified sunlight, replaced him!
It was a tiny bird, its feathers shimmering with a blinding, golden luster. Its round body hummed with explosive speed and agility.
It was the Golden Snidget—an incredibly rare magical bird renowned for its unparalleled speed!
The Snidget-Viktor didn't pause for a microsecond.
With a beat of its wings, leaving a blinding golden trail, it shot straight out the open office window like an arrow tearing through space!
He didn't take the corridors. He flew straight up the exterior wall of the castle, a vertical bolt of golden lightning heading straight for the eighth floor!
From the moment the twins knocked to Viktor transforming and vanishing, barely fifteen seconds had passed.
Inside the office, Fred and George were left standing absolutely dumbstruck.
Eyes wide, they stared at the slightly swaying window, the fading motes of golden light, and the lingering warmth of vibrant life magic in the air.
Silence.
Then—
"That... that was SO COOL!!!" Fred leaped into the air, his eyes rounder than Galleons, his face glowing with indescribable excitement and hero-worship.
"Merlin's beard! Did you see that, Fred?! A Patronus! And... an Animagus! Was that an Animagus?!"
"I don't know, but that was a Golden Snidget! The Professor just turned into a magical creature!" George was equally incoherent with excitement, grabbing Fred's arm and shaking it violently.
"I knew Professor Viktor wasn't normal! This is a million times cooler than that fraud Lockhart!" Fred pumped his fist.
"Wait, George!" Fred suddenly had a thought, his eyes shining even brighter.
"Do you think... this counts as a massive contribution? Reporting this in time to help the Professor and Boss Tom fight an evil dark artifact?"
George instantly caught his brother's drift, a matching smile—equal parts expectant and sly—spreading across his face.
"Oh~ Fred, your ideas are always so beautiful! Maybe... we could use this chance to ask the Professor for... some pointers on the Patronus Charm? Or, well, the basics of Animagus transfiguration?"
"Even if it's just learning how to make our hair glow gold temporarily!" Fred added, the brothers exchanging a look and snickering.
They could already envision a bright future filled with mastering badass magic and elevating their prank empire to new heights.
As for Boss Tom and the bald ghost in the Room of Requirement?
Hey, with Professor Viktor on the case, in that awesome Snidget form no less, they'd be fine!
Not to mention the Professor had already sent a message to Dumbledore.
By the time they ran back up there, the Professor would probably be holding that bald ghost by the collar and lecturing him!
---
Eighth Floor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.
The golden streak of the Snidget stopped flawlessly in front of the blank stone wall.
The golden light receded, the form rapidly expanding and stretching as Viktor regained his human shape in the blink of an eye.
His face was calm, his eyes sharp as an eagle's, his wand already raised.
A thick, solid Shield Charm, gleaming with a metallic sheen, instantly covered his body like the sturdiest armor. Faint, complex ancient runes could even be seen shifting across the barrier.
Simultaneously, a Supersensory Charm was cast upon himself.
Without a moment of hesitation, he paced back and forth in front of the wall three times, chanting clearly and firmly in his mind.
A room where Tom is, a room that requires help.
The request was precise and urgent.
Familiar patterns bloomed across the wall, and a smooth, polished wooden door rapidly materialized and clicked open.
The moment the door opened, with his senses and magical perception pushed to their absolute limits, Viktor stepped inside!
Even with his vast experience and steady composure, the sight before him made his pupils contract slightly.
The junk room was even more chaotic than he'd imagined. The air was thick with dust, gunpowder smoke, and the lingering residue of cold, evil magic.
But the most eye-catching thing was atop a high pile of books slightly right of the center.
Tom was lying there, wearing a glittering crown.
However, what truly drew the eye was the semi-transparent, pearlescent feline soul hovering above Tom's body.
As Viktor looked over, Tom's soul was kicking its legs, actively burrowing into its own physical mouth.
Finally, only a fluffy spectral tail was left hanging out of Tom's slightly parted jaws.
Then, as Viktor watched, the feline soul seemed to get impatient, or perhaps found the dangling tail uncomfortable.
It reached out a spectral paw, grabbed the tip of the exposed tail, and gave it a hard yank.
Pop.
A soft sound, like a cork being pulled from a bottle.
The entire spectral tail was yanked inside, perfectly reseated within Tom's physical body.
Simultaneously, the physical Tom's mouth snapped shut with a smack. He smacked his lips unconsciously and rolled over.
Viktor had stepped into the Room of Requirement right at the exact moment Tom's soul finished "tucking its tail in," and the physical body sat up, looking completely blank and bewildered.
Viktor's heart tightened. He blurred into motion, crossing the junk room instantly to appear atop the pile of books beside Tom.
"Tom! Are you alright?" Viktor's voice was steady, but it carried a faint, almost imperceptible urgency.
His sharp gaze rapidly swept over Tom, his magical perception acting like a highly sensitive scanner, checking for any traces of dark magic corruption, soul damage, or life force depletion.
Tom, snapped out of his daze by Viktor's voice, blinked his blue eyes. The lingering disorientation of his soul returning rapidly faded.
Immediately, a familiar, triumphant "look at my loot" emotion surged up.
"Meow~"
Tom lifted his head, puffed out his chest, and pointed a paw at his head.
Even in the dim light, the exquisite craftsmanship of the Ravenclaw diadem was undeniable, especially the massive sapphire reflecting the faint glow.
His face clearly said: Look! Look! I won! And I took this giant, shiny treasure as loot! Aren't I amazing?
His little whiskers twitched proudly, the tip of his tail swishing in delight.
However, just as Tom prepared to use a wider range of body language to give a detailed recount of his heroic battle against the "bald bad guy" and his ultimate victory...
His smug expression froze instantly!
It was as if a cheerful movie had been paused halfway through. The vibrant, cunning, slightly arrogant spark in those sapphire eyes solidified, then washed away like a receding tide.
It was replaced by a foreign, sinister, icy gleam filled with absolute control and manic joy.
The corners of Tom's mouth slowly curled up in a deeply unnatural, almost human-like sneer.
It was an arrogant, triumphant smile—the cruel satisfaction of a hunter whose prey had finally fallen into the trap.
"Ha... HAHAHAHA!"
A low, raspy laugh—carrying the pitch of a cat but the distinct cadence of a human male—forced its way out of Tom's throat.
"You damn cat... you're mine now!"
"Tom's" voice warped, echoing with the icy, arrogant drawl unique to the diadem Horcrux.
"What a perfect vessel... Such resilient life force, such fascinating spiritual properties... I am going to thoroughly 'use' you, dissect all your secrets, and make you the foundation of my greatest work! HAHAHAHA—Urgh?!"
The phantom's maniacal laughter and grand declarations were cut violently short.
Because in the very next second—right as he was adjusting to the body and basking in the immense joy of his successful possession...
He felt "Tom's" body suddenly snap tight! He looked down.
A rope, shimmering with pure, silvery-white light and woven from some incredibly flexible, extraordinary material, seemed to materialize out of thin air with terrifying speed.
With a rapid swish-swish-swish, it tightly bound his new body from neck to hind legs, wrapping him securely dozens of times!
The rope radiated waves of warm, holy magic. It was a sacred binding cord woven from unicorn tail hair, possessing incredibly strong suppressive and purifying effects against dark souls.
"Tom's" mouth opened instinctively to cast a spell or scream in rage.
Thwump!
A pitch-black wooden stopper—carved with ancient, esoteric oracle bone scripts and smelling faintly of peach wood—was jammed with pinpoint precision into his mouth. It fit perfectly, instantly stripping him of his ability to "speak."
Right on its heels, a yellow talisman—painted with bright red cinnabar in sweeping, dragon-like strokes containing powerful sealing magic—was slapped onto Tom's forehead with a smack.
The talisman fluttered without wind, vibrating slightly, emanating a blazing, righteous aura that was profoundly agonizing to a dark soul.
And that wasn't all!
Several thick, heavy chains—gleaming with dull metal, every link engraved with complex alchemical runes—slithered out of the void like menacing pythons. These were anti-magic chains custom-forged by Nicolas Flamel.
They wrapped around him unceremoniously, crisscrossing the unicorn hair rope, turning Tom into a metal "cocoon" with only his cat head sticking out.
The runes on the chains flared to life, not only locking down physical movement but also actively suppressing the flow of magic and spiritual vibrations.
And that was only the beginning.
Viktor's movements were so fast they were just a blur of motion and magical light.
A small silver crucifix was wedged between the chain links.
An ancient Egyptian-style golden scarab amulet was pressed against Tom's chest.
A rather crude-looking voodoo doll, reeking of bizarre herbs, was hung from the chains.
A vajra, covered in Sanskrit and humming with Buddhist chants, hovered above Tom's head, showering him in golden light and sutras...
A staggering, eclectic assortment of items. Props, talismans, and symbols of suppression, sealing, exorcism, and purification from different magical systems and religions around the globe—collected during his travels or gifted by elders—were unloaded onto the tightly bound Tom with terrifying proficiency and precision, as if they cost nothing.
The entire sequence was fluid, flawlessly executed, and over in the blink of an eye.
This was a combo-chain Viktor had refined over years of global adventuring, designed specifically to be the ultimate countermeasure against dark artifacts and bizarre entities.
The philosophy was simple: If Eastern magic fails, use Western. If physical restraint fails, use magical. If magical fails, use theological! Something in the pile is bound to work!
Through Tom's eyes, the diadem Voldemort experienced a rollercoaster: initial shock, then fury, followed by attempts to struggle, until finally...
Under the relentless bombardment of sealing powers—all wildly different but incredibly targeted—his soul vibrated violently, his magic stagnated, and he began to seriously question his very existence as a Horcrux.
At that moment, Viktor completed the final step.
With the utmost caution, treating it like a highly volatile bomb, he used a pair of specialized magical tweezers to gently lift the Ravenclaw diadem—whose sapphire was still flashing faintly, as if in defiance—off Tom's head.
He quickly placed it inside a pre-prepared, custom-made sealing casket. The casket was carved entirely from pure magical crystal, its interior walls lined with runes of purification and isolation.
Click.
The lid shut perfectly. Several magical locks engaged simultaneously, and a soft, glowing membrane of sealing magic instantly enveloped the entire crystal box.
Only then did Viktor finally let out a long, deep breath. The tension in his shoulders visibly relaxed.
He wiped nonexistent cold sweat from his brow, his gaze returning to the tightly bundled "Tom."
Tom was wrapped so thoroughly in suppression gear that only a highly aggrieved cat face remained visible. A yellow talisman was stuck to his forehead, a wooden stopper jammed in his mouth, and his eyes were wide and round, burning with humiliation, fury, and utter disbelief.
Viktor crouched down, meeting those currently jet-black eyes—now belonging to Tom Riddle—that blazed with anger. His tone returned to its usual calm, even carrying a hint of a researcher's inquisitive curiosity.
"Now then... 'Mr. Diadem', or whoever you are that 'borrowed' my Tom's body..."
"Now, we can have a proper 'talk'. About who you are, what you were planning to do to my cat, and..."
His gaze swept over the "deluxe" suppression package currently binding the cat.
"How you plan to compensate me for all these incredibly rare and precious collectibles I had to use to 'host' you?"