The Imperius Curse was a strange and terrible thing. It didn't create a mindless puppet; it created a willing servant. As Sean looked at the prostrated dark wizard before him, he saw no signs of a struggle, no dazed confusion. Malo's eyes were filled with a serene, blissful loyalty. In his mind, the voice of his new Master was the only truth, and obedience was the highest form of happiness. As long as Sean remained the equal of Voldemort in Malo's twisted perception, the man's submission would be absolute.
With a silent command, the black smoke of the Smoke Rope Curse flowed back from the clearing, retracting into Sean's body as if a shadow were returning to its source. The illusion of Lord Voldemort vanished.
Sean stepped forward, his face a cold, emotionless mask. He did not hesitate. He raised his wand and pointed it directly at Malo's head.
"Legilimency!"
A silver thread of light shot from the tip of his wand, connecting to Malo's temple. Memories rushed at him, a chaotic torrent of a dark and grimy life. Sean navigated the flood, sifting through the dross of Malo's miserable ambitions and petty cruelties. His own grasp of Legilimency was still rudimentary, a fragile Level 0 skill. Against a resisting mind, it would have been useless. But Malo's mind was an open book, its every page offered up with fawning devotion.
It didn't take long to find it: the gleaming, venomous shard of information he sought. The memory of Borell Bulstrode, his face contorted with hate, ordering the death of the "Squib's son." And with it, a crucial detail—Borell's promise that he had a contact inside Beauxbatons, someone who could deliver Sean to him.
So there's a traitor at the academy, Sean thought, a cold knot tightening in his stomach. But who? The memory was maddeningly vague on that point.
He withdrew from Malo's mind. "Malo," he commanded, his voice once again the cold, high hiss of his Voldemort persona. "Return to Britain. Live in the shadows. You will secretly contact those who yearn for my return. They need not be powerful, but they must be loyal. You will be their leader. My hidden hand."
Malo's entire body trembled with ecstatic fervor. He lowered his head again, pressing his forehead into the dirt. "Thank you... thank you, my Master," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
"Go," Sean commanded. "Use Polyjuice Potion if you must appear in public. If you have anything to report, send an anonymous letter. I will find you in Hogsmeade."
"Your subordinate understands."
Malo bowed one last time, then backed away several paces before turning and disappearing with a sharp crack of Apparition.
Sean let out a long, slow breath. The unexpected confrontation had yielded an unexpected asset. Killing Malo would have been difficult; the man could Apparate, and Sean had no counter for that yet. An escaped enemy would have been a lingering threat. But an enthralled servant... that was something else entirely.
He turned and began walking back toward the collapsed hunter's cabin. He soon found Fleur, still frantically searching the area, her face pale and streaked with dirt. The moment she saw him, she ran over, her relief palpable.
"Sean! The dark wizard, where is he? Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," he said, injecting a note of breathless exhaustion into his voice. "The house collapsed before I could get out with you. I had to find another way. The forest is dense; I think I lost him."
Fleur grabbed his arm, her grip tight. "We can't be sure! He could still be out there. We have to leave now! We need to find out where we are and get back to Beauxbatons."
Sean looked at her terrified face and nodded. He couldn't tell her the truth, not yet. "You're right. Let's go. Right now."
She didn't let go of his arm, half-pulling him as they ran through the forest, her head constantly scanning the trees as if expecting an attack at any moment. They emerged from the woods to find they were near a small village on the outskirts of Paris. Fleur, her composure returning with the sight of civilization, summoned a magical carriage—a French equivalent to the Knight Bus—designed for wizards unable to Apparate.
Once they were safely back in Paris, they contacted the school. The reaction was swift. Two senior professors arrived within minutes, their faces grim, and escorted them back to the chateau.
This was not a simple student incident; it was a potential international crisis. Fleur's family was prominent in the French magical community. Sean was not only a guest from Hogwarts but a Bulstrode, a family whose quiet influence was a force to be reckoned with. For such an attack to happen on their watch was a grave failure for Beauxbatons.
Soon, they were sitting in a quiet office, facing two Aurors from the French Ministry of Magic.
"Sean, Fleur," one of the Aurors said, his voice professional but edged with frustration. "Do you truly not know who attacked you? Or why?"
They both shook their heads. On the carriage ride back, Sean had quickly explained the situation to Fleur, asking her to trust him and help him keep the details secret. Some things, he had argued, were better handled personally.
Fleur, though shaken, had agreed. She genuinely knew very little, but Sean's version of "nothing" was a carefully constructed lie.
The Aurors could tell they were holding something back, but without a confession, their hands were tied. After a few more perfunctory questions, they left, their investigation at a dead end.
Sean watched them go, his expression unreadable. The official channels were closed. Now, he could begin his own investigation and his own hunt for revenge.
(End of Chapter)
***
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