Barrett collapsed to his knees before the figure—before Voldemort, or what he believed to be him. His entire body trembled, hands shaking at his sides. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked up at the swirling, smoky visage of the Dark Lord.
"G-Great… Great Dark Lord," he choked out, his voice cracking with desperation. "Please forgive me—please! I truly worship you, I believe in you! I was… I was confused for a moment, that's all. Please, have mercy. Let me serve you. Let me live and die for you… I beg you… forgive me!"
The black figure stood still for a long, dreadful second. Then came the voice—soft, cold, and terrifyingly composed.
"Forgive you? But of course…"
A pause. The tone shifted—silken and sinister.
"…But first, you must prove yourself worthy of serving me."
The figure leaned in slightly, its gaze boring into Barrett's soul.
"I know of your desires. I see everything. You want three half-bloods and a squib-born boy removed from Slytherin. You think they dilute the bloodline, stain the House with weakness."
A chilling smile curled on the illusion's lips.
"So prove it. Remove them."
Barrett's breath caught in his throat.
"Kill them," Voldemort whispered. "Erase them from existence, and show me that your loyalty is more than trembling words and false banners."
The black smoke began to rise, coiling tightly around the figure as its form began to dissolve.
"I will return one week from now," the voice echoed, fading. "When I do… I expect to see your task complete."
With a final swirl of shadow, the image of Voldemort vanished, sucked into the air like a ghost fading into the void.
----------
The next morning, Sean immediately noticed the change.
Barrett was watching him.
His gaze lingered a second too long, sharp and uncertain.
But Sean, feigning ignorance, acted as though nothing was amiss. He attended classes as usual, chatted with friends, and went about his day with practiced normalcy.
He knew Barrett wouldn't act rashly—not inside Hogwarts, not without a plan. Barrett had not yet been cornered, and his self-preservation instincts would keep him from doing anything reckless without the right setup.
But Sean had already planted the bait.
Just earlier that morning, as he, Andy, and Blaise passed Barrett in the corridor, they'd spoken deliberately within earshot—casually mentioning their plan to use Polyjuice Potion to sneak into Hogsmeade on Saturday. It was the perfect setup. A tempting opportunity. One that Barrett, now under pressure to fulfill the Dark Lord's "command" within a week, could hardly afford to ignore.
The clock was ticking.
Sean had crafted yesterday's encounter with care. The dramatic illusion, the manipulation of Barrett's fear, the cold command—it had all been designed for a single purpose: to force Barrett's hand.
Now, with the likely day and place of attack in sight, Sean could begin preparing the real trap. Everything was unfolding exactly as planned.
All he had to do now was wait for Barrett to take the bait.
For Marwood, maintaining control over so many under the Imperius Curse was growing more difficult by the day. The strain was beginning to show—too many minds, too many wills. It was time to start cutting away the weaker links. Those who showed resistance to the curse would be the first to go. If they happened to die alongside Barrett's intended targets, so much the better. If not, they'd serve well enough as scapegoats.
With the Ministry's Aurors cracking down hard in recent years on anyone impersonating the Dark Lord to justify dark deeds, loose ends were dangerous.
Meanwhile, Sean had already made his decision about the diary. He wouldn't discard it carelessly—it had served its purpose well. But its story wasn't finished yet. He had already chosen the next "heir" to inherit the burden it carried.
---------------
Quidditch season had cast a festive mood across Hogwarts. The usual tension was washed away by House spirit and roaring cheers. It was the perfect cover.
In a shadowed corridor, Barrett gathered his small circle.
"I've confirmed it," he said in a low voice, eyes glinting with urgency. "The targets are planning to leave Hogwarts for Hogsmeade this Saturday. We'll follow them… and eliminate them one by one."
"Saturday?" one of them echoed in surprise.
Barrett glanced briefly at Dickey. He hadn't told him about his encounter with the Dark Lord. Part of it was secrecy—he wasn't ready for the others to know he had been chosen. But another part… was pride. He didn't want to give Dickey a chance to compete for the Dark Lord's favor.
In his mind, Barrett had already accepted the truth.
Voldemort had returned.
After all, at this point in time, Hogwarts harbored not only the mysterious heir of Slytherin who had unleashed the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets—but also, reportedly, Voldemort himself, seen just the night before possessing a Slytherin student. Putting the two together, it was nearly impossible not to make the connection.
Even if Barrett wasn't entirely convinced that it had truly been the Dark Lord who confronted him, he was at least ninety-five percent sure. The remaining five percent wasn't so much doubt as it was caution—a sliver of hesitation that kept him from fully abandoning reason.
But it didn't matter anymore. Barrett had already made his choice.
He no longer cared about fulfilling whatever plans Mr. Bulstrode had in motion. That path was irrelevant now. His only priority was completing the mission assigned to him by the Dark Lord—proving his loyalty, saving his life, and earning a place of honor at Voldemort's side.
"There's a Quidditch match this Saturday," Barrett said to the group in a hushed voice. "That means fewer students will be going to Hogsmeade—it'll be easier for us to act. Just remember, none of you want to be expelled, wanted by the Ministry, or locked up in Azkaban… right?"
At the mention of expulsion, criminal charges, and Azkaban, a visible unease swept through Dickey and the others. Barrett had struck a nerve.
As much as they liked to boast about their devotion to Voldemort and his ideals—even admiring the legacy of the Death Eaters—not one of them actually wanted to suffer for it.
They didn't want to be expelled from Hogwarts. They didn't want to end up on the Ministry's watch list. They certainly didn't want to be imprisoned.
In truth, they weren't so different from those Death Eaters who had claimed to be under the Imperius Curse the moment Voldemort fell. Their so-called belief was shallow. What they truly worshipped was not Voldemort himself, but the power he embodied—the promise of superiority, status, and fear.
But real sacrifice? Real consequences?
That was never part of their plan.
"Alright then," Barrett said coldly, his voice low but firm. "This Saturday, once we kill those three half-bloods and that Squib-born disgrace, we'll finally earn the recognition of the Dark Lord—and of the basilisk he's unleashed."
"Yeah!" another boy chimed in. "That's it!"
"We have to do it—this Saturday. No more hesitation!"
As the voices around him hardened with resolve, Barrett exchanged a glance with Dickey. But what Dickey didn't realize was that Barrett's motivation for the attack wasn't driven by purist ideals or school pride—it was fear. Fear of disobeying Voldemort. Fear of being next.
Dickey, still caught in the fantasy of glory and ideology, had no idea that Barrett was being manipulated. Their goals may have aligned—but their reasons couldn't have been more different.
Sean stepped out of the Astronomy Tower, having just finished class, and was halfway down the stairs when a familiar voice called out behind him.
"Sean—can we talk?"
He turned. Harry Potter was hurrying to catch up, flanked by Ron and Hermione. Harry's expression was serious, but not hostile.
Sean smiled faintly, playing his part with ease. He glanced at Blaise beside him, then said casually, "Blaise, head to the library first. I'll meet you there in a bit."
Blaise looked over the trio calmly. His gaze passed over Harry and Hermione, then skipped Ron entirely. With a quiet nod to Sean, he said, "Alright. I'll go on ahead. Usual place."
"Good," Sean replied.
As Blaise disappeared down the corridor, Sean turned to face the Golden Trio fully, his expression unreadable.
"Well, Potter?" he said. "Let's talk."