"I... I am Malo," the man stammered, his face pressed into the dirt. "A subordinate of Lord Rosier. I once served you, my Lord, but... but I was never worthy of becoming a Death Eater. Never worthy to call you Master..."
Sean observed the groveling man, sensing a strange mixture of truth and lies. The terror was genuine, as was the twisted, fanatical worship. But underneath it all, a seed of doubt remained. Sean had no illusions; the moment Malo suspected this was a performance, a Killing Curse would be flying at his head. He had to tread carefully.
After a moment's thought, the smoky apparition of Voldemort spoke again, its voice laced with a cold, mocking amusement. "Malo... I know you doubt me. You suspect that the great Lord Voldemort is being impersonated..."
The words hit Malo like a physical blow. His face went white. He had only ever seen the Dark Lord from a distance, a terrifying, god-like figure. But he had served under a Death Eater and had heard the stories. He knew of Voldemort's power, his cruelty, and his legendary skill as a Legilimens, an ability to peer into the very souls of men. To have his deepest, most secret doubt exposed so casually... it was terrifying.
"My... my Lord!" he gasped, prostrating himself even lower. "Forgive me! Forgive my suspicion! It is only... I was tracking Sean Bulstrode. I came to kill him on my employer's orders, and you appeared at this very moment, so..."
The smoky figure interrupted him, its voice dripping with contempt. "So you suspect that I, the great Lord Voldemort, would be so perfectly disguised by the son of a Squib, is that it?"
"I... I dare not..."
"LIAR!"
With a flick of Sean's real wand, the smoky arm of the apparition lashed out, striking Malo with a whip of pure, shadowy force. Malo was sent tumbling, crashing against a tree before collapsing in a heap.
Instead of rebellion, the blow inspired only more fervent submission. This was the Dark Lord he remembered from the stories—the capricious punishments, the casual cruelty. He felt a surge of genuine gratitude that it hadn't been the Cruciatus Curse.
Sean watched the display with a sense of detached pity. The man was utterly broken, brainwashed by Voldemort's cult of personality, just like so many others. It was a pathetic sight.
"Great Lord, please forgive my rash speculation," Malo whimpered.
"Ah... no matter. Your caution is... understandable," the smoky Voldemort hissed, beginning to circle the terrified man. "I imagine you have heard the rumors. About an attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone from within Hogwarts?"
The story was no great secret among the dark arts community. Malo nodded frantically. "Yes, my Lord. The Defense Professor, Quirrell. He failed. He was stopped by the Potter boy and... and Sean Bulstrode..."
"And you truly believe," the smoky voice interrupted, "that a so-called 'savior' and the son of a Squib could defeat a man possessed by me? Guided by my hand?"
A flicker of understanding dawned on Malo's face. "Could it be... my Lord, were you at that time..."
"Quirrell was a worthless vessel, tainted by Dumbledore's magic. I abandoned his failing body and possessed Sean Bulstrode instead! His pure blood, though diluted by a Squib, was barely suitable. How else do you think the son of a Squib could achieve such results in his first year? Publish a paper in The Golden Cauldron? Defeat two fifth-year students in duels at Beauxbatons?"
As Sean delivered the lines, he wasn't sure if he was demeaning himself or praising himself. It was a strange, convoluted lie.
But for Malo, it was a revelation. All the pieces clicked into place. The whispers he'd heard, the information from Borell... it all formed a coherent, terrifying narrative: the Dark Lord, resurrected and working from the shadows, making his comeback through an unlikely host.
"Then... then I can help you!" Malo exclaimed, his face alight with fanatical devotion. "I can rally your servants! You can return, my Lord! Let the wizarding world, let Dumbledore, know your greatness once more!"
Sean, of course, had no intention of doing any such thing. The smoky Voldemort slapped Malo across the face again, a sharp, dismissive blow. "FOOL!"
The cold water of reality drenched Malo's fanaticism. He fell to the ground again, trembling, completely ensnared in Sean's deception.
"My previous failure was at the hands of Dumbledore and Harry Potter," the smoky voice explained patiently, as if to a dim-witted child. "I must remain by their side. Observe them. Learn their weaknesses. And when the time is right, I will strike them down and truly return!"
"Of course... of course, my Lord," Malo whispered, awestruck. "Your plans are beyond my comprehension."
Sean knew it was time. He moved silently behind the smoky apparition. "Malo," the voice said, "your stupidity makes you unworthy of the title of Death Eater. But I will give you one chance. Open your mind to me. Your memories, your thoughts... everything. Let me see if you are fit to serve at my side."
Malo's face lit up with ecstatic joy. He spread his arms wide, a willing sacrifice. "I am willing, my Lord! I will open everything to you!"
"Very good. I am... satisfied. Now, Malo, I grant you the privilege of calling me Master."
"Thank you... my... my Master..."
As Malo basked in his perceived glory, Sean stepped out from behind the smoky figure. He raised his real wand, pointed it at the man's head, and whispered the incantation that would give him everything he needed.
"Imperio."
(End of Chapter)
***
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