"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 302: The Half-Blood Prince of Slytherin
"…On the cold, damp streets of London, in the shadowy corner of an orphanage, sat a frail little boy named John Prince.
His mother was a pure-blood member of the Slytherin family, and his father an ordinary Muggle. From the very beginning, this half-blood wizard's fate was destined to be extraordinary…"
Wormtail read aloud in the soothing, singsong tone one might use for a child's bedtime story. In his former life, he'd never known that Voldemort himself was of mixed blood—and he certainly didn't notice the way Voldemort's face was growing darker by the second.
At that moment, though, his mind wandered to Snape. He remembered that Snape's mother had indeed been a Prince, and his father a Muggle. He also recalled that, when this article was first published, he'd been at Hogwarts and had seen Snape's reaction firsthand…
"Master, I remember this article was supposed to be a thinly veiled jab at Sniv—at Severus Snape. He confiscated every copy of this magazine at Hogwarts when it came out…"
Voldemort's voice was like a knife scraping through his teeth. "Keep reading."
He knew perfectly well who the article was really about. Had Snape ever lived in an orphanage? And it even mentioned Wool's Orphanage by name. Only Headmaster Armando Dippet and the then-Transfiguration professor, Dumbledore, had known that detail.
"…One day, John received his acceptance letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was the turning point of his life. He boarded the Hogwarts Express and began his magical journey…"
"…John excelled at Hogwarts. His talent for Potions and the Dark Arts quickly made him one of the most admired students in the school, drawing the attention of many girls."
"During his years at Hogwarts, John met a Muggle-born girl whose beauty and intelligence captivated him. But when he confessed his feelings, she gently turned him down. Heartbroken, John began drifting between older and younger girls from every House, his charm making him a favorite among them all…"
Voldemort's fingers went bone-white with rage. Slander. Blatant, shameless slander. The Dark Lord—tormented by love? If the story hadn't mentioned Wool's Orphanage, he'd never have suspected it was about him.
Wormtail sighed quietly to himself. He knew the real story—Snivellus had indeed been rejected by Lily. But to be honest, someone like that was hardly the type to attract a crowd of admirers…
"John moved effortlessly among the girls, charming heart after heart with sweet words and mysterious magical skills…"
"After graduation, John's wild ways only escalated. From eighty-year-old witches to newly graduated young ones, he spared none… He even took the chance to steal a few family heirlooms along the way…"
"Crucio!"
Lost in thought about Snape's supposed romantic exploits, Wormtail was caught off guard. The Cruciatus Curse slammed him into the opposite wall, wrenching a howl of pain from his lips. For a fleeting moment, venom flashed in his eyes—what had set the Dark Lord off this time?
Was it really just because the article insulted Snape? He, Peter Pettigrew, had come all this way—not that greasy old bat…
"Wormtail, who wrote this article?"
A flicker of anxiety crept into Voldemort's heart. He remembered the old women he'd charmed, but their names escaped him. What he hadn't forgotten was the family treasures he'd stolen—Slytherin's Locket and Hufflepuff's Cup.
If someone knew even this, did that mean Dumbledore had already uncovered the secret of the Horcruxes?
Wormtail struggled to his feet. This time, he didn't dare sit beside Voldemort—instead, he crept behind him, voice barely above a whisper.
"Xenophilius Lovegood—he's always publishing odd stories. I saw him once while hiding at the Weasleys'. He seemed quite mad, a bit younger than me… He's a Ravenclaw, so maybe he heard about or knew something of Snape's business…"
Seeing Wormtail circle behind him, Voldemort gritted his teeth. "Keep reading. I want to know what else this article says."
Wormtail picked up the magazine again, sneaking a glance at Voldemort before inching a little farther back.
"…As John's romantic debts grew, his mistresses became uneasy and furious. So they banded together and decided to take revenge. On the night of a full moon, they cast an ancient spell…"
"…John's body was shattered, his soul split into seven pieces, each sealed within a different magical artifact—a locket, a ring, a diadem, a washbasin, a diary, a pet snake, and inside the body of a mistress…"
Voldemort's breath quickened.
Wormtail's voice sped up too—he'd abandoned any pretense of a gentle, soothing tone.
"…John's soul howled in agony within those seals, but his wisdom and allure did not fade.
Each artifact and animal held a fragment of his memory and personality, able to communicate with the women who once loved him.
These mistresses discovered that, though John's body was gone, his soul could still keep them company, listen to their troubles, and share their secrets…"
"…But John was not content with such a half-life. He began searching for a way to restore his body, hoping to become whole again…"
"…At last, he found an ancient method—repentance. Only repentance could make the soul whole again… Master, I—I've finished reading."
Voldemort knew, without a doubt, that this story could only have been written by someone who understood him intimately. But it didn't feel like Dumbledore.
The idea of splitting the soul into seven pieces—he'd learned that from the old Slytherin Head of House. Which objects he'd used for the Horcruxes—only he himself truly knew.
And yet, how had this Lovegood character learned so much?
"The locket must be Salazar Slytherin's Locket; the ring, the Gaunt family heirloom; the diadem, Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem; a washbasin—what nonsense, did they mean Helga Hufflepuff's Cup? The diary, surely the one I wrote at sixteen… pet snake, and a mistress's body…"
He glanced out the window. He had, in fact, planned to make Nagini his sixth Horcrux someday. But he'd never told anyone—not even Nagini herself. Could this writer possess the gift of prophecy?
His thoughts turned to the prophecy that had led to his downfall: "…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"
He remembered that the Seer who made the prophecy was hardly impressive, and the prediction itself had been incomplete. It hadn't spelled things out with this kind of clarity. And what was this about a mistress's body…?
Suddenly, Voldemort thought of Gellert Grindelwald—the notorious Dark wizard of his school years. In the winter of Grindelwald's graduation, Dumbledore had defeated him and locked him away in Nurmengard, the prison he'd built himself…
Rumor had it that Grindelwald and Dumbledore had been close, and that Grindelwald was a true Seer…
Lost in thought, Voldemort spoke softly, "Wormtail, bring me that magazine… Now."
Wormtail crept forward, his eyes fixed on the wand in Voldemort's hand. When he finally looked up at his master's face, he was startled to see sweat beading on the Dark Lord's brow—was it just the heat from the fireplace?
"M-Master… Are you hot? Would you like me to move you away from the fire?"
Voldemort had almost decided not to take his frustration out on Wormtail—he was too anxious, desperate to return to Britain as soon as possible. But Wormtail's question reminded him of his own current weakness, and the fear that came with having his secrets exposed.
"Crucio!"
🔥 Want to read the next 50+ chapters RIGHT NOW?
💎 Patreon members get instant access!
⚡ Limited-time offer currently running...
👉 [Join on - patreon.com/GoldenLong]