Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 195 Start as a Teaching Assistant
Only the young professor and a young snake remained in the room. Tom Riddle's face emerged from the silver mist, and his greeting echoed in the room. Riddle's gaze swept around, taking in the furnishings.

Despite the subtle changes in the furniture arrangement, the main layout of the room remained familiar. As he gradually realized that this was Hogwarts' office, his consciousness became somewhat hazy.

The young snake curled up, its scales rubbing together with an extremely subtle sound. Memories from the depths of Riddle's soul surfaced. He remembered the castle, the candlelit banquet in the auditorium, and how he lingered after dinner, a fake smile on his face, waiting by the head table for the professor to ask him questions beyond the textbook.

Riddle realized something was wrong, and a deeper memory surfaced: he should be in the hands of some core Death Eater, either hidden in the attic of some dark old house or in Gringotts' underground vault, quiet, secluded, and isolated from the world.

Upon returning to the real world, he would be greeted not by his original soul form, but by some Death Eater.

The phantom floated out of the golden cup, silent, glancing out the window where a full moon hung in the sky, its light spilling over the forbidden forest and distant mountains, as if draped in a light veil. The whole world was enveloped in the cool moonlight, and the Black Lake shimmered.

Riddle saw no other wizards, let alone Death Eaters. Returning to the world after so many years felt like entering another world to him. This was the Hogwarts he remembered best.

Riddle had no idea why he was back here, in a professor's office at Hogwarts, with a strange young wizard standing in front of him.

Why was I woken up by a stranger?
Why can this person call out his own name?
Why did this person know about the remnant soul inside the golden cup?
He found it strange and remained silent for the moment. The young wizard opposite him also did not continue the conversation, and an indescribable silence filled the office.

A man and a snake stood beside the desk, looking up at him.

Judging from his attire, the young wizard was Muggle-born, about twenty years old, wearing a long black trench coat. His young face exuded a calmness beyond his years, and his eyes were deep.

Riddle felt that the expression and look on this man's face were familiar, which reminded him of his own youth when he tried to get closer to other professors and classmates to extract information. He would have similar expressions and looks, but in his heart, he was calculating and scheming.

The two gazed at each other silently, sharing a tacit understanding. Time passed slowly, as if they were two old friends who had known each other for a long time.

"Hiss..." Yulm instinctively stuck out his tongue.

Riddle noticed a snake nearby, a discovery that delighted him. He slowly turned his head, his vertical pupils radiating an ominous magic, like a cold, venomous snake. His lips moved toward the young snake, accompanied by a low hiss, as the magic spread.

Snake language, to snakes, is a soul-stealing spell.

Yulm's serpentine eyes froze for a moment, his will swallowed by that gaze and hissing sound. His whole body shuddered violently, as if he had fallen into a frozen black lake. A power suddenly arose within him, and he turned around abruptly, then lashed his tail at Voldemort's phantom.

The illusory fragments of the soul had no physical form, but the silver mist formed by the potion was dispersed, and the phantoms scattered, only slowly returning to normal after a few seconds.

"Wang!"

Yulm barked angrily, a sound he'd picked up from Tooth.

Unfortunately, Hagrid wasn't there, and neither Melvin nor Voldemort understood dog language, though they vaguely heard that it was very vulgar, but they didn't know exactly what the vulgarities were.

"..."

The human and the remnant soul looked at each other in silence, listening to the young snake's curses, the atmosphere was slightly awkward.

Finally, Melvin stroked the young snake's back, smoothing out its raised scales. The young snake let out a cry, then sadly burrowed into the emerald on its ring, ignoring the two of them.

Melvin hesitated for a moment, then asked softly, "How are you feeling?"

Riddle frowned, still confused: "Who are you?"

“Melvin Levent, just call me Melvin, we’re friends, Tom.”

Many thoughts flashed through Riddle's mind in an instant. He knew clearly that he was just a fragment of a soul, residing in the Horcrux, the Chalice. The real Voldemort was the main soul outside. This person claimed to be his friend, but in reality, he was the main soul's friend.

He had never experienced anything like this before, as if there were two versions of himself in the world. He hadn't thought so much when he made the Horcrux, but now he felt a strange sense of absurdity.

"What time is it now?"

"1993."

Nearly fifty years have passed since the Golden Cup was made into a Horcrux. Riddle was slightly dazed. Voldemort should have become the most powerful dark wizard in the world, ruling the wizarding world and even the entire world by now.

The real Voldemort must be at his peak now, even willing to reveal the secrets of the Horcruxes to other wizards, allowing outsiders to awaken his remnant soul.

With a strange feeling in his heart, Riddle asked again, "Are you a Death Eater too?"

"..."

Seeing that his pen pal seemed to have misunderstood something, Melvin thought for a moment and decided to tell him about the past few decades.

First, the Dark Lord led the Death Eaters to stir up chaos, and darkness and bloodshed enveloped the wizarding world. Then, at the height of their power, the Dark Lord was defeated by an infant in swaddling clothes, the Death Eaters scattered like leaves in the wind, and the wizarding world ushered in peace.

Having recounted it once to his diary, Melvin's retelling was much smoother this time, omitting unnecessary subplots and focusing on the boy who miraculously survived, a process that greatly impacted the phantom of his soul.

Last time, the diary artifact didn't give any feedback, but this time the soul fragment was right in front of him. Despite his best efforts to conceal it, his expression could still be caught, from a smug smile to a shocked pupil contraction, and then to disbelief and incredulity.

Melvin inexplicably felt a sense of accomplishment.

Not counting the one in Harry Potter's Scar, you can experience this sense of accomplishment twice more.

Riddle, though physically absent, felt sweat beading on his forehead, a fear and dread unlike anything he'd ever felt before. The mighty Dark Lord defeated by a one-year-old infant? A foreign wizard learning the truth about the Horcruxes? The Death Eaters fallen, their main spirit missing?
The overwhelming amount of information bombarded the fragments of his soul, leaving him dizzy.

In the memory of twenty-year-old Tom Riddle, he had recently poisoned Hepzba Smith, seized Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket, and crafted them into two Horcruxes. Now, back in reality, everything had changed, as if it were all a dream.

He suddenly remembered something and looked up sharply: "Even so, how do you know about Horcruxes?"

Melvin gave an unsettling smile: "I happened to get my hands on an old diary, and I got the information from it."

Riddle's figure flickered, like an old television signal malfunctioning, almost as if there were only static and static. He stabilized his illusory soul, staring intently at the young wizard before him:
"What do you know? What did you do to the diary!?"

“This isn’t like the Dark Lord, Tom. Whatever happened in the past is in the past. Now you should be asking me what I want,” Melvin said.

Based on the timeline, when the Hufflepuff Cup was forged into a Horcrux, Tom Riddle was only twenty years old, recently graduated from Hogwarts, and working as a murderer in Borgin-Burke's shop. He hadn't yet grown into the powerful Dark Lord who would later wield life and death; he was immature and quite amusing to toy with. Riddle calmed down, realizing he'd thought it was someone important, but it turned out to be just a greedy and despicable dark wizard who had stumbled upon good fortune. He suppressed his anger and asked with a cold laugh, "What do you want?"

What do you have?

Riddle's anger flared again, but he didn't show it. He said calmly, "Power, wealth, as long as we join forces, Melvin, the whole world will be ours."

Melvin shook his head: "You don't look very convincing right now."

Riddle's phantom took a deep breath: "I also possess profound knowledge. You should know of my achievements. If we cooperate, I will unlock the mysteries of magic for you, allowing you to master black magic you've never seen before. Believe me, Melvin, this power is beyond your imagination."

"Does 'powerful' mean being no match for an infant in swaddling clothes?" Melvin cleared his throat as he watched the illusory figure flicker. "Ahem... I mean, before this, the diary has already discussed many mysteries of dark magic with me, and I have no intention of continuing to study it in depth for the time being."

Riddle could no longer contain his turbulent thoughts and asked in a deep voice, "What exactly did you do to the diary?"

"I assure you, the diary is intact and safe now."

Melvin said sincerely that, after all, the principal had promised to let him watch the destruction of the Horcruxes, and he had not yet received an invitation, so the principal was probably still giving Little Tom tutoring lessons.

Riddle looked at him intently, remained silent for a moment, and continued, "I can share with you the secret of immortality, the endless life, the endless time, and any treasure will eventually fall into your hands."

“Herbo’s Horcrux has a major flaw. I have no intention of tearing apart a soul in the short term, and besides…”

Melvin paused briefly, then said seriously, "Horde weapons only make you invincible, not invincible. That Dark Lord has been dead for over a decade, and I mean you since then. There's still no news of you. What if someone captures your main soul and imprisons you?"

Riddle fell silent, a flicker of doubt and unease in his eyes.

He also thought this made sense. The powerful main soul was defeated by the infant, and the immortal Black Demon King had been out of contact for more than ten years... The years that had been sealed in the Golden Cup were too long, and too many incredible things had happened.

“You want to get it from me?” Riddle asked coldly.

Melvin, however, found this tone more sincere and smiled slightly: "During the postwar reckoning, many Death Eaters escaped trial by using Galleons and are still active today. These are pure-blood families with hundreds of years of history. I want to use their resources and wealth. As their former leader, Tom, I think you can give me some useful advice."

"..."

“I don’t think there’s anything to hesitate about. These wizards swore eternal loyalty to the Dark Lord, but when the Dark Lord encountered difficulties, they didn’t take any action. They slipped back into your enemy ranks, claiming they were innocent and unaware, and had been living peacefully for so many years…”

Stop with your clumsy attempts to sow discord!

Riddle said quietly, a cold smile on his face. He had thought Melvin was neither power-hungry nor immortal, and would be as difficult to control as Dumbledore. But it turned out he was just a slave to power. It would take patience to bewitch such a fool, but it was no problem at all.

“However, they should pay the price for this. I can help you manage these servants at both ends.”

"In addition, I want the Golden Cup to function properly."

Riddle's gaze swept over the golden cup on the table. Feeling that he had regained the initiative, he didn't continue to answer, but instead asked, "What can I get before that?"

"what do you want?"

"Intelligence. I need you to help me investigate the truth of that night in Godric Valley, and the whereabouts of the real me."

Is this a threat from you?

“This is our collaboration, Melvin,” the phantom said softly, hovering above the golden cup.

“I don’t have that much time to play detective games,” Melvin said after a moment’s thought. “But I can create opportunities for you to investigate the truth yourself.”

"What do you mean?"

Do you know any substitute professors?

……

The third Wednesday of March, in the morning.

Melvin first taught a sixth-grade Muggle studies class, discussing the positive and negative effects of the mirror with the students. He also grabbed a few students to ask questions, and those who couldn't answer were made to go up on stage and embarrass themselves. After class, he walked downstairs and ran into Professor Flitwick on the way.

The half-elf professor had just finished his second-year spells class. He had a toad Raef footprint on his head, and half of his beard had been blown off by Seamus, but he was still grinning.

Melvin was carrying textbooks and a gold cup engraved with a badger shape.

Because of his height, Flitwick's line of sight was slightly shorter than that of ordinary wizards, and he didn't notice it at first. It wasn't until he passed the corner of the stairs that he noticed the golden cup, and his gaze was fixed on it ever since.

He noticed the typical characteristics of the golden cup, and a conflicted and hesitant expression appeared on his face. After a moment's hesitation, he couldn't help but ask:
"Melvin, is that... the Hufflepuff Cup you're holding?"

"You can tell at a glance, right?"

Melvin smiled and tossed the golden cup in his hand twice, seemingly unconcerned: "I plan to use it as a teaching aid for Defense Against the Dark Arts class, which is next class, for Harry and Neville's second year students."

Flitwick relaxed, acknowledging that it was a fake golden cup, and said with a smile, "No wonder you went to inspect the Hufflepuff common room last weekend. It turns out you were preparing teaching materials for the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Keep a close eye on those kids; there are quite a few troublemakers among them."

"Ah."

Melvin nodded. Professor Flitwick didn't ask any questions, nor did he offer any explanation. He simply said goodbye at the crossroads and headed towards the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Flitwick watched him walk into the classroom. Young and handsome professors always found it easier to maintain classroom discipline. He stood on the platform and tapped on the lectern, and the noisy classroom immediately quieted down.

Then came Melvin's gentle voice:
"For today's class, I've invited a teaching assistant for everyone..."

(End of this chapter)