Author Notes

Hello everyone,

I sincerely apologize for the recent lack of updates.

Over the past few weeks, I had my final semester exams for Computer Science Engineering, and during the same time, my family also suffered the loss of a close relative. Because of everything happening at once, I wasn’t in the right state of mind to properly focus on translating and maintaining regular updates.

I had scheduled some Chapters to go live on Webnovel, but unfortunately, I couldn’t continue managing updates properly during this period.

Thank you to everyone who continued supporting me patiently despite the delays. Your support and understanding truly mean a lot to me.

Things are slowly becoming stable again, and I’ll do my best to catch up on all missed translations and delayed Chapters as soon as possible. I’m also thinking about bringing more works in the future, so I hope you’ll continue supporting me.

Thank you again, and I’m deeply sorry for the delays.

— White Devil

END

Arthur could not stand seeing someone act that arrogant right in front of him.

So he decided to let Voldemort experience a proper beating from reality.

"Don’t think that just because you won’t talk, I don’t know what Horcruxes you made."

Arthur rubbed his chin as if thinking. "Let’s see... Two years ago, I destroyed a diary called Tom Riddle’s Diary."

"That was probably the first Horcrux you ever made back when you were a student, wasn’t it?"

Voldemort let out a cold laugh. "Hah. So what if it was?"

Back when the Chamber incident ended without any follow-up, Voldemort had already guessed the diary was gone.

It was merely a flawed prototype—his first attempt. He didn’t particularly care if it was destroyed.

"Don’t rush," Arthur said with a smile. "There’s more."

"I know you. With that arrogant personality of yours, you would never use ordinary objects for Horcruxes."

"You’d choose things with meaning—like the Ravenclaw diadem I found in the Room of Requirement."

As he spoke, Arthur took out the diadem and casually waved it in front of Voldemort.

Voldemort’s heart sank.

At this distance, he couldn’t sense his soul shard inside it at all.

Which meant Arthur had dealt with yet another Horcrux.

"And not only that," Arthur added lightly, as if discussing the weather. "I used it to open Ravenclaw’s inheritance."

"The statue in the Ravenclaw common room."

"She holds most of Ravenclaw’s memories. You understand what that means, don’t you?"

Arthur didn’t need to spell it out any further.

A statue that carried the bulk of Rowena Ravenclaw’s memories was, in practical terms, Ravenclaw reborn.

Ravenclaw—the founder renowned for wisdom.

The sheer depth of knowledge she possessed didn’t need explanation.

Voldemort’s expression twisted with envy.

How had he never considered the diadem could be used like that?

Watching the regret bloom on Voldemort’s face, Arthur’s smile widened. "Good."

"Let’s move on to the next one."

He put the diadem away and produced another item—an old, heavy locket.

"You recognize this," he said. "Slytherin’s locket."

This time, Voldemort’s eyes went wide.

The locket had been one of his best-hidden Horcruxes. He had layered protections upon it, arranged its defenses with obsessive thoroughness.

Arthur finding it was beyond belief.

The only people who even knew about that Horcrux were Voldemort himself... Regulus Black... and, at most, the Black family’s house-elf.

And without Regulus’s explicit orders, a house-elf would never reveal a secret.

Unless—

Regulus had betrayed him.

As if reading his thoughts, Arthur said calmly, "That’s right. Regulus betrayed you."

"Want to know why?"

Voldemort stared at him, unable to conceal his confusion.

Regulus had been one of his most loyal followers.

That loyalty was precisely why Voldemort had ever let him near the truth of Horcruxes at all.

And yet—

Betrayal.

Arthur explained, unhurried and cruel in his clarity: Regulus had joined out of admiration, only to discover that Voldemort murdered the innocent to create Horcruxes. And so Regulus had chosen to turn back from the dark.

Arthur briefly recounted how Regulus had gone to the seaside cave, how he had used Kreacher to exchange the locket and take it out.

As he spoke, Arthur couldn’t help thinking of the Black family’s stubbornness—obsession, even.

Like Sirius, Regulus had possessed a streak of heroism.

The kind that insisted on carrying everything alone, even at the cost of his own life.

If, after drinking Voldemort’s poison, Regulus had let Kreacher take him to Dumbledore, perhaps he wouldn’t have died at all.

Perhaps under Dumbledore’s protection, the locket could’ve been resolved far earlier.

Heroism, Arthur thought, was a dangerous thing when you weren’t strong enough to survive it.

Sometimes, you needed help.

Voldemort’s face tightened.

He truly couldn’t understand it.

He killed a few insignificant people—so what?

That was enough for Regulus to throw away years of devotion?

If Voldemort had known, he would’ve rather never told Regulus about Horcruxes in the first place.

But Arthur wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

"Oh, and another thing you don’t know," Arthur said, voice bright with malicious amusement. "The so-called Chamber of Secrets wasn’t actually the place where you went to play with your Basilisk."

Voldemort’s gaze sharpened.

"The real chamber," Arthur continued, "is behind the Basilisk’s nest—behind the Slytherin statue itself."

"Care to guess what’s inside?"

He didn’t wait.

"Slytherin’s inheritance. His lifetime of knowledge and memories."

"And the key to open it..."

Arthur lifted the locket in his hand and gave it a gentle shake.

Voldemort understood instantly.

His face contorted into something ugly—envy, hatred, regret all tangled together until it looked like pain.

How had he never thought to hunt down the founders’ inheritances?

Treasures like that—thrown away.

Handed straight to this boy.

He even began to suspect that the witch who had beaten him into the dirt—Hermione—must have obtained a founder’s inheritance as well.

Otherwise, how could her magic be so bizarre—so completely unlike anything Voldemort had ever seen?

He had no idea how wrong he was.

Hermione’s magic wasn’t "ancient" at all.

It simply didn’t belong to this world.

And that was why Voldemort had never heard of it.

The diadem and the locket—both in Arthur’s hands.

Voldemort suddenly felt a chill of panic.

And then a thought struck him, sharp as a blade.

Gringotts had been robbed recently.

Don’t tell him—

Arthur’s next words confirmed it.

He leaned close to Voldemort’s ear and whispered, in a voice only the two of them could hear:

"The Hufflepuff cup you stored in that Gringotts vault?"

"I took it too."

"As for Hufflepuff’s inheritance... I haven’t gone looking yet."

"But how about this? Once I find it, I’ll come back and tell you."

Arthur paused, then chuckled softly.

"Actually—by then, you’ll probably already be dead."

"Which means I won’t be able to tell you."

It wasn’t exactly a glorious thing to brag about in public, so Arthur kept it low.

Not that it mattered much—anyone with a functioning brain could guess who was capable of slipping into Gringotts without anyone noticing.

Arthur’s cruelty continued.

He produced a ring and held it up before Voldemort’s eyes.

"The Gaunt ring."

Voldemort’s gaze locked onto it instantly.

But Arthur smiled, almost kindly.

"Except there’s something you definitely don’t know."

He tapped the symbol carved into the ring.

"This isn’t your Gaunt family crest."

"It’s the mark of the Deathly Hallows."

"You’ve heard the tale," Arthur went on, voice deceptively gentle. "This stone is the Resurrection Stone."

"In the stories, the people it summons bring only despair. They break the caller’s mind."

"But what if those side effects can be removed?"

"After all," Arthur said with a small shrug, "none of us actually know the true way to use it."

There was, of course, no way to remove the side effects.

The Resurrection Stone didn’t truly resurrect anyone.

Arthur was simply talking nonsense for one purpose only—

To shatter Voldemort’s heart.

And Voldemort, who had devoted his entire existence to escaping death, could not help but break.

He knew about the Deathly Hallows better than most.

He craved them.

Especially the Invisibility Cloak and the Resurrection Stone.

The cloak could evade Death’s gaze—if Death could not see you, you might as well be beyond death’s reach.

And the Resurrection Stone...

Even its name was poison to Voldemort’s sanity.

The moment he realized what he had done—turning the Resurrection Stone into a Horcrux, leaving it in the Gaunt shack like discarded trash—

Voldemort wanted to crawl back through time and slap his past self senseless.

He could’ve used it.

He could’ve carried it.

And then he wouldn’t have had to endure a resurrection so costly and humiliating.

He wouldn’t have been forced into this half-human, half-serpent body.

He wouldn’t have been beaten into a wreck by Hermione.

He wouldn’t be here, bound like an animal, while a boy smiled at him with all of his secrets in hand.

Seeing Voldemort’s expression collapse into something broken, Arthur laughed—genuinely pleased.

This was the price of acting arrogant in front of him.

Still, Voldemort was Voldemort.

Dark Lords who rose to the top rarely had fragile minds.

After drowning in regret, resentment, and despair, he forced himself back to calm.

His face went blank.

He stopped talking.

He looked—almost—as if he had accepted his fate.

But whatever thoughts churned behind that expressionless mask, only he knew.

Arthur had named five Horcruxes.

And every single one of them had already been destroyed.

Yet Voldemort did not despair.

Because he still had two left.

One Horcrux had been made last year, before he returned to Britain—deep in the forests of Albania.

He had hidden it somewhere no one could possibly know.

Somewhere only Voldemort himself could ever find.

And the other—

Was Harry.

Yes.

Voldemort had already realized it.

After Hermione’s brutal beating, he was no longer drunk on his own arrogance.

And once Arthur mentioned Horcruxes, Voldemort focused—truly focused—his senses.

And then, to his astonishment...

He felt it.

On Harry.

A fragment of his soul.

Advance Chapters Available on Patreon

patreon.com/WhiteDevil7554