Early Saturday morning, Rowan Mercer went alone into the Forbidden Forest.
After confirming through his psychic sense that no other witches or wizards were nearby, he finally took Voldemort's diary out of his spatial storage for the first time. He placed it on a fallen log, opened it, and picked up a quill.
Hello. My name is Rowan.
The ink vanished the moment it touched the page.
Nearly twenty seconds passed before new words slowly surfaced.
Hello, Rowan. My name is Tom Riddle.
How did you come into possession of my diary?
The fragment of Voldemort that existed within the diary was, for the first time, genuinely confused.
He had been so close. Ginny Weasley had trusted him completely. With just a few more entries, he could have seized her body and returned to the world of the living. And now, somehow, the diary had ended up in the hands of a Slytherin first-year.
Rowan continued writing, calm and deliberate.
I know who you are. Lord Voldemort. I took you from Ginny.
This time, the pause was longer. Thirty seconds.
How do you know my identity?
I read. A lot. Your real name isn't exactly a secret if you know where to look.
Then why didn't you hand me over to Dumbledore?
Rowan didn't hesitate.
Because I want power. I want to become strong enough that no one can ever look down on me again.
The diary seemed to warm slightly beneath his fingers.
Then we are alike, Riddle replied. I can give you power. But first, you must return me to Ginny.
Rowan smiled faintly and wrote back.
That's no longer possible. Ginny confessed everything. The professors used Parseltongue to open the Chamber. The basilisk is dead.
She's useless to you now.
This time, the diary remained silent for a full minute.
Finally, new words appeared.
What magic do you wish to learn?
The sixteen-year-old Voldemort had no choice but to adapt. His original plan had collapsed completely. Ginny was gone, the basilisk destroyed, and returning to her would only lead straight to Dumbledore.
The boy in front of him, however, was different. More talented. More ambitious. And, crucially, fully aware of who he was yet unwilling to turn him in.
If he could win Rowan's trust and eventually take his body instead, the result might be even better than Ginny.
Rowan wrote plainly.
I've studied the three Unforgivable Curses and Fiendfyre from the Restricted Section. My progress is slow. I want your guidance.
Both of them were lying.
Riddle believed he was grooming a successor. Rowan knew he was draining a resource.
Rowan's mind was fully shielded, light-based purification magic held ready at all times. Even controlling Ginny had taken Voldemort a year. Influencing Rowan was never going to happen.
Once he had taken everything useful from this fragment, a basilisk fang would finish the matter.
Of course, Riddle replied smoothly. I will teach you. I will make you as powerful as I am.
As long as you teach me, Rowan answered, I'll make sure you're rewarded.
Promises were exchanged. Futures were painted in gold.
Neither of them believed a word of it.
From that day on, Rowan added one more secret to his routine. Alongside classes and training, he began meeting the diary in the Forbidden Forest to study dark magic under Voldemort's guidance.
And to his credit, Voldemort truly was a master. Even as a sixteen-year-old echo, his understanding of dark magic was terrifyingly deep. Rowan's progress accelerated at an alarming rate.
What Riddle didn't realize was that the faster Rowan learned, the closer he came to his own end.
At the same time, in another world entirely, an unexpected visitor arrived near the mutant school.
Natasha Romanoff jogged past the location for the fourth time, dressed in plain athletic wear, her expression sharpening with each pass.
"That's strange," she muttered.
According to every map, satellite image, and intelligence report, the school should have been right there. A large, unmistakable estate.
Instead, there was nothing.
After weeks of investigation under Nick Fury's orders, she had narrowed Rowan Mercer and Wolverine's activities to this location. Surveillance footage had caught them nearby more than once. Logically and emotionally, it made sense as a hiding place.
And yet the building simply… didn't exist.
"That only confirms it," Natasha said quietly.
A concealment powerful enough to fool her on repeated passes wasn't an accident. It was deliberate. And it reeked of mutant abilities.
She decided not to linger. S.H.I.E.L.D. had tools for this sort of thing. If magic or powers were involved, technology could still find a way in.
What she didn't know was that just beyond her vision, inside the hidden school grounds, Rowan Mercer stood calmly watching her jog past once again, curiosity flickering in his eyes.