Allen wasn't actually as composed as he appeared.
Just seconds before he landed in front of Alyssa and her daughter and raised his wand, he used the limited character card he had just drawn.
[Limited Character Card ( Tom Riddle ) activated. Duration: 5 minutes. Uses: 2/2 → 1/2.]
The feeling of that magical power surging in was like a ferocious beast that had been locked in a cage for too long, roaring and rushing out as soon as the gates opened, surging from his chest to every part of his body.
Seventh rank!
Allen silently gasped in surprise.
He originally thought that Tom Riddle's peak strength during his student days was at most similar to Quirrell's, at most at the sixth rank.
After all, Riddle at that time had not yet been exposed to the Dark Magic of the following decades, nor did he possess that forbidden knowledge of Dark Magic.
But he was wrong.
The boy who scored almost perfect marks in every subject during his seven years at Hogwarts, the genius who could open the Chamber of Secrets with Parseltongue in his fifth year and create his first Horcrux, had already reached the threshold of the seventh tier of magic before graduation.
What does this mean?
Keep in mind that the elite Auror in the Auror Office are only at the seventh rank, and most of them have been working in the Auror profession for over ten years.
In other words, Tom Riddle already possessed the strength to stand shoulder to shoulder with the elite Auror of the Wizarding World even before graduating from Hogwarts.
As Allen felt the surging magic within him, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly beneath the mask.
No wonder this person was able to fool all the professors at Hogwarts in the original story with just his face and silver tongue.
Indeed, what truly impresses the strong is not just appearance, but most importantly, genuine ability.
Allen pulled himself together, his gaze passing through the path of fire that had been cleaved open, and landing on the figure in the center wearing a sky-blue robe.
Lockhart, or rather Tom Riddle, stood at the far end of the fire trail, his blond hair gleaming warmly in the firelight.
His expression was quite interesting.
A half-smile curved at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes held the interest of a hunter eyeing his prey.
" Fiendfyre."
He rolled those words on his tongue, as if savoring a new wine.
"Not bad. To be able to use the Fiendfyre to this extent at your age, you are indeed no ordinary person."
Allen didn't reply; he turned and glanced at the wizards who were already standing in the safe zone.
Alyssa had already retreated into the crowd with her daughter in her arms, and was squatting on the ground checking the little girl's knees, while several wizards gathered around to help.
Allen felt a little relieved.
At least no one was hurt.
Riddle seemed to notice his gaze, tilted his head slightly, and said casually, as if in conversation, "You could have actually stayed put just now."
"Wouldn't it be safer to hide on the roof and watch the show, waiting for Dumbledore to handle it?"
Allen turned his gaze back to Lockhart's handsome face.
He was indeed very handsome, with delicate features, sharp contours, and golden curly hair that looked exceptionally soft in the firelight.
But there was no hint of a smile in those eyes; they appeared exceptionally cold.
"When you set the fire," Allen began, his voice calmer than he had expected, "Did you consider the consequences?"
Riddle tilted his head, seemingly finding the question intriguing, "Consequences?"
No, no, no, you may have misunderstood me.
"I set the fire just to force you out; what do I care about the other consequences?"
Allen sighed silently to himself, thinking to himself, "Just as I thought."
This is Tom Riddle, a guy who treats everyone's life as numbers on a chessboard, a guy who doesn't value other people's lives at all.
"To be honest," Riddle twirled his wand between his fingers, his gaze piercing through the fire to the eyes beneath Allen's mask, "I have never admired anyone in any field."
"The others are either stupid, weak, or both."
He paused, a hint of serious curiosity creeping into his voice.
"But you're different. Can you tell me how you achieve such incredibly accurate Prophecy?"
Allen paused for a moment.
Of course, he couldn't tell Riddle that he had the entire Harry Potter series in his head.
Riddle didn't seem to be waiting for his answer, shaking his head with a deeper smile, "I guess you're not going to tell me."
So I plan to find the answer myself.
As soon as he finished speaking, he raised his wand.
A purple spell shot out from the tip of the staff, moving so fast it almost left a trail of afterimages in the air.
A gasp rippled through the surrounding group of wizards, who instinctively took a step back, some even covering their mouths.
The spell aimed straight at Allen's face, carrying an undisguised ferocity.
Allen's body moved before his mind could process it.
Flitwick's fighting memories took over his reaction in that instant, and his body instinctively veered to the left by less than half a foot, just enough for the purple light to glide past his ear.
The purple light struck the stone path behind him, blasting a charred crater in the ground.
Without pausing, Allen used the momentum of his sideways movement to raise his wand, and a Disarming Charm silently shot out from the tip of the wand.
Riddle's pupils contracted slightly, clearly not expecting his opponent to organize a counterattack so quickly after dodging the attack.
He stepped to the right, and the Disarming Charm grazed the hem of his robe, blasting a hole in the wall of fire behind him.
"Not bad." Riddle chuckled, his tone carrying a hint of genuine appreciation.
Then the two of them moved at the same time.
Allen's wand traced an arc in the air as three consecutive spells were unleashed almost simultaneously.
Stupefy, Impedimenta, Petrificus Totalus.
The three spells sealed off Lockhart's space to dodge left and right from three different angles.
Lockhart did not dodge; he drew a circle in front of him with his wand, and a semi-transparent barrier instantly formed, blocking all three spells.
The moment the barrier shattered, he had already emerged from the fragments, unleashing a silent Blasting Curse with a backhand.
A loud bang came from beneath Allen's feet, and a cloud of rubble exploded from the stone floor.
He used the momentum to leap backward, flipping in the air, his trench coat billowing wildly in the airflow.
Upon landing, he knelt on one knee, his wand already pointing in Lockhart's direction.
" Diffindo!"
A blue-white light shot out from the tip of the staff, moving so fast that it left only a blur in the air.
Lockhart's pupils contracted slightly; this time he couldn't completely avoid it.
The spell grazed his shoulder, leaving a tear in his sky-blue robe, the edges of the fabric charred and curled.
Lockhart glanced down at the crack, then looked up, his smile widening.
"Interesting."
The surrounding wizards stared in disbelief.