Back in the Slytherin Common Room, Marcellus Bulstrode watched as Malfoy swept past him. He opened his mouth to say something, but Malfoy didn't even grant him a sideways glance, completely ignoring his attempt to speak. Instead, he strode to the plush sofa in the center of the room, flanked by his two lumbering lackeys, Goyle and Crabbe, and began chatting loudly as if he owned the place.
A hot flush of humiliation burned across Marcellus's face. He looked around, hoping for a friendly face, but found only apathy. Some students offered a faint, dismissive glance; most ignored him completely. He was no longer the center of attention he had been last year. Marcellus remembered it vividly: upon arriving at Hogwarts, his circle of followers had been nearly as large as Malfoy's. When Sean had thrashed Malfoy at the start of term, Marcellus's popularity had even eclipsed his rival's.
Now, he had no one. Even Jensen, who had been so timid and obedient last year, now trailed after that bastard Sean like a lost puppy. He'd walked right past Marcellus earlier without a word. The indignity was unbearable.
Gritting his teeth, Marcellus recalled his father's stern instructions before the start of the school year: keep a low profile, perform well. He forced the bitter anger down. He'd sensed a change in his father's tone recently, a hint that a move would soon be made against Sean. In his mind, it was a simple equation. His father could now mobilize the full power of their family. Crushing a half-blood nobody like Sean would be child's play. All Marcellus had to do was endure andwait, and soon Sean would be gone for good.
Suppressing his seething resentment, Marcellus returned to his dorm.
He dropped his books onto the desk, about to summon a house-elf for tea and snacks, when his eyes fell on a strange object lying there. It was an old, black-leather diary.
He reached out and opened it. The pages within were blank. Marcellus instinctively assumed it was a prank from some idiot, or perhaps he'd accidentally picked up someone else's diary from the library. He was about to toss the thing in the bin when a strange reluctance stayed his hand.
Holding the diary, Marcellus slowly sat down. He examined it, running his fingers over the worn cover and flipping through the empty pages. There wasn't a single word inside, save for a line of faded, gilded lettering on the back: Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Tom Riddle… The name was strangely familiar, but he couldn't place it. Not a Slytherin, surely. Ravenclaw? Hufflepuff? The morons in Gryffindor certainly didn't have the habit of keeping diaries.
As he stared at the book, an insistent voice seemed to whisper in his mind, urging him to pick up a quill and write something on its pages. The thought was sudden and overwhelmingly strong. After a moment's hesitation, Marcellus gave in. He opened the diary, picked up his pen, and scrawled a single, desperate line.
"I want everyone who looks down on me to be punished!"
The ink had barely touched the page before it vanished, sinking into the parchment as if it had never been there. Marcellus felt a nervous flutter in his chest. A moment later, new words began to bloom across the page, elegant and precise.
"I can give you the power to punish those who look down on you."
The sentence seemed to possess a mesmerizing quality. The thought of throwing the diary away now felt impossible. As the direct heir of the Bulstrode family, Marcellus knew the cautionary tales. Magical items with a will of their own were incredibly dangerous. The first rule was to get rid of them immediately and find a powerful wizard to handle the threat.
But as he stared at the promise written on the page, he couldn't look away. He sat frozen for a long moment before finally picking up his quill again.
"I am Marcellus Bulstrode, future heir of the Bulstrode family. Who are you?"
The reply was instantaneous. "Hello, future heir of the Bulstrode family. My name is Tom Riddle. I am a friend who can help you fulfill your wishes."
"Fulfill my wishes?"
"That's right. I can help you take revenge on those who mock you. I can grant you powerful strength. I can make you a person who stands above all others. All I ask is your sincere cooperation."
The last of Marcellus's resistance crumbled. He was completely captivated. He picked up his quill, eagerly writing another question.
"What kind of cooperation? You're just a diary. How can I believe you can do any of those things?"
"Simply follow my instructions, and you will get everything you desire."
The quill in Marcellus's hand moved furiously as he poured his frustrations onto the page, completely absorbed. He was so focused on the diary that he never noticed the faint shimmer in the air behind him, nor the pair of eyes that watched him from the shadows of his own bedroom.
Seeing Marcellus chatting animatedly with the diary, the observer smiled. He silently opened the door, slipped out of the room, and closed it without a sound.
Back in the safety of his own dorm, Sean let the Disillusionment Charm dissolve.
An eye for an eye.
His uncle had sent assassins to kill him. In return, Sean had just delivered Voldemort's Horcrux to his son, setting him on the path to become a slave to the diary and the scapegoat who would open the Chamber of Secrets. It was a small, satisfying down payment on a much larger debt.
Still, he was surprised. He knew the diary was bewitching, but his own iron will and the unique strength of his transmigrated soul had rendered its influence minimal. He had assumed it would take time to corrupt Marcellus.
He hadn't expected Marcellus's psyche to have such a gaping hole, for his anger and desperate ambition to be so strong. The diary had seized upon his weakness and bewitched him with almost no resistance at all. Sean wasn't sure whether to be amused or impressed by the sheer weakness of his target.
Within the diary, Tom Riddle was also coming to a realization. He had been tricked. That boy who called himself Draco Malfoy had played him for a fool. A cold, silent rage burned within him. He wished he could hunt the boy down and kill him with his bare hands, but now was not the time.
His new host was pathetically weak-willed, even more pliable than Ginny had been. But that weakness made him the perfect puppet. He would use this boy to complete his plan. And when he was resurrected, when he walked the world as a man again, he would find the one who called himself Draco Malfoy and make him pay a terrible price.
[Chapter Complete]
***
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