The London rain never ceased.
Ivan didn't leave through the front door. Like a nimble black cat, he scaled the six-foot wall in the Dursleys' backyard, landing without startling even "Snowy," the fat cat who patrolled the fence.
His shoes hit the puddle-strewn pavement without a sound—a skill honed from ten years of practicing "Turtle Breathing Technique" in the cupboard under the stairs. As long as he made no noise, Aunt Petunia's feather duster couldn't find him.
"Now, the problem is getting to Diagon Alley."
Ivan stood under a streetlamp, the dim yellow light stretching his thin shadow long against the wet pavement. Dressed in one of Dudley's oversized, cast-off jackets, he looked every bit the stray urchin. But in his emerald-green eyes burned an ambition that would make lesser men tremble.
"System, scan for the nearest magical node."
> [Ding! Host request detected. 300 meters ahead, behind a dumpster, there is an abandoned rat hole connecting to the magical backflow of Knockturn Alley.]
> [New Quest: Reach Borgin and Burkes without alerting any Aurors.]
> [Reward: Magical Circuit Optimization +10%]
"Knockturn Alley... brings back memories."
Ivan smirked. For a respectable wizard, Knockturn Alley was a forbidden zone. But for Ivan, who needed dark materials to complete his "Emotion Value Harvester," it was practically paradise.
Without hesitation, he turned and slipped into a foul-smelling alleyway.
---
Ten minutes later.
In front of a dilapidated pub.
The sign above the door was peeling, the gold letters "The Leaky Cauldron" barely visible as they swung precariously in the wind and rain.
Ivan pushed the door open. The bell chimed with a dull, heavy thud.
The pub was dark, smelling of stale tobacco and old cheese. The low murmur of witches and wizards died instantly. Dozens of eyes turned to the door.
Standing there was a soaking wet boy in a ragged jacket, looking no older than ten.
"Lost, are you, kid?" The barman, Tom—a shriveled, toothless old man—wiped a glass with a dirty rag. His eyes scraped over Ivan like a knife. "We don't sell milk here, and we don't take out the trash."
"I don't drink milk." Ivan shook the wet bangs out of his eyes and walked straight to the bar, moving with the practiced ease of an old drunkard. "Firewhisky. Neat. Put it on Dumbledore's tab."
Dead silence.
Tom's hand froze on the glass. A flicker of red light passed through his clouded eyes—a residual emotional echo left by Voldemort.
There was something about this boy... something that made him very, very uncomfortable. It wasn't the righteous stench of a Gryffindor, nor the slippery arrogance of a Slytherin. It was something... older. Pure, unadulterated "malice."
"Whose kid are you?" Tom's voice dropped, sounding like it was scraping up from a cellar floor.
"Potter," Ivan said flatly. He pulled a Galleon from his pocket and slapped it on the bar. "Or, you could call me... Ivan Riddle?"
Crash.
The glass in Tom's hand slipped and shattered on the floor.
The patrons stared in horror. Tom was the landlord, a fixture of the alley, and a man you didn't cross. He hadn't dropped a glass in ten years.
> [System Alert: Target "Tom (Possessed State)" is experiencing severe emotional fluctuation!]
> [Emotion Analysis: Shock (30%), Confusion (40%), Killing Intent (30%)]
> [Congratulations Host! Emotion Value +300!]
> [Current Total: 350 Points.]
> [Bonus Reward: Parseltongue (Novice) Unlocked!]
Ivan listened to the notifications in his head without flinching. In fact, he wanted to laugh.
300 points? That's just the appetizer.
"Riddle... haven't heard that name in a long time." Tom straightened up slowly. Shadows obscured half his face as he stared daggers at Ivan. "You're provoking me, boy."
"No, I'm showing you the way." Ivan met the red eyes without fear. He even plucked a moldy-looking sweet from a bowl on the counter, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth. "Lord Voldemort isn't doing so well, is he? Living on the back of a servant's head, not even a body of his own."
Tom's pupils constricted to pinpricks.
Around the room, the remnants of Death Eaters began to quietly reach for their wands.
"Do you want to die?" Tom hissed, his hand already gripping the wand hidden under the bar.
"Kill me, and you'll never know how to bypass Dumbledore's surveillance to get the Philosopher's Stone." Ivan chewed on the terrible candy, lying through his teeth with a straight face. "Besides, I'm here to do business, Mr. Tom. Or should I call you... the Young Dark Lord?"
Ivan suddenly leaned forward and whispered in Tom's ear, speaking in perfect, hissing Parseltongue:
"Open, for the glory of Slytherin."
Boom!
It was like a thunderclap in Tom's mind.
This wasn't the clumsy Parseltongue of a pretender. This was pure, ancient, royal snake-speak, dripping with authority. Even Salazar Slytherin himself might not have sounded this commanding!
Who was this kid? A bastard son of Slytherin? A monster secretly bred by some ancient pure-blood family?
Tom's killing intent was instantly replaced by overwhelming greed and caution.
> [System Alert: Tom's emotion has shifted! "Shock" upgraded to "Terror"!]
> [Emotion Value +200! Current Total: 550!]
> [Advance Payment from Snape (Future) has reached the limit. Please contact Snape directly to settle rewards!]
"What do you want?" Tom's voice trembled—not with fear, but excitement.
"A wand. Not one of Ollivander's mass-produced sticks." Ivan straightened up, brushing rain off his jacket. "I want custom. Thestral tail hair core, ebony wood. And I want all your... 'special' stock."
"Special stock?"
"Mandrake roots, for starters. And..." Ivan pointed casually at the back of Tom's neck, hidden under his high collar. "The shed skin of Nagini."
Tom stumbled back, knocking over a rack of liquor bottles.
He knows about Nagini! Only I know that secret! What kind of monster is this kid?!
In reality, Ivan just knew the plot of the books. But to Tom, it looked like omniscience.
"You can have it." Tom took a deep breath and pulled a black box from under the counter, sliding it toward Ivan. "This is the best core material I have. As for the wand... Borgin and Burkes is next door. You can pick the wood yourself."
"Good." Ivan pocketed the box without a thank you, nodding like a general inspecting his troops. "In exchange, a piece of intel. Dumbledore isn't at the school tonight. He's at the Ministry. If you want to make a move... tonight's the night."
It was a lie, of course. Dumbledore was currently at Hogwarts enjoying a Cockroach Cluster.
But Ivan needed chaos. Chaos would cover his "illegal entry" into the wizarding world, and sending Tom on a suicide mission against Gryffindor Tower would draw all the fire.
"Tonight..." Tom clenched his fist, the red light in his eyes intensifying.
"Remember, don't disappoint me, Tom." Ivan turned to the back door, waving without looking back. "Next time we meet, try to look a bit more like the 'handsome' Tom Riddle. Right now, you're ugly enough to make me want to recommend an anti-wrinkle potion."
With that, Ivan pushed into the rain, leaving a room full of dumbfounded dark wizards behind him.
---
The small courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron led to Diagon Alley—if you tapped the right bricks.
But Ivan didn't tap any bricks.
He stood before the wet wall, blue light flickering in his eyes.
"Analyzing magical flow... reconstructing spatial coordinates... Open."
He didn't use a wand. He simply traced a complex geometric figure in the air with his finger.
Click.
The brick wall rippled like water and split open, revealing a gap just wide enough for one person.
> [System Alert: Host has self-developed "Wandless Magic: Spatial Fold," shocking a certain wandmaker observing from the shadows!]
> [Gained attention of Hidden Character "Garrick Ollivander"!]
> [Emotion Value +100 (Curiosity)!]
Ivan stepped into Diagon Alley.
It was late, and the street was deserted. Only a few shop windows offered faint candlelight.
He wasn't heading to Madam Malkin's, nor Flourish and Blotts.
He was heading to a shop in the corner, its sign hanging by a thread—Borgin and Burkes.
The bell chimed again as he pushed the door open.
The shop was cluttered with horrific items: a rusty guillotine, dried human hands, and a shriveled head in a glass case that wouldn't stop screaming.
"Good evening, sir."
An oily voice came from the shadows. Mr. Borgin—a stooping man with greasy hair—emerged from behind a stack of large candles. He held a feather duster, looking like he'd been cleaning.
Seeing Ivan, Borgin paused, then plastered on a fake merchant's smile. "Oh, isn't it... the Potter boy? Rare to see a customer so late. Here for toads? We just got a batch in. A bit warty, but very nutritious."
"I'm not buying toads." Ivan scanned the shop, his gaze landing on a box in the most prominent spot on the counter.
It was an obsidian box carved with intricate patterns, radiating a faint chill.
"I want that." Ivan pointed.
Borgin's smile froze. "That? That's not for sale, young sir. That's a replica of the Dark Mark. A mere model, but still contraband..."
"I know it's a cheap knockoff of a Horcrux container. Shoddy workmanship, but good enough to hold a few 'trinkets' of mine." Ivan cut him off, pulling a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and slapping it on the counter. "I'll pay with this."
Borgin picked up the paper suspiciously, squinting at it in the candlelight.
A second later, his hands began to shake.
It wasn't a Galleon, nor a check.
It was a potion recipe.
And not just any recipe. Written in a wild, scrawling hand was:
"Modified Protocol for Extracting Permanent Magical Amplifiers from Unicorn Blood and Ashwinder Bile — Flaw Correction Edition."
As a dark artifact dealer, Borgin recognized the value instantly. If this was real, it could turn a Squib into a powerhouse, or double a Death Eater's strength!
"Did... did you write this?" Borgin looked up at Ivan as if looking at a demon in human skin.
"Naturally." Ivan looked bored. "Just something I scribbled out last night when I was bored. If that's not enough, I have a thesis outline on 'How to Induce Self-Awareness in Inferi for Simple Labor' for two Sickles."
Borgin gasped.
> [System Alert: Mr. Borgin is mentally overwhelmed! Emotion Value +150!]
> [Congratulations Host! Emotion Value has broken the 700 barrier!]
"Enough! More than enough!" Borgin held the scrap of paper like it was a holy text, terrified Ivan might take it back. "The box is yours! Take anything you want! Heck, take the shrunken head if you like!"
"I'll pass on the head. Too noisy."
Ivan walked over, picked up the obsidian box, checked the inside, and nodded with satisfaction.
It wasn't a real Horcrux, but it had a decent Undetectable Extension Charm on it—perfect for the "dangerous goods" he planned to acquire next.
"Pleasure doing business, Mr. Borgin."
Ivan tucked the box into his jacket (actually tossing it into his System Inventory, but keeping up appearances), and turned to leave.
Hand on the doorknob, he paused. Without turning around, he said:
"Oh, a word of advice. Don't take any goods from the Malfoy family soon. Especially a diary. If a fool named Lucius comes to sell, drive the price into the ground... or call the Aurors."
"Huh?" Borgin looked blank. "But the Malfoys are our best customers..."
"Take it or leave it." Ivan pushed the door open. "I've said my piece. And save me a copy of the Daily Prophet tomorrow. I want the front page."
The door shut.
Borgin stood frozen, cold sweat soaking his vest.
How did this kid know Lucius Malfoy was coming to sell the diary tomorrow? That was top secret!
And how did he know there was something wrong with it?
"Monster... absolute monster..." Borgin collapsed into his chair, staring at the priceless recipe, feeling like he'd just made a deal with the devil.
---
Walking down the empty street of Diagon Alley, the rain had finally stopped.
Ivan watched the Emotion Value on his system panel skyrocketing. He was in a great mood.
> [Current Emotion Value: 720/1000]
> [Redeemable Reward: Occlumency Lv. 5 (Learn Now?)]
"Learn."
> [Ding! Injecting Knowledge...]
In an instant, a flood of knowledge about mental barriers, memory palaces, and thought camouflage rushed into Ivan's mind. His eyes grew deeper, like bottomless pools of black water.
Now, even if Dumbledore used Legilimency on him, he would see nothing but static.
"Next up, a wand."
Ivan looked down the street at the dusty, unassuming shop that was the most important of all—Ollivanders.
In the window, a single wand lay on a faded purple cushion, as if waiting for its master.
Ivan walked to the door but didn't enter immediately.
He pulled out the "temporary wand" he'd made from wire and oak at the Dursleys', twirled it twice, and smirked.
"Mr. Ollivander, I hope your stock has something that can handle my 'magic'."
"If not..."
A cold light flashed in Ivan's eyes.
"I might just have to dismantle your shop and build one myself."
He pushed the door open.
Ding-ling.
The soft bell sounded like the opening note of a new era.
Meanwhile, on the other side of London, at the Leaky Cauldron.
Tom was staring at the napkin Ivan had left behind (intentionally), muttering to the empty air:
"Find out everything about this boy. If what he says is true... he's a better vessel than Harry Potter."
"Or," Tom licked his lips, "a new King... far more terrible than the Dark Lord."