"It's been a month. According to our agreement, it's time for you to help me achieve my goal."
The words bled across the diary's page, the ink dark and demanding. Sean stared at them, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. Over the past month, the diary had proven to be an invaluable tutor. His knowledge of Potions and Transfiguration had soared, and he'd even made significant progress in Charms and the Dark Arts.
While a single month was hardly enough time to drain the diary of all its secrets, Sean had been relentlessly milking it for every drop of knowledge. He was more than satisfied with the free education. He knew with certainty that even if he had followed the diary's sinister instructions and opened the Chamber of Secrets, he wouldn't have gained as much as he had through careful, calculated study.
Besides, this fragment of Voldemort's soul only possessed memories from his teenage years at Hogwarts. It lacked the vast, terrible knowledge the fully fledged Dark Lord would later accumulate. Sean was confident he would find other ways to access that information in the future. So, as the demanding words appeared, he made his decision without hesitation. It was time for the diary to serve its final purpose.
"I understand," Sean wrote, his quill scratching against the parchment. "I will act according to our agreement within the next few days."
The ink faded. The diary itself seemed surprised by his swift compliance. It had been prepared for haggling and for resistance, and had even considered what concessions it might offer. Now, it seemed, none of that would be necessary.
Sean treated the rest of the evening as he always did. He continued his studies in the Room of Requirement, the diary his silent, personal tutor, until half an hour before curfew. Then, he set the artifact aside and departed.
He was heading back to the Slytherin common room.
Barrett was just about to mutter the password when he saw a figure emerge from the entrance. It was wreathed in roiling black smoke, moving with an eerie silence down the corridor and into the deepest shadows of the dungeons.
A strange sense of familiarity pricked at Barrett. After a moment's thought, he decided to follow, his footsteps quiet against the cold stone. He trailed the figure to an empty chamber at the very end of the corridor. A sudden, chilling premonition washed over him, and he turned to leave. But it was too late. The figure, still shrouded in that unnatural black smoke, materialized before him, blocking his path.
Barrett's hand shot to his wand, but before he could raise it, a tendril of smoke lashed out from a nearby shadow, binding his arm and wand like a living rope. Simultaneously, the smoke surrounding the figure surged and coalesced, forming the tall, handsome visage of a man cloaked in a black robe.
Barrett had seen photographs. When the form Sean had meticulously crafted based on Voldemort's younger face appeared, a strangled cry escaped his lips. "The… The Dark Lord!"
Practice, as they say, makes perfect.
Without a flicker of hesitation, Sean controlled the smoke-Voldemort, making it glide slowly toward the terrified boy. It reached out a spectral hand, gripping Barrett's chin and tilting his head up for inspection. At the same time, the real Sean, concealed within the smoke behind his creation, raised his wand to his own throat and spoke in that low, distorted voice. "Ah… let me see… A little Slytherin, who recognizes me at a glance. You should be glad you are a Slytherin, and not… something else."
"You… you… are you truly the… the great Dark Lord?" Barrett stammered.
The smoke-Voldemort circled him, its voice dripping with mockery and condescension. "You doubt me. It doesn't matter. I have indeed been gone for a long time. But for you to still question my authenticity after I unleashed the Basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets to cleanse this school… it forces me to question your intelligence. A foolish Slytherin? What an insult to the name. Perhaps I should have the Basilisk dispose of you before you bring further shame upon this great house."
Barrett trembled violently, his legs shaking so badly he could barely stand. "I… I wasn't doubting the great Dark Lord, I just… I just…"
"You were just wondering why I would dare to appear here, at Hogwarts, right under Dumbledore's nose?"
"No, no! The great Dark Lord would never fear that old fool Dumbledore!"
A cold sneer twisted the smoke-Voldemort's handsome features. It moved to stand directly before Barrett, its gaze intense and piercing. "Barrett, I know you. I knew you the moment I saw you. No one's thoughts can be hidden from the great Voldemort. You've been using the banner of my most fanatical supporters, the banner of my return, to gather children who sincerely believe in me… all to serve your own private ends. Tell me, Barrett. What should I do with someone like you?"
The words struck Barrett like a physical blow. He swayed on his feet, his mind racing. He looked at the phantom before him, a desperate, wishful part of him still trying to find an escape. "I… it's a misunderstanding, a complete misunderstanding, great Dark Lord! I was only trying to use this opportunity to prepare for your return, I…"
Listening to Barrett's incoherent and contradictory excuses, Sean knew he had him. It was time to push. He made the smoke-Voldemort extend a hand, its fingers slowly closing around Barrett's neck, its expression one of cruel amusement, as if examining a bug caught in its palm. "Oh, is that so? That's not what you told that little Slytherin named Dicky. I saw the memory in your mind. You asked him if a member of the Burke family would go back on their word. Is this not your memory? Or do you believe that I, the world's greatest Legilimens, would be unable to see through the pathetic thoughts of a little Slytherin like you?"
This time, all doubt shattered.
Barrett collapsed to his knees before Sean—or rather, before the smoke-Voldemort. He looked up, his body trembling uncontrollably, his voice breaking into a tearful plea. "G-Great Dark Lord, please forgive me, please pardon me! I truly do worship you. I believe in you. I was just… I was just momentarily possessed! Please forgive me. I can be your servant, I would go through fire and water for you. Please, I beg you, great Dark Lord, forgive me."
"Forgive you? Of course…" the phantom hissed. "But first, you must demonstrate your worthiness. I see that you wish for someone to eliminate three half-bloods and the son of a Squib who are unworthy of being in Slytherin. So, kill them. Prove your value. I will come to you again, at this time next week. By then, I do not wish to see them here any longer."
As the final word fell, the black smoke violently contracted, imploding in on itself and swallowing the figure within. In an instant, it vanished, leaving a trembling, sweat-drenched Barrett alone in the cold, empty room.
[Chapter Complete]
***
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