"Wands, Wizards, and Why They're Wrong"
Sheldon Cooper had never quite understood why he was at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was bad enough that, at eleven years old, he had been informed that he was a "wizard" and sent off to a school for magical training, but now, a year later, at the ripe old age of twelve, he still found the entire concept utterly preposterous.
Magic? The very notion was an affront to every scientific principle Sheldon held dear. It violated the laws of thermodynamics, ignored the fundamental principles of causality, and worst of all, it seemed to operate without any discernible logic or method. And yet, here he was, standing on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, surrounded by other students who accepted these impossibilities without question.
The train let out a loud hiss of steam, signaling it was time to board. Sheldon sighed heavily, his displeasure palpable as his mother, Mary Cooper, adjusted his neatly pressed Hogwarts uniform with the usual fuss. "Now, Shelly, be good this year, alright?" Mary's voice was soft with concern. "And please, for the love of God, don't go tellin' your teachers how to do their jobs."
Sheldon rolled his eyes. "Mother, I've already made it clear to them that their methodology is fundamentally flawed. If they wish to ignore reason and continue to instruct students in this so-called magic, that's their prerogative. I, however, will not be swayed by irrational beliefs."
Mary sighed, shaking her head. "Just... try to make some friends this year, will you? That's all I'm askin"
Missy, his twin sister, who had the fortunate luck of not being a witch, snickered beside him. "Yeah, Sheldon, maybe if you actually talk to someone instead of giving them a lecture, you'd have better luck."
Sheldon shot her a withering look. "I prefer to avoid conversations with people who are content with intellectual mediocrity."
Missy rolled her eyes dramatically. "Well, have fun with your wand and wizard stuff, genius. I'll be doing normal things like not turning rats into goblets."
Sheldon ignored her, shifting his focus back to his mother. "If anyone at that school could grasp even basic scientific principles, I might find the experience more tolerable."
Mary leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. "Just keep an open mind, sweetie. Maybe this year will be different. Remember, God gave you this gift for a reason."
Sheldon scoffed under his breath. "That remains to be seen."
From a few steps away, Georgie, his older brother, leaned casually against a pillar, arms crossed. He had been silently observing the whole exchange with a faint, amused smirk. Finally, he spoke up, "I still don't get how you, outta all of us, ended up with magic powers. Seems like the universe's idea of a joke."
Sheldon's eyes narrowed. "Magic powers is a gross oversimplification of the phenomenon. It's not unlike a system of force manipulation—except, of course, that none of it is empirically observable or testable by any scientific method. It defies logic, reason, and everything I hold dear about the natural world."
George Sr., standing next to Georgie, let out a chuckle, adjusting his hat as he gave Sheldon a firm pat on the shoulder. "Well, I don't understand any of it, but I'm proud of you, son. You're out there doing something special, and that's somethin'. You keep workin' hard, ya hear?"
Sheldon blinked, caught off guard by the rare moment of encouragement from his father. "Yes, well, the concept of working hard is subjective. I find my efforts go largely unappreciated by my peers and professors alike. It's not my fault if they don't comprehend the scientific implications of their... antics."
George Sr. smiled. "That's my boy. Always the smartest guy in the room." He glanced at the train, the whistle blowing once again. "You better get goin', son. Don't wanna miss your train."
Mary wiped a tear from her eye, her voice soft as she watched her youngest son prepare to leave. "You be good now, Shelly. Call us if you need anything—well, write, or however y'all do it there."
"I'll write when absolutely necessary, Mother," Sheldon said, his voice tinged with his usual condescension. "Given the state of their technology, I assume I'll have to use owls. A baffling choice of communication, but consistent with their rejection of modern innovation."
With one final glance at his family, Sheldon squared his shoulders, determined to maintain his composure despite the absurdity of his circumstances. He picked up his suitcase and, with a sigh, turned toward the train.
Missy called after him, unable to resist a parting jab. "Don't forget to cast a spell to make yourself less annoying!"
Sheldon shot her a sharp glance. "I'm afraid there isn't a charm powerful enough to diminish your ignorance, Missy."
Before Missy could retort, Georgie, with a grin, gave him a wave. "See ya next summer, wizard boy."
Sheldon huffed, adjusting his grip on his suitcase. Without another word, he turned on his heel and marched toward the train. The whistle let out one final blow, and as he stepped aboard, the familiar chatter of students filled the air.
The doors slid shut behind him, and with a low rumble, the Hogwarts Express began to pull away from the platform.
Sheldon Cooper tuned out the noise of the train and the chatter of other students. He had managed to find an empty compartment—a rare blessing on the Hogwarts Express—and he intended to make the most of it. Perhaps this year, he thought, he could make some headway in his research and finally prove that what the wizarding world called "magic" was nothing more than a yet-to-be-understood branch of science.
Settling down with his copy of The Elegant Universe by Brian Greene, Sheldon felt a sense of relief wash over him. Here, in the familiar world of theoretical physics, he found comfort. String theory, multidimensional space, quantum mechanics—concepts that adhered to logic, reason, and mathematical certainty. These were his sanctuaries, far removed from the chaos and unpredictability of magic.
Yet, as he read, his thoughts kept drifting back to Hogwarts. Sheldon had spent his first year not just learning spells, charms, or potions, but questioning why the wizarding world clung so desperately to their unscientific methods. They wielded wands with all the solemnity of a religious ritual, muttering incantations in Latin as if words alone could bend the fabric of reality.
It was nonsense. Of course, magic was a form of science. The problem was that no one seemed interested in proving it.
Recalling his first few weeks at Hogwarts, he remembered being sorted into Ravenclaw, a house known for its emphasis on knowledge and wisdom. Sheldon thought this placement was at least somewhat appropriate. Yet even among his housemates, he found himself an outsider, the only one who openly questioned the legitimacy of magic.
During one of their first Potions classes, he had dared to raise his hand and question Professor Snape.
"Professor Snape," Sheldon had begun, his hand shooting up before the potions master had even finished explaining the day's lesson, "If this potion supposedly causes invisibility, then wouldn't it be prudent to first analyze the molecular structure of the ingredients to understand which compound is acting as the primary agent? Perhaps conduct a double-blind experiment to determine the—"
Snape had cut him off with a withering glare. "Mr. Cooper, you will find that our methods here are… different. If you are so insistent on using 'Muggle science' to explain magic, I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself."
That was the polite version of Snape's response. The real version involved an insult or two about his "Muggle-born arrogance," followed by a demonstration of exactly what happened when one defied the Potions Master's authority. Sheldon had left the dungeon more determined than ever to prove Snape wrong.
His first year had been filled with similar encounters. Professor McGonagall had been less hostile but equally dismissive. "Mr. Cooper," she had replied with a voice as sharp as a whip, "while I appreciate your enthusiasm for understanding, I would advise you to focus on mastering the spell as it is taught. Transfiguration is a complex and delicate branch of magic that requires precise control and concentration. Theories can wait until you've successfully turned a matchstick into a needle."
Sheldon had not been deterred by her words. If anything, they had strengthened his resolve. He had spent the rest of the year conducting his own experiments in secret, using his wand (a most perplexing tool that seemed to defy all known laws of physics) to try and quantify the energy output of various spells. He had measured the heat emitted by a Lumos charm, calculated the force necessary to levitate a feather with a Wingardium Leviosa. But the results had only left him more frustrated. Nothing seemed to align with any known physical law.
The Lumos charm, for instance, produced light without any discernible source of energy. The heat was minimal, inconsistent, and seemed to vary not just with the incantation, but also with his mood and concentration level. How could that be?
The Wingardium Leviosa experiments were even more baffling. He had tried to calculate the force required to lift a feather by measuring the feather's mass and comparing it to the height and duration of levitation. However, his calculations kept returning nonsensical results. The force required didn't match the energy he thought he was expending. In fact, sometimes it seemed that less effort on his part resulted in a more powerful effect. The equations simply refused to balance; the numbers danced in ways that defied every scientific principle he knew.
He had tried varying his wand movements, adjusting his grip, and even practicing in different atmospheric conditions. Nothing made sense. One day, he had managed to lift the feather with what he was sure was only half the usual force, but the next day, the same effort had no effect at all.
He had even attempted to chart the fluctuations, taking notes on everything from the ambient temperature in the room to the time of day. Still, the data remained frustratingly inconsistent. The only pattern he could discern was a troubling one: spells seemed more effective when he stopped trying to analyze them so intensely.
This particular finding drove him nearly mad. How could thinking less make a spell work better? It was as if magic was deliberately mocking him, challenging his belief in a rational universe governed by immutable laws.
Still, he refused to give up. After all, as his idol Richard Feynman once said, "I would rather have questions that can't be answered than answers that can't be questioned."
Determined, Sheldon continued to immerse himself in his book. So engrossed was he that he didn't hear the compartment door slide open. It wasn't until a shadow fell across his page that he glanced up, his eyebrows furrowing in irritation.
A bushy-haired girl stood in the doorway, looking slightly out of breath and clutching a large stack of textbooks. "Excuse me, but all the other compartments are full. Mind if I sit here?"
Sheldon immediately sized her up. This was the kind of situation he despised—an interruption in his peaceful solitude by someone who, no doubt, would proceed to engage in trivial conversation. "Yes, I do mind," he said flatly. "I was enjoying a moment of quiet intellectual reflection."
The girl frowned, clearly not used to being dismissed so rudely. "I'll only be a minute, I just need somewhere to sit and finish some reading." Without waiting for his permission, she slid the door open further and sat down across from him, balancing her books on her lap.
Sheldon sighed audibly, closing his copy of The Elegant Universe with exaggerated precision. "Your inability to take social cues is noted," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "However, I would prefer to avoid idle chit-chat or, frankly, any interaction whatsoever."
The girl gave him a sharp look, clearly offended but refusing to back down. "I wasn't planning on chatting. I have work to do." She opened one of her textbooks, flipping through the pages with a kind of efficiency that Sheldon grudgingly found respectable.
The silence between them was tense. Sheldon could feel his irritation bubbling under the surface. Who did this girl think she was, barging into his space uninvited and pretending to be as intellectually driven as he was? She was probably one of those students who liked to appear smart by reading textbooks in public. He'd seen it a thousand times before.
After a few minutes, however, Sheldon's curiosity got the better of him. He glanced over at the cover of the book she was reading—A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot.
"Why," he began, unable to stop himself, "are you reading something as objectively ridiculous as A History of Magic?"
The girl looked up from her book, her brow furrowed. "Because it's part of our curriculum. You do realize you're at Hogwarts, right? History of Magic is one of our core subjects."
Sheldon rolled his eyes. "I'm well aware of that, thank you. What I'm not aware of is how anyone with a semblance of intelligence could possibly consider magical history to be worthy of serious study. It's like taking a class on fairy tales."
Her eyes narrowed. "You think magic isn't worthy of study? Then what are you even doing at Hogwarts? Magic is real, whether you like it or not."
"Just because something exists doesn't mean it should be accepted at face value," Sheldon retorted. "The so-called magic you all revere is nothing more than an unquantifiable force that defies the laws of physics. I'm only here because my mother insists on it. Believe me, I'd much rather be at Caltech, where the professors actually understand how the universe works."
The girl's face flushed with indignation. "That's absurd! Magic has its own set of rules and principles that we study and apply, just like any other discipline. Just because you don't understand it doesn't mean it's not real. Maybe if you actually paid attention in class, you'd see that!"
Sheldon gave her a scathing look. "I pay more attention than anyone in that classroom. The problem is that what's being taught is absolute nonsense. If the professors would just admit that magic is a form of undiscovered science, we might get somewhere. But no, they insist on treating it like some mystical, unknowable force, as if we should just accept its inconsistencies and move on."
The girl looked at Sheldon as if he had just said the most offensive thing possible. "Undiscovered science? Magic has been studied for centuries! Wizards have refined spells, potions, and magical creatures for millennia. You can't just brush it off because you don't understand it."
Sheldon folded his arms and gave her a smug smile. "I understand perfectly well. You see, what you call 'magic' operates outside of observable scientific laws, but that doesn't mean it's some supernatural force. It just means you haven't tried to explain it scientifically."
She glared at him, now even more determined to prove him wrong. "Magic has rules. Charms, Transfiguration, Potions—they all require precision. If you mispronounce a spell, it won't work. If you brew a potion incorrectly, it can be dangerous. How is that not a system of rules, just like science?"
Sheldon leaned forward, ready to tear her argument apart. "Mispronouncing a spell and having it fail? That's nothing but the equivalent of an input-output error in a computational system. What you call precision is just the calibration of a system. But where are the mechanisms? Where's the data? Where's the peer-reviewed research to back any of it up?"
Her eyes flashed with frustration. "Magic isn't the same as science. You can't apply the same methods to everything."
"And why not?" Sheldon replied, his tone patronizing. "If something exists in the physical world, it can be tested, measured, and explained. If it can't, it's either fictional or poorly understood. Take your beloved History of Magic, for example. It's full of unverifiable accounts. No experiments, no evidence—just stories."
The girl's patience seemed to snap. "Magic is real, and it's more than just science! Maybe if you stop being so close-minded, you'd realize that not everything fits into your neat little boxes!"
Her face flushed with frustration, she slammed her book shut, stood abruptly, and marched toward the door, her footsteps sharp on the floor.
Sheldon watched her retreat with a raised eyebrow, entirely unfazed. As she slid the compartment door open, she cast one final glare at him before disappearing into the crowded corridor without another word. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Sheldon in the stillness of the compartment.
He shook his head, muttering under his breath, "Close-minded? Hardly." With a sigh, he settled back into his seat, opening The Elegant Universe again, eager to lose himself in the comforting logic of theoretical physics.
The rhythmic chugging of the train and the rolling countryside outside the window soon lulled Sheldon into a state of deep concentration. The girl's outburst was already fading from his mind, replaced by thoughts of string theory and quantum mechanics. He silently marveled at how anyone could be so resistant to scientific inquiry, dismissing magic as something beyond the realm of logical explanation.
After what felt like only moments, the train began to slow, signaling their arrival at Hogsmeade Station. Sheldon glanced up, frowning at the sight of students excitedly milling about on the platform. With a slight sigh, he closed The Elegant Universe and tucked it neatly into his luggage, ensuring everything was in its proper place. He stood, straightened his uniform, and with a final glance around the compartment, took hold of his suitcase.
Sheldon slid the compartment door open, only to be greeted by a loud, booming voice echoing from outside, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
Sheldon ignored the noise as he made his way through the crowded corridor. The train's windows were fogging from the cool evening air, and he could see the dark outline of the castle in the distance, towering ominously over the landscape. He had to admit, there was something impressive about Hogwarts, even if it was rooted in a world of irrationality.
Once off the train, Sheldon moved swiftly, avoiding the usual chaos of students reuniting with friends or searching for their housemates. He preferred to keep to himself. As he boarded one of the carriages, pulled by invisible creatures he had learned were called Thestrals—though he had never seen them—he mentally prepared for another year of dealing with the absurdities of magical education.
While the carriage bumped along the path toward Hogwarts Castle, Sheldon allowed himself a brief moment of reflection. Despite his disdain for the magical world, he couldn't deny that it had, in some strange way, become part of his life. It was an infuriatingly unscientific place, but it was also… interesting. The girl he'd argued with on the train, though clearly misguided, had shown a fierce passion for her studies, and part of Sheldon—though he would never admit it—couldn't help but appreciate that.
The castle loomed larger as they approached, its many towers and turrets casting long shadows in the moonlight. Sheldon knew the year ahead would be filled with frustrations—more nonsensical classes, incomprehensible traditions, and peers who accepted magical phenomena without question. But it would also be another opportunity to challenge those very beliefs, to dissect this so-called "magic" and perhaps—just perhaps—begin to unravel its mysteries with the precision of scientific inquiry.
When the carriage came to a halt in front of the grand entrance, Sheldon stepped out, pulling his suitcase behind him. He glanced up at the towering structure before him, his expression resolute.
"Let the year begin," he muttered to himself as he walked up the steps, already formulating a plan to prove, once and for all, that magic was nothing more than an undiscovered branch of science.
Non Canon Omake: "Sheldon Cooper, Muggle Science, and a Very Upset Dark Lord"
Sheldon Cooper walked briskly through the dimly lit hallways of Hogwarts, his robes swishing with every hurried step. It was nearing curfew, and he had stayed later than intended in the library, lost in a particularly fascinating book on the theoretical principles behind magical transfiguration. His mind was buzzing with questions, as it often was. The deeper he delved into the magical world, the more baffled he became by the general lack of empirical thought among wizards.
"Honestly," he muttered to himself, adjusting the strap of his satchel, "they don't even bother to explain how any of this works. It's all 'magic' this and 'spell' that. There must be some deeper, underlying principles they're just too lazy to uncover."
As Sheldon rounded a corner, his eyes scanned the floor out of habit, cataloging every detail. Something caught his attention—a small, unassuming book lying in the middle of the hallway. He stopped abruptly, narrowing his eyes. It was peculiar for a book to be left unattended in a school where enchanted objects were known to roam freely.
"Now, what's this?" he murmured, stooping to pick it up.
The book was small and black, with a worn leather cover. No title or inscription gave away its contents, and there was no sign of the owner. Sheldon glanced around the corridor. It was empty, the torches on the walls flickering softly in their sconces. There was no one around to claim it.
He flipped it open.
Blank pages. Every single one of them, stark white and devoid of any writing. Sheldon's frown deepened. "Curious," he muttered. "Why would someone carry around a blank book?"
His mind began to race with possibilities. Perhaps it was some sort of secret journal that revealed its writing under the correct conditions. Perhaps it was an invisible ink spell—rudimentary, yet effective. Or maybe this was a magical artifact that contained hidden knowledge, waiting for the right person to unlock its mysteries.
Sheldon straightened up, slipping the book into his satchel. "If no one's here to claim it, I suppose it's fair game," he said, his voice echoing faintly off the stone walls.
Later that night, Sheldon sat on the edge of his four-poster bed in the Ravenclaw tower, the curtains drawn around him for privacy. The room was silent except for the crackle of the fire and the occasional soft breathing of his sleeping housemates. He pulled out the black book, his curiosity still piqued.
"Let's see if you're more than just an ordinary blank book," he mused. But the pages remained stubbornly empty, as they had been before.
Retrieving a quill and inkpot from his bedside table, he dipped the quill and wrote on the first page: "Hello. My name is Sheldon Cooper. Who are you?"
For a moment, nothing happened. Sheldon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Well, that was anticlimactic."
But then, as if responding to his skepticism, ink began to bleed onto the page in elegant cursive.
"Hello, Sheldon. My name is Tom Riddle."
Sheldon's eyes widened. "Fascinating! An interactive diary. But how? Is it using some form of enchanted ink? Or perhaps there's a magical connection to a sentient being trapped within the book?"
Before he could continue his line of thought, more words appeared.
"Tell me, Sheldon... are you a student at Hogwarts?"
"Yes," Sheldon responded aloud, as he quickly scribbled back into the diary. "Second year. Ravenclaw."
The ink swirled across the page again.
"Ah, Ravenclaw. A house known for intelligence. You must be quite talented. Have you enjoyed your time at Hogwarts so far?"
"Enjoyed? Hardly," Sheldon muttered as he wrote. "The lack of structured scientific methodology in the teaching of magic is appalling. They don't even address the laws governing the conservation of energy in relation to spell casting. It's absurd."
There was a long pause. The ink took a moment longer than usual to respond.
"I... see. You're a Muggle-born, then?"
Sheldon frowned as he scribbled back. "Yes, but I find wizarding distinctions irrelevant. What matters is rational thought. For instance, why does a levitation spell work on some objects but not others? Is there a weight limit? A material dependency? Has anyone tried casting it in a vacuum? And don't get me started on the lack of peer-reviewed journals in this so-called magical community."
The diary remained silent for several moments. Then, the ink began to flow again, a little less gracefully than before.
"Sheldon... magic does not adhere to the same rules as your... Muggle science. It is a power beyond such trivialities."
Sheldon scoffed as he wrote. "That's a lazy answer. If magic exists outside the known laws of physics, then you simply haven't studied it properly. There must be a quantifiable explanation for what you call 'magic.'"
Another pause. This time, the ink appeared more quickly, the letters sharper.
"You question much, don't you? Magic is an ancient force, shaped by willpower and intent. It is not something to be dissected in a laboratory."
Sheldon smirked. "That's exactly what people said about electricity in the 19th century." He dipped his quill again. "Magic shaped by intent, you say? Fine. But intent must involve some form of energy transfer. Where does that energy come from? Surely it isn't spontaneous."
Tom's next response seemed more hurried, the letters less neat.
"Why does that matter? Magic is a gift, a tool to be used. It is not for Muggle-borns to question its origins."
Sheldon leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "Defensive, are we?" He wrote back. "Your reluctance to provide answers suggests a lack of understanding on your part. If you can't explain it, then you're no different from the other wizards who blindly accept the world around them without seeking to comprehend it."
Tom's reply came almost instantly, the letters slashing across the page.
"I understand more than you could possibly imagine, you insolent child!"
Sheldon tilted his head, intrigued by the sudden shift in tone. "Really? Then enlighten me. Explain how you, Tom Riddle, came to understand magic so thoroughly. I've yet to meet a wizard who can provide answers to even the most basic questions."
The ink seethed on the page. "Magic," Tom Riddle wrote, the letters practically gouging into the page, "is not some pathetic schoolboy puzzle to be solved. It is power, sheer will incarnate. It transcends your Muggle theories, your petty laws of nature. I have mastered it in ways you will never comprehend."
Sheldon's eyebrows shot up, and he gave a bemused chuckle. "Transcends? That sounds like something people say when they've run out of explanations. And frankly, it's a poor excuse for a proper discussion. How does magic bypass the fundamental laws of the universe, exactly? Where does the energy for a spell like 'Lumos' come from? Are we talking about some kind of latent energy stored in the wand, or perhaps the magical core inside the wizard?"
Tom's next words erupted onto the page, jagged and angry.
"IT'S MAGIC! MAGIC, YOU INSUFFERABLE MUGGLE!"
Sheldon blinked at the page, unperturbed by the outburst. He calmly dipped his quill back into the ink and wrote, "That's circular reasoning, Tom. Saying 'It's magic' is like saying 'It's because I said so.' It's a non-answer. Now, if you're claiming magic operates outside the physical universe, perhaps in an alternate dimension, that's interesting. I would then ask if magical energy is subject to the same thermodynamic principles as dark matter or—"
Tom's response cut across the page violently.
"ENOUGH! Magic isn't bound by your pathetic Muggle science! I am the greatest sorcerer who has ever lived. I have unlocked secrets far beyond the reach of mortal minds. I am Lord Voldemort!"
Sheldon's eyes widened at the name, though not for the reason one might expect. "Voldemort? That's a terrible name for someone claiming to be a genius. First of all, it lacks any gravitas. If you're going to choose a pseudonym, at least make it sound more intimidating. Why not something more scientifically inspired, like 'Quantumus Dominus'? It rolls off the tongue and—"
The ink exploded onto the page in a flurry of rage.
"IT MEANS 'FLIGHT FROM DEATH,' YOU FOOL! I HAVE CONQUERED DEATH! DO YOU THINK I NEED YOUR ADVICE ON NAMES?!"
Sheldon frowned slightly, considering the information. "Flight from death, you say? Interesting. So you've achieved immortality through magical means. But, of course, we know that death is just a biological process—the cessation of cellular activity. How did you bypass cellular decay? Are we talking about suspended animation, or have you somehow mastered genetic manipulation?"
The words that appeared next were scribbled in frantic, jagged strokes.
"STOP ASKING QUESTIONS!"
Sheldon tilted his head, unfazed. "It's a valid inquiry. Immortality is a fascinating concept. Are you sure it's not reversible?"
"YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND! YOU'RE A MUGGLE-BORN WHO KNOWS NOTHING!"
Sheldon raised an eyebrow, then wrote, "Interesting. Deflecting again. You seem awfully defensive about this. You know, that's often a sign of insecurity in one's knowledge base."
The diary's ink exploded in a furious swirl, filling the page.
"ENOUGH! I AM LORD VOLDEMORT, THE GREATEST WIZARD WHO HAS EVER LIVED! YOUR PATHETIC SCIENCE MEANS NOTHING!"
Sheldon smirked as he wrote, "Your hostility is telling. It suggests that you haven't thought through the finer details of your immortality. Typical of wizards—relying on magic without understanding the science behind it."
The ink began to fade in and out, as if Riddle were struggling to contain his fury.
"YOU... WILL... NEVER... UNDERSTAND!"
Sheldon sighed, closing the diary with a calm finality. "You know, for someone who claims to be the greatest wizard, you're surprisingly fragile when faced with basic logic. If you want to chat again, I'll be here. I have so many more questions."
Somewhere in the depths of the diary, Tom Riddle screamed into the void, utterly defeated by the one force he had never anticipated: relentless, unyielding scientific inquiry.
