Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

Ron’s whole body was trembling. He staggered back, his face ghostly pale.

“V-Vold —” His voice cracked. “You’re Tom Riddle!”

Ron was all too familiar with the Tom Riddle before him. He had spent more than half of his nightmarish second year dealing with him.

In the end, he had even been controlled by him to release the Basilisk and do so many horrible things.

In some ways, Tom Riddle was even more terrifying than Voldemort.

“You know me? It seems you’ve come into contact with other versions of me,” said Riddle, sizing Ron up. “Not surprisingly, I felt the power of my original self. You came into contact with him not long ago, and the magic he left in you awakened me.”

“A-awakened…” Ron stammered.

“Yes, it was in this place, exactly four years ago, that I entered your body, but I have never been able to contact you. During those long years, I couldn’t get any replenishment, I was very weak, and the magic power of the Philosopher’s Stone left by Gryffindor was far beyond my imagination. I couldn’t control it and draw its power. I became weaker and weaker, and lost all my strength. I thought that one day I would disappear like this. I have to admit that my original idea was a bit risky. I relied on just one magic to control the Philosopher’s Stone, but I failed until I met you! It wasn’t until my original body gave me magic power again that I had the opportunity to appear.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about!”

“You are too weak. You can’t even feel a magic entering your body,” said Riddle slowly, a curl of a smile on his lips. “Pathetic. But I can help you. I can help you gain power, help you understand all of this. Now, tell me your name.”

“R-Ron Weasley,” Ron hadn’t wanted to answer, but under Riddle’s gaze, he found himself speaking uncontrollably.

“A Weasley, so you’re a pureblood. Excellent! I hate Mudbloods!” said Riddle slowly, a glint of greed in his eyes. “Purebloods are supposed to be nobler than Muggles and Mudbloods. We are born superior, Ron! Don’t you agree with me? You’re fortunate, as a pureblood, to have been chosen by the great Lord Voldemort! What do you desire? I can give you power, authority, wealth beyond your imagination. Whatever you desire, I can satisfy you.”

“No, no, Get away from me! I don’t want anything from you! You won’t tempt me!” Ron shouted, swinging his wand, a flash of red light shooting past.

Riddle waved his hand lightly and effortlessly dissolved the spell.

“Pathetic spell! Is this your power? You’ll come to agree, Ron. I can see into your heart. You resent being ordinary. Only I can help you.”

“Get away, Riddle! You can’t tempt me again! I know what you are — you’re a Horcrux!”

“This is a bit of a surprise — you actually know about Horcruxes!” said Riddle.

“I know everything. You can’t fool me this time. I won’t fall for it again!” Ron cast another spell.

The spell hit Riddle, but did not cause him any harm.

“Your clever little spells are empty — they hold no real power,” said Riddle, moving toward Ron with calm, measured steps. “You don’t understand what true power is, just as you don’t truly grasp what a Horcrux is. A Horcrux can grant immortality. Imagine it, Ron — how fascinating. Do you want eternal life, Ron?”

“No, don’t come any closer!” Ron backed away.

“Don’t lie to me, Ron. Your heart betrays you. You crave power, you long for immortality, you want to rise above the rest and achieve greatness. I can help you, and only I can. Without my help, you will never achieve these things.” Riddle’s voice was filled with bewitching temptation. “Don’t let your ridiculous prejudice deceive you. There is no hatred between you and me. I am here to help you. Face your desires, Ron, and say out loud that you want these things. Come, Ron, merge with me, and you will become the great Lord Voldemort’s Horcrux, a unique Horcrux, and you will achieve immortality.”

“Aah, what are you?” Ron felt like he was collapsing, driven to the edge of madness.

“I am Lord Voldemort’s soul, a soul that has detached from the main soul. Only when it finds a vessel can it be called a true Horcrux. Now I have found it, and that vessel is you! This is your chance, Ron. Surrender to me, and we will become one. You and Lord Voldemort will become one.”

“No!” The pressure around Ron mounted, crushing from all sides. The temple, the mountain of corpses, Riddle’s sneering face — all of it warped and writhed before his eyes.

They twisted and shrieked, blending with Ron’s own cries, until the whole world seemed plunged into madness.

“No, no, get away, GET AWAY!” Ron suddenly roared, his face twisted, as he flailed his wand wildly, blasting spells.

“You will accept me, Ron. Only I can help you. And you will help me gain power beyond anything the world has ever imagined.”

“No!”

Ron awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. Staring blankly ahead, he remembered having a terrible, terrible nightmare.

But he couldn’t remember the details!

He only knew the horror of it. The monster in the dream —

No one saw the Dark Mark flicker at the nape of his neck before it vanished.

Three days had passed since the transfer operation.

During these days, members of the Order of the Phoenix had been in and out of the Burrow, passing along news.

They had taken Mad-Eye Moody out to seek the help of a professional healer.

Ron woke up late the following night. He seemed badly shaken by what had happened, crying out and shouting until he finally calmed down enough to tell everyone that he had had a long, terrifying nightmare. But he couldn’t recall its contents. He kept dwelling on it, so frightened that he didn’t even dare to sleep.

Evan wasn’t sure if this was the result of some magical influence — ordinary people, after all, could become like this after a severe fright.

What he was certain of, however, was that no Dark Magic such as the Imperius Curse was affecting Ron.

Poor Ron. The healer’s advice was that he should rest more and not suffer any further shocks in the short term.

Evan, Harry, and Hermione tried their best to stay with him as much as possible. After a few days, he finally recovered, though he would still sometimes lapse into gloomy, vacant stares.

His mood had turned very low, and Harry too was weighed down with guilt and grief — he had been blaming himself for what had happened to Moody, Ron, and George.

Even with Bill and Fleur’s wedding drawing ever closer, a strange atmosphere still hung over the Burrow.

After that night, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had all vanished again. No one knew what they were plotting.

It was a quiet that felt wrong, a stillness steeped in unease — like the silence before a storm, with a heavy pressure in the air that made it hard to breathe.

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