Riddle's smile froze for a moment.
He thought that revealing his Parseltongue was the trump card he least needed to hesitate on tonight.
After all, in the known records of the Wizarding World, there has only been one wizard in hundreds of years who could talk to snakes.
But the hissing sound that the guy wearing the fox mask just made was definitely Parseltongue.
That's outrageous.
After the snakes stopped obeying any commands, their period of chaos lasted only a few seconds.
The surging purple flames on both sides of the alley suddenly lunged towards the center, and a giant bird formed of flames spread its wings and swept over the snakes, the heat wave it generated causing the scales of the outermost row of snakes to curl up.
Snakes are cold-blooded animals, and their fear of fire is ingrained in their very bones.
The longest snake, as thick as a bowl, suddenly turned around.
With a sudden flick of its tail, its thick body sprang up from the stone pavement and squeezed into the nearest sewer grate, more than twice as fast as when it had crawled out.
Once the first one appeared, a second one followed, and soon more than a dozen vipers darted toward the drain at the same time, with the smaller snakes, as thick as fingers, squeezing directly into the cracks in the stone slab.
The sight of hundreds of snakes retreating at the same time was even more spectacular than when they had surged out.
The iron fence rattled as the snakes squeezed it, and the water in the drain was churned up into a murky mess. Some snakes were so anxious that they got tangled together and stuck in the same gap, struggling for a long time before they managed to squeeze through.
In less than half a minute, the stone path was spotless.
Not even a single snake scale was left.
Riddle looked down at the empty ground, a slight annoyance on his face.
He slowly raised his head, his blue eyes filled with undisguised surprise, staring directly at the figure in the black trench coat opposite him.
Allen was looking at him too.
The two men gazed at each other across the fireless passage cleaved Fiendfyre; their eyes beneath the purple-striped fox masks were as calm as a still pond.
Riddle had no idea what the masked man opposite him was thinking. He gave Allen a deep look, and his blue eyes suddenly became unfathomable.
The next moment, a faint blue light flashed in his eyes.
[ Legilimency ]!
His spell clashes were suppressed by his opponent, and his Parseltongue was countered with the same tactics, which was indeed somewhat unexpected, but it was just that—unexpected.
He never believed that fighting was merely a contest of magic and words.
The real battlefield that determines victory or defeat is always in your mind.
He has been able to use Legilimency other people's memories.
His experience over a decade told him that there were very few people in the world who could withstand his mental penetration, and this young man in front of him was definitely not among them.
He's too young. A writer—high magical power can be explained, extensive combat experience can be explained, Parseltongue can be a rough explanation, but Occlumency?
That's another matter.
Riddle was somewhat looking forward to what would happen next.
However...
Nothing happened.
His pupils contracted slightly.
Are you kidding me?!
He had never encountered this situation before when he Legilimency.
Even when facing the professors at Hogwarts, he could read their superficial emotions and thoughts without them even noticing.
Those surface-level emotions are the feelings that everyone naturally expresses, but this person seems like a stone, impossible to penetrate.
At that moment, Allen only felt as if something had gently touched his head.
[ Neville's Steadfast Will (Max Level) has taken effect, successfully repelling one instance of mental magic attack.]
Allen paused for a moment.
Mental magic invasion?
He blinked, his gaze refocusing on the blond figure opposite him, where he saw Riddle staring at him with an undisguised stiffness.
Allen then realized that what the other party had just done was Legilimency.
Fortunately, he had Neville's Steadfast Will. At the time, he thought the reward was a bit of a waste, since he didn't plan to confront Voldemort head-on, so the strength of his mental defense didn't seem to matter much.
Looking back now, it was utterly useless.
How about chicken drumsticks?
He quickly suppressed the thought, and his gaze sharpened again.
Riddle was clearly still reeling from the shock he had just experienced.
His gaze was fixed intently on the eyes behind Allen's mask.
"Interesting." Riddle finally spoke, his composure now sounding somewhat forced, though a somewhat unnatural smile still lingered on his lips.
"You're actually a master of Occlumency."
Allen ignored him.
A Blasting Curse shot out Silencio from the tip of the staff, its blue-white light standing out starkly against the backdrop of the purple flames. Riddle's eyes narrowed sharply.
He hastily waved his wand, creating a protective barrier in front of him. The Blasting Curse struck the barrier and exploded, causing it to shake and crack.
Before he could even repair it, the second spell flew towards him, skimming the edge of his barrier.
The Disarming Charm was applied with a tricky angle and precise timing, striking just before he could recharge his magic.
Riddle dodged to the left, and the Disarming Charm flew past the hem of his robe.
But the direction he dodged was exactly where Allen's third spell would land.
The Petrificus Totalus Accio close to the ground, not too fast, but at an extremely insidious angle, perfectly blocking his landing spot.
Riddle had no choice but to abandon his plan to fight back, rolling to the right as his sky-blue robe left a gray stain on the stone pavement.
He had barely stood up when the fourth and fifth incantations arrived.
Once Allen's offensive began, it was like a flood that had burst its banks.
Flitwick's fighting memories and Tom Riddle's seventh-tier magic within him worked together perfectly.
The intervals between each spell were so short that Riddle had no time to organize an effective counterattack.
All he could do was keep dodging, blocking, and retreating.
His defenses were being torn apart by spell after spell, like a piece of cloth being cut by countless knives at the same time, becoming thinner, more fragmented, and closer to collapse every second.
The wizards hiding in the corners were all dumbfounded.
The middle-aged reporter standing behind the collapsed shelves Quick-Quotes Quill so fast it was sparking, and the words he was muttering were completely inaudible.
Several young wizards nearby forgot to breathe, staring wide-eyed at the one-sided domination unfolding in the middle of the alley.
Riddle had never been so thoroughly dominated before.
When he was studying at Hogwarts, he was always the one who cornered others.
This feeling is very unpleasant.
He finally found a very brief respite.
Between Allen's two spells, he mustered all his strength to unleash an Shield Charm in front of him.
The transparent barrier enveloped him completely, temporarily blocking the next wave of attacks. Then he raised his head and looked at Allen through the crumbling barrier.
See you another day, I'm leaving now!
He said this, a very faint smile curving his lips.
As soon as he finished speaking, his body was suddenly lifted off the ground.
It is the Flight Spell.
And it's being pushed to its full potential.
His figure rapidly shrank in mid-air, like a stone launched by a slingshot, rising rapidly towards the outskirts of Diagon Alley.
The purple flames receded further and further beneath his feet, and the screams and crackling sounds were being replaced by the sound of the wind.
Allen watched the figure rapidly receding into the distance and instinctively raised his wand.
Tom Riddle's magic still lingered within him, so the Flight Spell was not difficult for him.
He was about to unleash his magic to catch up.
However, his gaze fell upon another figure rushing towards him from the sky.
It was a figure rapidly approaching from a distance, standing out starkly against the backdrop of purple firelight and deep blue night.
The man wore a deep purple robe, his silver-white beard billowed backward in the air currents, and his crescent-shaped glasses gleamed coldly in the moonlight.
Allen's movements stopped instinctively, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
He silently put away his wand.
Riddle is rising rapidly.
He felt the wind whistling past his ears, felt Diagon Alley below rapidly shrinking in his field of vision, and felt the relief of being about to escape danger.
However, just as his body passed through a thin cloud and was about to leave Diagon Alley completely behind, a strange feeling suddenly seized him.
His entire body seemed to be gripped by an invisible giant hand, every muscle from head to toe firmly nailed into mid-air.
He hovered there, like a butterfly trapped in a specimen box, unable to move even a finger despite the vast sky behind him.
Riddle's pupils contracted sharply.
He slowly raised his head and looked upwards.
His purple robe swayed gently in the wind, his silver beard hung down from his collar, and the blue eyes behind his Half-moon Spectacles were as calm as two bottomless lakes.
Dumbledore hovered above him, watching him quietly.
Where are you planning to go?
" Professor Lockhart... or rather, Tom."