Cater's smile falls as the sentiment sends a shock through him. Never, not since the moment that they met, when he was still Housewarden and Riddle was the freshman upstart with a heart painted on his face, had Cater ever heard him speak in such a way.

He stands, approaching and putting his hands on Riddle's shoulders, squeezing firmly. There isn't a trace of humor in his expression.

"You don't mean that."

Riddle couldn't mean that. It wasn't him. It was the phantom--the blot inside of him--traces that still clung to his back and whispered terrible things into his ear. Cater recognized the sound...but Riddle was stronger than him. Riddle could cut the heads off of his demons. Cater wouldn't let him lay down and let himself be swallowed.

"You're twice the Housewarden I ever was--ever could have been. Your Overblot doesn't change that."