"Since when was my health that bad?"
Vivian hurried after him, some of her usual haughtiness returning to her voice, though her footsteps unconsciously drew a little closer to him.
"How come I heard you couldn't even handle a Flying Broomstick?"
"That's because I thought the movements were too undignified!"
Their voices gradually faded into the quiet, snowy Christmas Eve.
Meanwhile, inside Ravenclaw's Diadem.
Voldemort's Soul Fragment was repeatedly going over every word spoken by the boy who called himself a Divine Emissary.
"I am not a god, but I can indeed borrow some of a god's mighty power."
Voldemort had encountered countless boastful frauds, but none of them could hold such terrifying lightning in their hands like a toy.
If everything that boy said was true, if some existence that transcended magic really stood behind him...
Then were Horcruxes, immortality, and ruling the Wizarding World truly nothing more than a joke in a god's eyes?
For the first time, Voldemort felt a flicker of doubt about the ultimate goal he had pursued for half his life.
But he quickly suppressed that doubt.
He was Voldemort. He would bow to no one, not even a god.
The boy did possess some power he could not understand, but the boy was also very young, and youth meant vulnerabilities.
Given enough time to observe and interact with him, he would surely find this Divine Emissary's weakness.
As long as I find his weakness, I'll have a chance to turn the tables someday.
Voldemort closed his eyes again, lying dormant in the darkness of the Diadem as he waited for the next time he would be awakened.
At the other end of the Castle, in the dormitory in Gryffindor Tower, Fred and George were hiding the pillow from Gerald's bed on the ceiling.