Douglas steered the conversation back on track.
"So, what happened after that?"
Luna looked genuinely troubled.
"Well, after that, with all the Wrackspurts buzzing about, I ended up opening it...
I know I shouldn't have. Daddy's always told me to stay away from places where Wrackspurts gather—it'll muddle your mind completely..."
Then she pulled a face, clearly unimpressed.
"He said his name was Tom Riddle—which was obvious, since it was written right on the cover...
He also claimed to know all sorts of things, told me I could ask him anything.
But he didn't know about the Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in Sweden, or Wrackspurts, or Blibbering Humdingers, or even Nargles that grow in mistletoe...
He barely knew anything at all...
I don't think he's ever even read The Quibbler...
Sales for The Quibbler have been great lately. Daddy says he'll take me to Sweden this summer to look for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks..."
Douglas shot a sympathetic glance at the diary, then quickly pulled the conversation back again.
"I mean, what made you decide to bring it to me?"
Luna glared at Douglas, a little miffed at having her train of thought interrupted, but quickly remembered she was talking to a professor.
"Of course, it wanted to see you, Professor.
Maybe not just you—it kept asking about Daddy, too.
After it couldn't answer my questions, it seemed a bit upset, and then it started asking all sorts of things about Daddy and about you.
I thought about giving it to Daddy—maybe he could set up a Wrackspurt farm or something.
But it just felt too dangerous.
So... so I thought maybe you'd need it, Professor..."
At this, Luna looked a bit embarrassed. She might be whimsical, her mind always wandering, but she still knew that dumping something dangerous on someone else wasn't exactly polite.
Seeing her expression, Douglas felt a little sheepish himself.
He'd already guessed why Voldemort had chosen Luna—after all, it was his own article that had stirred things up. Voldemort was clearly trying to investigate Xenophilius Lovegood's identity.
But why hadn't he sent himself straight to the Lovegood house? Douglas suspected that, being so weak and unable to absorb any life force, Voldemort was worried that if he fell into the hands of an adult wizard, he'd never get another shot at resurrection.
What Voldemort hadn't counted on was that the first-year witch he thought would be so easy to manipulate wouldn't play by his rules at all...
The thought made Douglas chuckle aloud.
Honestly, Luna had always been respectful in his class—never once asking those famously odd questions.
She might seem a bit of a loner, but she always completed assignments with care.
"Miss Lovegood, I'm very glad you trust me.
But for now, I'd like you to keep this to yourself. Once everything is resolved, I'm sure Headmaster Dumbledore will see that you're properly rewarded..."
After sending Luna off, Douglas didn't open the diary right away.
Instead, he took out a stone box inscribed with rune diagrams—something he'd prepared long ago—and sealed the diary inside.
Then he headed off to teach his afternoon classes.
You might wonder—was he worried about Luna being controlled?
Honestly, with the way Luna acted, nobody could fake that. Even Professor Sybill Trelawney, who made a living playing the mystic in Divination, couldn't pull off that kind of effortless oddness.
Besides, Douglas had noticed that the ropes Luna used to bind the diary were clearly etched with runes. They weren't particularly powerful, but for Voldemort in his current state, they'd be more than enough.
What a clever girl.
After classes ended, Douglas sent word for George and Fred to report to Professor McGonagall that evening to finish what was, in theory, their last few nights of detention.
No one could guarantee that Professor Snape would let them off so easily.
—
In the Defence Against the Dark Arts office, Douglas closed the door and moved most of the room's contents elsewhere.
Then, carefully, he took the diary from the stone box and undid the bindings.
He flipped to a blank page.
Clearing his throat, he greeted the diary as if they were old friends.
"Ahem, good evening, Senior Riddle!"
But after waiting a long time, not a single word appeared.
It was awkward. Douglas guessed the diary couldn't "hear" him.
So he picked up a quill and wrote:
"Good evening, Senior Tom Riddle!"
Still, nothing changed.
It was as if he were writing in an ordinary notebook.
Unwilling to give up, Douglas tried again:
"Voldemort?"
Still no response.
Douglas let out a huff of laughter. If he wasn't so sensitive to Dark Magic—and if he couldn't feel that unmistakable, sinister magic lingering in the diary—he might have believed the spirit inside had already escaped.
Playing dead, are we?
Heh.
Let's see how you handle annoying a writer.
Douglas calmly began to write a story:
On a certain day in 1926, a witch heavy with child struggled up to the steps of an orphanage. There, on the cold stone, she gave birth to a baby boy. To shield him from the family's vengeance, she spent the last of her magic casting an ancient protective spell, ensuring her child would grow up safe. And so, she died in childbirth...
He hadn't finished when the text on the page flickered and vanished without a trace.
Douglas set down his pen, feeling quite satisfied. Heh, maybe he couldn't handle the adult Voldemort, but surely teenage Tom was fair game.
Sure enough, new words began to appear, written in his own ink:
Nonsense!
A witch dying in childbirth? What a joke—how disgraceful!!!
A protective spell?
The greatest wizard in history, needing protection from a pathetic witch who died like a coward?
That's an even bigger joke.
Douglas Holmes!!!
A filthy Mudblood dares to judge the great Lord Voldemort!
Douglas curled his lip, but before he could reply, the writing flickered again:
It's you!
You wrote that article!
Who are you, really?
How do you know so much?
The words faded quickly, as if urging Douglas to keep writing.
But Douglas had no intention of obliging. He had no interest in what Voldemort wanted or had to say.
All he wanted was to destroy Tom Riddle in the diary.
That way, any lies he'd told Dumbledore before could be pinned squarely on the diary.
No matter what he said later—even if he revealed exactly how to open the Chamber of Secrets—he could claim it was all from Voldemort's diary.
Even if Dumbledore had doubts, there'd be no way to prove otherwise.
Dealing with a Horcrux wasn't all that complicated.
Basilisk venom, or Fiendfyre, would do the trick.
Douglas had always found it odd:
Legend said the first Basilisk was bred by Herpo the Foul, a Greek dark wizard who spoke Parseltongue.
And the first wizard to create a Horcrux was also Herpo the Foul.
Creating the very weapon that could destroy your own soul?
Douglas couldn't help but wonder if Herpo the Foul had met his end thanks to his own pet basilisk, purely by accident.
Still, Douglas wanted to test whether the spell he'd invented—combining Eastern mystical concepts—could destroy a Horcrux as well.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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