The wizards hid in twos and threes behind collapsed shelves, inside shop doorways, and in street corners, craning their necks to watch the battle unfolding in the middle of the alley.
The two figures intertwined in the purple firelight, the light from their wands rising and falling, red, blue, gold, and silver, like shattered fireworks bouncing back and forth in the alley.
Each clash of spells exploded into a blinding light, and each dodge stirred up a gust of wind.
A middle-aged wizard-journalist wearing round-framed glasses squatted at the entrance of a bookstore, holding a Quick-Quotes Quill in his hand, the parchment in front of him already covered with dense writing.
The quill pen danced wildly, recording everything it saw.
" Merlin's beard..." he muttered to himself as he wrote, "Just who are these two people...?"
His colleague glanced at his parchment and asked, "What are you writing?"
"News! Of course it's news!" The reporter exclaimed without even looking up. "Regardless of who wins or loses today, this will definitely be on the front page tomorrow!"
During the battle, Allen was unaware that he was being recorded.
His entire focus was now on Lockhart across from him.
Tom Riddle's seventh-tier magic surged within him, each spellcasting flowing as smoothly as breathing.
Flitwick's fighting skills allowed his body to react with the utmost precision at an instinctive level; dodging, blocking, and counterattacking—every movement was perfectly timed.
This made him seem quite at ease in his fight against Riddle.
Riddle, however, grew increasingly alarmed as the fight progressed.
His wand danced between his fingers, and spells poured forth from its tip, each one precisely aimed at Allen's weakness.
But the masked guy on the other side always managed to react just before he made a move.
Sometimes it's just a slight sideways movement, sometimes it's a half-step forward shift.
Every time, she managed to avoid his spells perfectly; every time, it was as if she had read his script beforehand.
Are you kidding me?!
Riddle's mind raced.
Based on the rumors he had heard from Ginny, he guessed that the man's magic power was at most between the sixth and seventh tiers.
Although he was just a remnant soul, with the magical skills and Dark Magic experience he had accumulated at the age of sixteen, he shouldn't have had such a hard time dealing with an opponent of the same level.
The problem is that his opponent's magic power is no weaker than his, and his combat experience is in no way inferior to his.
Sometimes, the angle and timing of the opponent's attack are almost exactly the same as your own.
It's like fighting with yourself in the mirror.
Riddle had never encountered this situation before.
During his seven years at Hogwarts, he was always the one who crushed everyone else.
He was used to his opponents not being able to keep up with his pace and being led by the nose.
But this person in front of him felt like a stranger every time they fought.
It seemed as if he wasn't fighting an ordinary strongman, but witnessing the rise of a new genius.
This realization stirred an emotion within Riddle that he rarely experienced.
But he didn't dislike the feeling.
On the contrary, he felt he hadn't been this excited in a long time.
"Interesting." Riddle's lips curled into a smile, his voice even more playful than before. "Very interesting."
"I've never encountered anything like this before."
He took a step back, creating some distance between them. "So, can you do this?"
After he finished speaking, he opened his mouth and let out a series of strange, low hissing sounds.
Immediately, someone in the surrounding group of wizards cried out in alarm.
" Parseltongue!"
"That's Parseltongue! He's speaking Parseltongue!"
A commotion broke out in the crowd, and the faces of several older wizards turned ashen.
Parseltongue is no secret in the Wizarding World; almost everyone knows it's Slytherin's signature ability.
Everyone knows what that means.
The Heir of Slytherin, the mark of the Dark Lord, one of the most ominous talents in a thousand years.
The wizards hiding in the corners immediately felt the tremors beneath their feet.
The stone pavement began to tremble slightly, and small pebbles bounced in the cracks, as if something was moving underground.
At this moment, the group of wizards who were watching suddenly remembered something.
Diagon Alley lies the largest, most complex, and most intricate network of sewers in all of Great Britain.
That system was built hundreds of years ago, originally to drain wastewater from Diagon Alley and the surrounding wizarding quarters, but it gradually expanded into a vast underground labyrinth.
And in those dark and damp places, snakes are the most abundant creatures.
Sure enough, someone looked down at the sewer opening on the side of the street, and then their face turned pale instantly.
A dark mass of snakes emerged from every corner.
From the gaps in the iron railings of the sewers, from the drains in the corners of the walls, from the cracks in the stone slabs, from the gaps under the shop steps.
Snakes of all sizes emerged, including small snakes as thick as a finger, vipers as thick as an arm, and several pythons as thick as a bowl.
They converged from all directions, gliding silently along the stone path, their black tongues flicking, densely surrounding Allen.
The scene sent chills down the spines of everyone present.
The wizards around screamed and backed away, jumping up the steps or climbing onto the shelves, some even riding flying broomsticks and hovering in mid-air.
A victorious smile crept onto Riddle's lips.
He stood at the other end of the fire path, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture composed.
"What about this?" His tone held a confident certainty. "Can you do it too?"
Allen glanced down at the ever-growing number of snakes at his feet.
They had formed a roughly circular shape, trapping him in the middle.
Hundreds of cold, serpentine eyes were fixed on him, their forked tongues flickering in the air as if awaiting a command.
Allen looked up and glanced at Riddle with a strange look in his eyes.
Riddle noticed the complex look in Allen's eyes, causing his smile to freeze slightly.
A bad idea flashed through his mind in an instant.
should...
No way...?
Then Allen's voice came through the mask, carrying an almost helpless smile.
"I actually know how to do that."
After he finished speaking, a series of hissing sounds came from his throat.
The sound was almost identical to the Riddle had just made, but the tone was slightly different, like the same word in two different dialects.
In an instant, the swarm of snakes that had been surrounding Allen all stopped.
They had already formed an offensive formation, with the front rows of snakes even raising their heads, ready to pounce and bite.
But after Allen uttered his Parseltongue, the entire snake swarm's movements seemed to have been paused.
All the snakes stopped in their tracks, their heads swaying from side to side, as if trying to discern the source of the sound, or perhaps trying to determine which was the true command.
For these low-intelligence reptiles, this difference is enough to confuse them.
The snakes began to stir.
The snakes that were originally arranged in an orderly manner began to collide with each other, crawled two steps to the left and then turned to the right, and even coiled up in place and then suddenly unfolded.
They had absolutely no idea which way to go.