Chapter 5: The Unfolding Path (Years Two, Three, and Four)
The summers for Corvus Blackwood became crucibles of accelerated learning, powered by the distant, desperate efforts of Tom Riddle. While Tom chafed within the confines of Wool's Orphanage, his summers a stark contrast of bleak mundanity and furtive, often dangerous, magical experimentation, Corvus moved through the hallowed halls of Blackwood Manor, a willing receptacle for an unimaginable torrent of amplified knowledge.
Second Year: Foundations of Divergence
Returning to Hogwarts for his second year, Corvus noted a subtle shift in Tom Riddle. The boy was still impoverished in appearance, but his eyes held a new depth of calculation, a more focused ambition. He had begun to consciously gather a coterie of early loyalists from Slytherin – the nascent Knights of Walpurgis. Corvus, through the ever-present thrum of their connection, felt Tom's methodical exploration of persuasive charms, subtle intimidation tactics, and the foundational theories of mind-influencing magic. For every tentative step Tom took in manipulating his peers, Corvus gained tenfold the intuitive understanding of Legilimency's subtler aspects and the art of psychological leverage, though he chose to keep such skills veiled.
Classes became almost laughably simple. While Tom, a brilliant student in his own right, mastered second-year spells through diligence, Corvus found them integrating into his magical repertoire with an eerie effortlessness. Professor Flitwick's lessons on complex charms like the Skurge Charm for ectoplasmic entities or the Freezing Charm (Immobulus) were, for Corvus, mere confirmations of knowledge already deeply embedded. His practical demonstrations were flawless, often non-verbal, explained away by "intensive summer study of advanced Blackwood family techniques."
Dumbledore, still teaching Transfiguration, watched Corvus with an increasingly penetrating gaze. During one lesson involving the transformation of a teapot into a tortoise, Tom produced a commendable, if slightly sluggish, reptile. Corvus, benefiting from Tom's hours of mental visualization and magical exertion, transfigured his teapot into a lively, perfectly detailed terrapin that blinked up at Dumbledore with disconcerting realism.
"Your affinity for Transfiguration, Mr. Blackwood, continues to be… singular," Dumbledore remarked, his tone carefully neutral, though his blue eyes held a universe of unasked questions. "The precision of your intent is remarkable."
Corvus simply inclined his head. "The Blackwood motto is Intentio Formam Regit – Intent Governs Form, Professor. It is a principle drilled into us from a young age." A half-truth, as always, but plausible.
Grindelwald's war in Europe cast a long shadow. News of his conquests and the atrocities committed in his name filled the Daily Prophet. Corvus sensed Tom's rapt attention to these events, his analytical dissection of Grindelwald's power, his ideology, his ability to command loyalty and fear. This provided Corvus with an amplified, detached understanding of grand-scale political machinations and the seductive allure of dark power, all while he himself remained focused on personal and familial advancement.
Third Year: Expanding Horizons and Growing Suspicions
The introduction of new subjects in their third year offered fresh avenues for both Tom's exploration and Corvus's accelerated absorption. Corvus chose Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, subjects that appealed to his analytical mind and offered deeper insights into the structure of magic. Tom, Corvus sensed, also leaned into these more esoteric subjects, alongside a continued, almost obsessive, private study of texts relating to Salazar Slytherin and forbidden aspects of defensive and offensive magic.
The Knights of Walpurgis solidified. Corvus would occasionally observe them from afar – Tom, now a prefect, subtly directing their activities, which ranged from bullying Muggle-born students to hushed gatherings where darker theories were discussed. Tom's explorations into curses and hexes, often tested on unfortunate pests or, Corvus suspected, on defiant students in hidden corners of the castle, translated into an encyclopedic knowledge of such magic for Corvus, complete with an intuitive understanding of their counters and theoretical underpinnings. He filed this knowledge away, a potent arsenal should he ever require it.
His own reputation was becoming a double-edged sword. He was an undisputed genius, aloof, and quietly powerful. His essays in Runes and Arithmancy were often beyond the scope of the curriculum, drawing praise from Professor Babbling and Vector, but also intensifying Dumbledore's scrutiny.
One afternoon, Dumbledore requested Corvus join him for tea. The office was filled with the usual array of curious magical instruments.
"Corvus," Dumbledore began, his gaze direct but not unkind, "your academic performance is unprecedented. Not merely in practical application, but in the depth of your theoretical understanding. It often seems you grasp concepts before they are even fully presented."
"I am a dedicated scholar, Professor," Corvus maintained, his composure absolute. "The Blackwood library is my constant companion during holidays. My parents encourage rigorous intellectual pursuit."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said softly. "And yet, I sense a maturity in your magic, a resonance, that speaks of an understanding far exceeding your years or even the most comprehensive library. Power, Corvus, seeks an outlet. Wisdom must guide its course. Are you… content, with the path you are on?"
It was a subtle probe, searching for ambition that might mirror Grindelwald's, or the darkness Dumbledore undoubtedly sensed brewing elsewhere in the school – specifically, around Tom Riddle.
"My path, Professor," Corvus replied, choosing his words with care, "is one of service to my House and the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake. I believe power is a responsibility, to be wielded with foresight and control." He offered nothing of his true methods, nothing of the symbiotic link that fuelled his ascent.
Dumbledore regarded him for a long moment. "A commendable sentiment, Corvus. See that you hold to it."
The Hogsmeade visits began, offering Tom new avenues to explore and Corvus new observations. Tom, Corvus knew, used these trips to acquire rare potion ingredients from less scrupulous vendors and to subtly network with older, like-minded individuals who might pass through the village. Each of Tom's clandestine acquisitions or snippets of dark lore gleaned in the Hog's Head Inn translated into amplified knowledge for Corvus.
Fourth Year: The Deepening Shadows
By their fourth year, Tom Riddle was a formidable figure within Slytherin, his charisma a potent force, his Knights a disciplined inner circle. He exuded an aura of dark confidence. Corvus sensed Tom's research turning towards even more profound and disturbing aspects of magic: the nature of souls, the echoes of life and death, the theoretical frameworks of achieving a form of immortality. He wasn't creating Horcruxes yet – the act itself was too monumental, too reliant on a specific, terrible trigger – but the foundational knowledge was being laid, piece by painstaking piece, in Tom's mind.
This influx of incredibly dark theory was a severe test of Corvus's mental discipline. He spent hours in meditative states, meticulously dissecting the pure magical theory from the repellent ethical implications and Tom's increasingly warped justifications. He learned about soul magic with a depth that no living wizard, save perhaps Dumbledore or Grindelwald, likely possessed, all without succumbing to its corrupting influence. His own soul remained inviolate, shielded by his singular focus and the cold, analytical nature of his intellect.
Corvus, in turn, began to subtly experiment with spell modification, a skill born from his profound theoretical understanding. He could tweak existing charms for greater potency or subtly alter their effects, all non-verbally, making his magic uniquely his own. His parents, during the summer holidays, were astounded.
"The warding schemes you've proposed for the northern estate, Corvus," his father said, reviewing intricate runic diagrams Corvus had drafted, "are more advanced than anything our ancestors conceived. They are virtually impenetrable."
"A synthesis of ancient principles and new insights, Father," Corvus explained, attributing it to his deep study of the family archives.
His relationship with his parents was one of profound respect and a growing, unspoken understanding that Corvus was something… more. They trusted his intellect and his dedication to the Blackwood name, even if they couldn't fully comprehend the source of his meteoric rise.
The Triwizard Tournament, which would have occurred in Harry Potter's fourth year, was not reinstated in this era; Grindelwald's war overshadowed such inter-school pleasantries. The year passed with a growing tension in the wizarding world, a tension that seemed to fuel Tom's ambition and, consequently, Corvus's power.
As their fourth year drew to a close, both Corvus Blackwood and Tom Riddle were recognized as the two most brilliant students Hogwarts had seen in generations. Tom was the charismatic, ambitious leader, already weaving a web of dark influence. Corvus was the enigmatic prodigy, his power vast but controlled, his motives inscrutable, his allegiance solely to his own and his family's advancement.
He knew, with a chilling certainty, that Tom was on the cusp of a significant breakthrough in his dark pursuits. The theoretical groundwork for Horcruxes was nearly complete in Tom's mind. The whispers of Salazar Slytherin's hidden Chamber, his monstrous guardian, were becoming a more focused obsession for Riddle.
Corvus prepared himself. The next few years would be pivotal. Tom's descent would accelerate, and with it, Corvus's own ascent into unimaginable echelons of power. He felt no guilt, only a grim determination to harness this dark gift to its fullest potential, ensuring that when the inevitable storms broke, House Blackwood would stand untouched, a beacon of strength and influence, with him at its helm. The path was laid by another's darkness, but the journey, and its ultimate destination, would be his own. The upcoming fifth year, he sensed, would mark a turning point.
Chapter 6: The Serpent Uncoils (Year Five Begins)
The transition from their fourth to their fifth year at Hogwarts was palpable, an almost physical shift in the magical atmosphere surrounding Tom Riddle. Corvus, returning to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters after a summer spent further consolidating his prodigious abilities, felt it instantly. The thrum connecting him to Tom was no longer just a conduit of burgeoning dark knowledge and ambition; it now pulsed with a new, chilling resonance – the distinct signature of ancient, potent magic actively being investigated and on the verge of being wielded.
Tom Riddle, at fifteen, was a commanding presence. His transformation from the impoverished orphan to the de facto prince of Slytherin was complete. He carried himself with an unshakeable confidence, his handsome features a mask for the profound darkness Corvus knew lay beneath. His Knights of Walpurgis trailed him like acolytes, their expressions a mixture of awe and trepidation.
"Blackwood," Tom greeted him on the Hogwarts Express, his voice smoother, deeper than before, his dark eyes holding a flicker of something new – a predatory gleam. It was a cursory acknowledgment, but Corvus felt the underlying current: Tom was aware of Corvus as his only true intellectual rival, a power to be acknowledged, perhaps even warily respected, but not one he considered a threat to his own secretive machinations.
"Riddle," Corvus returned with his customary cool nod, settling into a compartment away from Tom's entourage. The amplified sensations from Tom were intense. Over the summer, Riddle had clearly made significant strides in his research into Salazar Slytherin's legacy. The Chamber of Secrets was no longer a distant myth in Tom's mind; it was a tangible goal, its secrets tantalizingly close. Corvus could feel Tom's mind piecing together obscure historical references, arcane lore about Hogwarts' foundations, and, most significantly, the specific Parseltongue commands needed to access and control Slytherin's monster.
The knowledge flooded Corvus: the precise intonations of Parseltongue that would unlock hidden entrances, the mental discipline required to dominate a creature as ancient and powerful as a Basilisk, the chilling understanding of its lethal gaze and how to direct it. It was as if he himself had spent the summer immersed in these dangerous pursuits.
Early in the term, the first subtle signs appeared. A few school owls were found inexplicably dead near the dungeons, their bodies unmarked but their eyes wide with an unnatural terror. Then, several rats in the Potions storeroom were discovered petrified. Professor Slughorn blamed a mislabeled batch of Gorgon Hair, but Corvus knew better. He felt Tom's furtive, experimental excitement – the first tentative flexings of his newfound power.
The official opening of the Chamber of Secrets occurred on Halloween night. Amidst the revelry of the feast, a chilling scream echoed from the second-floor corridor. Students and professors rushed to the scene. There, near Moaning Myrtle's out-of-order bathroom, Mrs. Norris, Argus Filch's cat, hung petrified from a torch bracket. And on the wall above, scrawled in letters that seemed to drip with malevolence, were the words:
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.
A wave of terror swept through the Great Hall. Corvus, observing the scene, felt the surge of triumph from Tom Riddle – cold, calculating, and utterly devoid of remorse. Tom stood amongst his Knights, his expression one of perfectly feigned shock and concern, but his eyes glittered with dark elation.
Headmaster Dippet was aghast. Dumbledore's face was grim, his gaze sweeping over the students, lingering for a moment on Tom, then, with an almost imperceptible shift, on Corvus himself. Corvus met the gaze with his usual composure, revealing nothing.
The days that followed were filled with fear and suspicion. Aurors from the Ministry made cursory investigations, but found nothing. The legend of Slytherin's monster, once a fireside tale, now felt terrifyingly real. Students moved in groups, avoiding deserted corridors.
Corvus, armed with the intimate knowledge of Tom's plans and the Basilisk's nature, took his own precautions. He was acutely aware of the creature's movements through the castle's plumbing, sensing Tom's commands as he directed it on nocturnal explorations. He subtly reinforced the wards around his own bed with ancient Blackwood protective runes, ensuring his personal sanctuary was inviolable.
His priority was not to stop Tom – that would be like trying to halt a tidal wave with a teacup, and more importantly, it would sever his invaluable power source. His goal was to navigate the unfolding chaos, protect his own interests, and ensure the stability of the school didn't entirely collapse. A closed Hogwarts was an inconvenience; a dead Tom, before his full potential had been exploited, was a travesty from Corvus's perspective.
Then came the event that Corvus had been subconsciously bracing for, the act that he knew Tom needed to complete his horrifying research into immortality: a death.
Myrtle Warren, a Ravenclaw student often bullied for her unfortunate appearance and melancholic disposition, had been an easy target for Tom's Knights in the past. One evening, after a particularly cruel taunting session that Corvus had distantly observed Tom orchestrate, Myrtle fled to her usual refuge – the girls' bathroom on the second floor.
Later that night, Corvus was jolted from his studies by an extraordinary and horrifying surge from Tom Riddle. It was a vortex of emotions: cold determination, a moment of clinical detachment, a sickening thrill of ultimate power, and then, a profound, soul-wrenching tearing. Simultaneously, an unprecedented wave of pure, black magical knowledge flooded Corvus's mind – the exact ritual, the precise intent, the sacrificial act of murder, and the deliberate fragmentation of a soul to create a Horcrux.
Myrtle Warren was dead, her life extinguished by the gaze of the Basilisk, directed by Tom Riddle. And in that moment of her death, Tom, with the small, blank diary clutched in his hand, performed the abominable magic. He created his first Horcrux.
Corvus gasped, his hand flying to his chest as if he himself had been physically struck. The amplified experience of a soul being torn, of a Horcrux being forged, was beyond anything he had ever imagined. It was a violation on a spiritual level, a darkness so profound it threatened to overwhelm his carefully constructed mental defenses. He felt the diary transform from an inanimate object into a living container of malevolent consciousness, a piece of Tom Riddle's very soul now imbued with a horrifying semblance of life.
He spent the next hour in a state of deep, almost catatonic meditation, fighting to process the influx, to compartmentalize the sheer evil of the act from the invaluable, terrible knowledge it bestowed. He now understood Horcruxes not as a theoretical concept, but as a visceral reality. He knew their strengths, their weaknesses, the way they tethered a soul to the mortal plane.
When Myrtle's body was discovered the next morning, the school was plunged into an abyss of terror. Headmaster Dippet, under immense pressure from the Ministry and the Board of Governors, announced that if the attacker was not caught, Hogwarts would be closed.
Tom Riddle, outwardly a picture of grave concern, was inwardly exultant. The diary, now his most precious possession, pulsed with dark energy. Corvus could feel the fragment of Tom's soul within it – younger, more arrogant, a perfect echo of the sixteen-year-old Tom who had created it – beginning to communicate with its creator, offering counsel, sharing power.
Corvus knew the game had changed. This was no longer just about petrifications and fear. Tom had crossed a threshold from which there was no return. And Corvus, privy to the darkest act of soul magic imaginable, possessed knowledge that made him, perhaps, one of the most dangerous wizards alive, though no one suspected it.
He watched as Tom, feigning a desire to help, began to manipulate the narrative, subtly pointing suspicion towards Rubeus Hagrid and his then-hidden Acromantula, Aragog. It was a masterful piece of deception, and Corvus felt it unfold with a chilling clarity, learning tenfold about misdirection and the exploitation of fear.
His own course remained clear. He would not intervene directly. He would observe, he would learn, and he would ensure his own survival and continued empowerment. The Chamber of Secrets was Tom's stage, the Horcrux his dark miracle. For Corvus, they were merely further steps on his own unique path, a path paved with another's descent, leading him towards a destiny of unparalleled power. The serpent had uncoiled, and its shadow was a fertile ground for his own silent growth.