Faced with Viktor's calm yet crushing "interrogation," the hog-tied, talisman-plastered, gagged "Tom"—or rather, the remnant soul of the diadem Voldemort trapped inside him—could only react in one way:
By glaring with those pitch-black, fury-and-humiliation-filled eyes even wider and rounder!
So round they practically bulged out of their sockets!
Within those black pupils, the flames of wrath threatened to manifest physically.
Mixed in was disbelief, outraged pride, and a trace of sheer bewilderment at being blindsided by this overwhelming, utterly unreasonable "deluxe suppression package."
He, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Heir of Slytherin, future Dark Lord, the terrifying Voldemort... or at least a part of him!
Just as he had seized a perfect vessel, ready to execute his grand designs and envision a glorious future...
He was tied up like a crab!
Gagged!
Plastered with talismans!
And draped in a crucifix, a scarab, a voodoo doll, a vajra...
A chaotic mess of junk—some he recognized, some he didn't, but all reeking of obnoxious magic!
This was... this was ten thousand times more humiliating than having his throat violated by a cat's soul or being blasted into a combover by a shotgun!
What suffocated him most was that he couldn't cast a spell or break free; he couldn't even curse out loud!
Whatever bizarre Eastern sealing magic was on that peach-wood stopper didn't just block his physical mouth; it felt like it suppressed and blurred his mental screams on a spiritual level, leaving his silent fury to thrash wildly inside his chest.
All he could do was glare!
Using every ounce of his spiritual strength and remaining willpower, he glared viciously at the man observing him like some rare magical beast.
If looks could kill, Viktor would have been minced meat by now.
However, under the "care" of the unicorn hair rope's purifying power, the talisman's suppressing light, the anti-magic chains' locking runes, and the haphazard array of props that somehow formed a complex suppression field...
His furious glare lost much of its impact.
In fact, coming from a furry cat face with wide, round eyes, it even looked... bizarrely comical.
Viktor completely ignored the murderous glare. Instead, he stroked his chin and commented thoughtfully.
"Hmm... the fusion of soul and flesh is unstable. The signs of forceful possession are obvious. The dark soul essence is dense, highly aggressive, and predatory..."
"Severe reaction to the unicorn hair purification, strong aversion to the Eastern talisman's suppression... Fascinating. This doesn't seem like a simple evil spirit or dark magic construct attaching itself... This state looks somewhat familiar?"
As he analyzed aloud, he pulled out a small alchemical compass embedded with various detection gems from who-knows-where. He leaned in close to the bundled-up Tom, seemingly intending to take more precise measurements.
Diadem Voldemort: "..." (Glare intensity +10086)
Just as Viktor's alchemical compass was about to touch Tom's nose, and Voldemort felt his soul might literally explode from the relentless humiliation and probing...
"Oh, my heavens..."
A familiar, gentle voice, now laced with obvious surprise, came from the entrance of the Room of Requirement.
Viktor paused, and Voldemort's glare involuntarily shifted for a moment.
Standing in the doorway was an old wizard with a white beard, wearing star-and-moon pajamas under a dressing gown embroidered with phoenixes.
It was Albus Dumbledore.
He had clearly rushed over; his silvery hair and long beard were a bit unkempt.
His bright blue eyes, behind half-moon spectacles, stared at the scene inside with astonishment.
His gaze first landed on "Tom"—bundled tight in various glowing props, leaving only a glaring cat head with a talisman and a gag exposed—and lingered for a full three seconds.
Then, his eyes slowly swept to the Ravenclaw diadem, sealed quietly within the floating crystal casket.
Finally, his gaze settled on Viktor, who was crouching beside "Tom" holding an alchemical compass.
Dumbledore's expression was complex—a mix of tired resignation (Of course Tom caused trouble again) and profound bewilderment (I've lived a long time, but this is a first).
He cleared his throat. His voice was still gentle, but it carried a subtle, odd inflection.
"Good evening, Viktor. Well... it seems I was right to come immediately upon receiving your Patronus message. However... might I ask what exactly transpired here? And..."
He pointed at the large bundle on the floor.
"Our Tom... is this... his newest... er... 'look'?"
Through Tom's eyes, the diadem Voldemort saw the familiar figure in the doorway.
Silver hair, half-moon spectacles, and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see through everything.
Albus Dumbledore!
Instantly, the pitch-black cat pupils shrank to pinpricks!
Bone-deep wariness, ancient hatred, and the shock of his plan being discovered twisted into an icy current that nearly froze his remnant soul's thoughts.
He wanted to roar, to mock, to unleash the darkest magic, and above all, to flee immediately!
Yet...
The warm, resilient purifying power of the unicorn hair rope acted like an invisible shackle, restraining his soul's agitation.
The damned yellow talisman on his forehead radiated a righteous aura that burned his very core, suppressing his will.
The peach-wood stopper in his mouth not only silenced him physically but acted like a silent mountain, crushing his telepathic projections.
The chaotic assortment of props around him, with their diverse attributes forming a complex suppression field, made it excruciatingly difficult to muster even a sliver of magic.
Not to mention the heavy anti-magic chains, which practically nailed him inside this blasted feline shell!
Paralyzed! Silenced!
Even the murderous rage in his eyes seemed weakened and distorted by the flashing lights of the various props around him, looking... somewhat impotent.
Just as alarm bells blared in Voldemort's mind, frantically calculating any possible escape route—even willing to abandon this rare vessel just to return his soul fragment to the diadem—
Thump! Thump!
Two heavy, muffled blows, feeling as if they struck directly on the spiritual plane, echoed without warning from inside Tom's body!
It felt like someone had taken a cloth-wrapped mallet and smashed it into the back of his "consciousness"!
It wasn't lethal, not even particularly painful, but it was incredibly insulting and... driven by pure fury.
Voldemort's consciousness was stunned for a second.
Immediately after, he "felt" a familiar, vibrant soul—currently blazing with anger—erupt from the depths where he had forcefully suppressed it, like a swarm of enraged hornets!
It was the cat! The damn cat's soul! It hadn't been fully consumed or subdued; it was fighting back?!
Before he could react further, Tom's soul—pent-up and frustrated inside his own body—ignited like a firecracker.
Relying on his 100% compatibility with his own shell and the sheer, barbaric rage of How dare you steal Boss Tom's turf, he fought against the Horcrux's suppression and the "indiscriminate" effects of the sealing props outside, surging violently upward!
Pop~
A tiny sound, like a bubble breaking the surface of water.
From the thick, fluffy blue-grey fur atop Tom's physical head emerged a semi-transparent, pearlescent feline soul.
As if breaking free from thick sludge, he struggled slightly but with absolute determination... and squeezed out!
First the round ears, then the whole fluffy head, followed by the front paws, torso, and hind legs...
Finally, Tom's complete, softly glowing soul fully detached from the flesh, floating weightlessly in the air.
As for his tightly bound physical body...
The moment the soul left, the eyes went completely vacant.
The pitch-black color and the furious emotion drained away like the tide, returning to normal feline slit-pupils. They just looked dead and glassy as the body went limp within its "deluxe seal package."
Tom's soul shook its head in mid-air, as if trying to shake off the gross feeling of being forcefully logged out and having his "nest" occupied by something filthy.
Then, his sapphire-like soul eyes locked instantly onto Dumbledore in the doorway.
"!!!"
Tom's soul literally lit up!
Not figuratively—his entire spiritual form brightened a few shades from excitement and the realization of "finding backup"!
He knew this old man with the white beard! He was the most powerful Headmaster at Hogwarts! A badass who dared to eat cockroaches!
More importantly, this old man was on Viktor's side! He was the boss!
Swoosh—!
Tom's soul turned into a streak of white light, darting instantly to Viktor and Dumbledore.
He didn't even bother greeting Viktor first; he turned straight to Dumbledore, his tiny spectral paws gesturing wildly.
First, he pointed at his bound physical body, then at the crown in the crystal casket.
Then, his two front paws mimed a vicious pouncing and snatching motion.
Next, he clutched his head and belly, contorting his face into an expression of pain and disgust.
Finally, he pointed at the crown and made a sharp, downward slashing motion with his paw—a definitive "kill it" gesture.
The entire pantomime was fluid and emotionally charged. Though silent, the message was perfectly clear:
That bad thing over there! Tried to steal my treasure! And tried to steal my body! Crawled inside, and it was cold and gross! Quick! Show it who's boss! Beat it up!
Only after finishing his charades did Tom's soul float down to rub affectionately against Viktor's leg. His blue eyes looked pitiful and scared, yet also expectant, as if seeking praise:
See? I trapped the bad thing in my body! Even though he pushed me aside, I got out again! And I brought the strong old man as backup!
Watching Tom's vivid "tattletale" performance, a hint of amusement and sympathy flashed in Viktor's eyes.
He reached out and gently patted the air above Tom's soul, then turned to Dumbledore, his expression turning serious once more.
"Headmaster, here is what happened..."
In clear, concise terms, Viktor rapidly recounted the twins' warning, his arrival to see Tom's soul returning, the sudden possession of Tom's body by the crown's remnant soul, and his forced deployment of emergency containment measures.
He also detailed his preliminary observations of the remnant soul's characteristics:
Its powerful dark nature, its obvious parasitic and predatory tendencies, and its intense interest in Tom's unique constitution.
As Viktor spoke, the slight amusement that had initially colored Dumbledore's face upon seeing "Tom's new look" faded completely.
Listening to the description, especially how the remnant soul attempted to possess Tom and the traits it exhibited, his bright blue eyes turned razor-sharp.
When he looked again at the bound feline body on the floor and the crown in the crystal casket, his gaze was heavy with profound scrutiny.
When Viktor finished, Dumbledore nodded slowly.
He stepped forward, ignoring Tom's physical body for the moment, and walked straight to the hovering crystal casket.
He raised his knotty wand, but didn't cast immediately.
Instead, he stared intently at the beautiful diadem that had once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, his gaze almost sorrowful.
Now, the sapphire in its center looked exceptionally dull, as if shrouded in an ominous shadow.
"Aparecium... Revelio... Prior Incantato..."
Dumbledore whispered several complex, ancient detection spells.
A soft yet piercing magical light flowed from the tip of the Elder Wand. Like a trickling stream, it seeped through the crystal casket's sealing membrane, gently washing over every inch of the metal and gemstone.
As the spells worked, Dumbledore's frown deepened.
He saw more details: the cleverly hidden micro-fractures inside the diadem—revealed by the recent turmoil—and the traces of dark magical modification.
The lingering, cruel, and icy magical residue characteristic of a young Tom Riddle.
And crucially, the traces of a dark soul fragment—almost fully integrated with the diadem, yet fundamentally distinct, full of fracture and obsession.
After a long moment, Dumbledore lowered his wand, and the glow of the detection magic slowly faded.
He turned to face Viktor. The gentle smile was long gone, replaced by an extreme, grave seriousness mixed with deep anxiety.
His silver eyebrows were drawn tight. Behind the half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes rested heavily on the crystal casket.
Then, he spoke slowly. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried immense weight, echoing clearly in the messy junk room.
"Viktor..."
"I believe I have found... the source of Voldemort's ability to return, to evade death."
He paused, seemingly searching for the right words to explain this shocking discovery.
"What resides within this diadem is not a simple evil spirit or a construct of dark magic. It is a... Horcrux."
"Furthermore, its creator possessed an exceptionally profound mastery over the dark arts of soul-splitting. The 'quality' of this Horcrux... is incredibly high."
"It retains a significant portion of its creator's intellect, memories, magical knowledge, and... ambition. Judging by the magical signature, the Tom Riddle who made this was still quite young, yet the malevolent conception and execution are already chilling."
Dumbledore's gaze swept over Tom's sealed physical body on the floor.
Then to Tom's soul, which looked nervous—only half-understanding but knowing things were serious—before finally returning to Viktor's face.
"More troubling is that, given its attempt to possess Tom, a Horcrux of this caliber does not seem content to merely exist as an 'anchor'."
"It possesses a degree of autonomy and agency. It can seek out suitable vessels, attempting to... 'resurrect,' or at least operate in the world in some form."
"This explains why Riddle—or rather, Voldemort—even when his main body was weakened or believed destroyed, still possessed the power to operate in the shadows, seeking a path to return."
"To think such a dangerous object was hidden within Hogwarts..." Dumbledore's voice carried a trace of lingering fear and self-reproach.
"If not for Tom's... uniqueness, and your timely intervention, the consequences would be unthinkable."
He looked at Viktor with unprecedented solemnity.
"Viktor, we must seal it completely and immediately. Conventional methods may not suffice; we need the strongest, most secure containment. And we must research how to destroy it safely. Horcruxes require specific, extreme methods of destruction. Also..."
His eyes fell on Tom's soul and body once more.
"We must ensure Tom has suffered no irreversible damage, either to his soul or his body. The parasitism and possession of a Horcrux likely leave hidden dangers."
Hearing words like "Voldemort," "Horcrux," and "source of resurrection," Viktor's expression darkened completely.
"A Horcrux..." he repeated softly. It didn't sound like he was hearing the concept for the first time, but rather confirming a grim suspicion.
"I have seen similar traces in the ancient ruins of Egypt."
Viktor's thoughts seemed to drift. His voice was steady, but it carried the cold detachment of someone who had witnessed too much dark history.
"The Pharaohs of ancient Egypt, in their pursuit of eternal rule, used rituals to forcefully tear their souls apart, placing them into meticulously crafted vessels that housed their organs."
"That kind of magic... it desecrates life, distorts nature, and is filled with an extreme terror of death and a pathological desire to possess."
"I was once invited by Gringotts to participate in the excavation of a cursed tomb. The remnant soul of the Pharaoh inside, driven mad by a millennium of isolation and damage to its vessel, had devolved into a pathetic monster that only knew how to scream and devour the life force of the living."
"To deal with it, the Gringotts goblins had to deploy the Holy Fire of Ra, nearly incinerating half the burial chamber just to purify it completely."
He paused, his gaze sharpening as he looked at the diadem in the crystal casket.
"Deep in the African rainforests, certain isolated tribes were also known to seal the soul fragments of enemies or powerful warriors into specially made dolls or totems through bloody voodoo rituals."
"Those things... were filled with malice and curses. Not only could they slowly erode the minds of anyone nearby, but under specific conditions, they could 'animate' to seek vengeance or cause destruction."
"Dealing with them often required specific herbs passed down through generations, tribal dances, and invoking ancestral spirits. It was a perilous and complex process."
He took a deep breath, finally resting his eyes on Tom's trussed-up physical body and the remnant soul trapped within.
"Headmaster, based on my experiences, all magic involving soul-tearing and parasitic mutation to evade death or gain extra power..."
"...whether it takes the form of mummies, artificial monsters, cursed dolls, or—Horcruxes—its root is invariably founded on extreme selfishness, the trampling of the cycle of life, and... usually a vast amount of brutal murder."
"The creation process inevitably involves unimaginable pain and death. Its very existence is a continuous desecration of natural law. They are often unstable, fraught with unpredictable dangers, and possess a highly corrosive and destructive urge toward their hosts or surroundings."
"But this..." Viktor gestured toward the crystal casket.
"It is crafted so exquisitely, retaining such complete intellect and agency, even knowing how to seek out and seize a 'high-quality' vessel..."
"I fear this implies that the 'sacrifices' used in its creation, and the perfection of its evil ritual, far exceed the crude or out-of-control imitations I have encountered before."
"And achieving this level of perfection... Voldemort certainly couldn't have managed it on his first attempt!"
He looked at Dumbledore, their eyes meeting in a shared, heavy realization.
"Voldemort... Tom Riddle. He didn't just make a Horcrux. I fear he made more than one. And he pushed this dark magic to a dangerously 'advanced' level."
Dumbledore nodded slowly; Viktor's insights confirmed and expanded upon his own conclusions.
"Yes, I fear that is precisely the case. A Horcrux so 'active' and highly autonomous implies a terrifying degree of soul fracturing and an unimaginable 'cost' invested."
"It explains why his power is so twisted and formidable, and why he was able to... 'live' on in some form after that night."
At the mention of "that night," Dumbledore's eyes dimmed momentarily, but the sorrow was quickly replaced by a firmer resolve.
"There must be more than one such Horcrux. The diadem was his work as a student. What followed? As his power grew and his ambitions swelled..."
He didn't finish the thought, but the implication was devastatingly clear.