Chapter 46: "Tom, Those Mudbloods Are Simply Awful!"

Chapter 46: "Tom, Those Mudbloods Are Simply Awful!"

In Quirrell's office, he sat huddled by the fireplace, shivering under a thick blanket. The constant drain of his life force by the entity possessing him had left him severely weakened.

"Malfoy remains loyal... and has kept my property safe... That is the best news I have heard in a long time..." a harsh, sibilant voice whispered from beneath the turban, filled with a strange mix of relief and satisfaction.

Quirrell, however, looked to be in agony, sweat beading on his forehead. But he dared not make a sound, terrified of displeasing his Master.

After a long pause, Quirrell finally spoke, his voice trembling. "My Lord... is it truly worth doing so much... for this Shelby boy?"

The words had barely left his mouth when he let out a strangled cry and collapsed to the floor, curling into a ball, his features contorted in pain.

Ten minutes later, Quirrell's screams finally subsided. His robes were soaked with cold sweat. He gasped raggedly, whimpering softly. The torment had felt like an eternity.

"How dare you question me?" Voldemort's voice hissed, laced with fury. Quirrell immediately began sobbing and begging for forgiveness.

After a moment, Voldemort spoke again, his tone attempting a strained sort of reassurance. "The Dark Lord does not forget your sacrifices, Quirrell. As for the Shelby boy... he is like me. He merely requires... proper guidance..."

Meanwhile, Leon sat at the desk in his dormitory, staring at the diary, scarcely believing his eyes.

This looked suspiciously like Tom Riddle's diary. In other words, lying on his desk was potentially one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

As for how it had ended up with him, the answer was obvious: Quirrell must have slipped it into his bucket when he 'stumbled' into him that morning.

But... shouldn't this diary still be in Lucius Malfoy's possession at this point? And wasn't it supposed to appear during Harry's second year? Most importantly, wasn't it supposed to fall into the hands of that little red-haired Weasley girl?

Had the small breezes stirred by his 'butterfly effect' finally begun to cause uncontrollable changes?

Taking a deep breath, Leon opened the diary. He picked up a quill and began to write.

Today, I had a conflict with a despicable half-blood degenerate.

He dared to spout nonsense in front of me, a pure-blood Slytherin, saying things like 'blood status doesn't matter, all wizards are equal.'

What angered me even more was that several Mudbloods who were watching actually chimed in, supporting his ridiculous claims!

As a pure-blood wizard, I simply cannot tolerate these animals defiling magic with their filthy words.

Only pure-bloods are true wizards! The rest are just inferior, cross-bred filth!

Unfortunately, there were too many of them. I couldn't beat them.

But it doesn't matter. I will never back down. The honour of the pure-bloods must be defended!

Of course, Leon didn't actually believe any of this. But he wasn't exactly an honest fellow himself. They were pen pals now; a little role-playing was in order.

Soon, the ink Leon had written faded, sinking into the pages. A moment later, elegant, cursive script appeared on the page in response.

Hello, noble Slytherin. My name is Tom Riddle.

Leon's heart gave a jolt. He was now conversing with the sixteen-year-old Voldemort, arguably the most magically gifted wizard of all time.

May I know your name?

The script continued to form. Leon considered for a moment, then dipped his quill again.

My name is Draco Malfoy. What is this? What are you? (Somewhere in the Slytherin common room, Malfoy, who was celebrating his father's letter, sneezed.)

I was a student at Hogwarts, in Slytherin House. Your senior, though it was a long time ago.

I am merely... a memory. An echo, preserved.

Tom Riddle's reply emerged slowly in emerald-green ink, the script as elegant as copperplate. Before Leon could write again, more words appeared.

Malfoy? I remember the name. One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. A noble pure-blood family.

Draco, were you writing in this diary just now? It seems... you encountered some difficulty? Perhaps... I can offer some assistance.

Leon kept his expression neutral and continued to write.

A Slytherin senior? A memory? How fascinating...

But you say you can help me?

With all due respect, I fail to see how a mere 'memory' can help me beat those idiotic Gryffindors to a pulp.

Despite the slight, Tom's script remained unhurried, seemingly unaffected.

If you were to consult the school records... look up the recipients of the Award for Special Services to the School... you might reconsider.

Draco, let me be frank. There are many useful things Hogwarts will never teach you...

Certain... harmless... little spells. Certain magical items that produce amusing effects when combined. Certain dangerous, yet charmingly fascinating, magical creatures...

Leon remained outwardly calm, but inwardly, he was thrilled. He'd had his wand for months but still only knew one Dark curse. Was that acceptable? Was that reasonable?

Stupefy, Protego, Lumos... Were these the spells worthy of the leader of the Peaky Blinders?

Suppressing his excitement, Leon wrote back.

Will these things help me punish those inferior wizards?

Some of the ones I fought were a year ahead of me! Second-years!

My father has a lot of money. If you can truly help me...

I'll tell my father! He'll reward you.

Having tormented Draco for weeks, Leon was quite familiar with his mannerisms and threats. The imitation was perfect.

Of course! To be honest, I despised those foolish Gryffindors when I was at school too. Even those Hufflepuff oafs were more tolerable.

Let us start with a simple, practical little curse.

It has a rather lovely name: Crucio.

Crucio!

Once you master it, believe me, no Gryffindor will ever dare stand in your way again...