(Tom Riddle)
The magical tent rose from the frozen ground like a pale giant in the middle of the snowstorm. From the outside it looked merely large, roughly the size of a circus tent, its enchanted canvas rippling gently under the harsh Arctic wind.
Inside, however, it was something entirely different.
The interior stretched far beyond what the exterior suggested, an enormous hall built with polished black stone floors and tall arching ceilings supported by carved pillars. Several corridors branched away from the central chamber, leading to private quarters, laboratories, storage rooms, and a set of reinforced cells deeper within the structure.
Floating chandeliers illuminated the chamber with a cold silver light.
At the far end of the hall stood a raised dais where my throne rested, carved from dark wood and inlaid with faint runes that glowed softly.
The air inside was warm and perfectly still, untouched by the brutal cold raging outside.
A voice broke the silence.
"My Lord, I caught the traitor," Barty said proudly.
I shifted my gaze toward him.
Bartemius Crouch Junior stood several steps below the dais, his back straight and his chest puffed out with barely restrained pride. Snow still clung to the edges of his cloak, evidence of his recent return from outside.
Before I could reply, another voice cut in.
Bellatrix clicked her tongue in clear annoyance.
"Tsk. What took you so long?" she said dismissively. "If it was me I would have caught him ages ago."
Barty slowly turned his head toward her and gave her a flat look.
"Then why didn't you?" he asked.
Bellatrix narrowed her eyes slightly.
"I had a much more important task," she replied smoothly.
She lifted her chin proudly.
"To stay by our Lord's side and take care of his every need."
Barty snorted.
"Like his personal whore."
Bellatrix did not look insulted. If anything, she looked pleased.
She straightened her posture even more and smiled faintly.
"If he wants me to," she said proudly.
I closed my eyes and rubbed the middle of my brow.
Sometimes I wondered if conquering Britain would truly be easier than managing my own followers.
"Alright," I said calmly, cutting through the argument before it escalated further. "Stop arguing before I start punishing someone."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bellatrix straighten instantly, her eyes brightening with unmistakable anticipation.
I immediately regretted my phrasing.
Internally sighing, I changed the subject before she could say anything.
"Now," I continued smoothly, "where is Karkaroff?"
Barty snapped his attention back to me.
"In the cells, My Lord," he answered quickly.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Then what are you waiting for?" I asked. "Do you expect me to visit the cells personally?"
Barty's proud posture deflated slightly.
"Bring him to me already."
Barty immediately lowered his head. "As you wish, My Lord."
As he turned to leave, he shot Bellatrix a glare, to which she responded by chuckling quietly, clearly entertained.
Moments later Barty disappeared down one of the stone corridors leading deeper into the tent.
Once he was gone, I leaned back slightly in my throne and exhaled slowly.
Managing these two was exhausting.
They were my most devoted followers.
Both incredibly skilled.
Both incredibly loyal.
And both completely insane.
The worst part was that punishing them rarely worked, since they seemed to enjoy it.
"What's making you sigh, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked suddenly, her voice filled with concern.
I glanced toward her. She stood near the base of the dais, watching me carefully.
"Is it Barty's incompetence?" she continued. "Because I can punish him in your place if you wish."
Her smile widened slightly.
"I can even kill him if you think he's no longer useful."
She sounded hopeful.
I resisted the urge to sigh again.
"No need," I said calmly.
Bellatrix looked mildly disappointed.
"Any news on the other matter?" I asked instead.
Her posture immediately straightened.
"Yes, My Lord," she said.
"One of our men disappeared in Albania."
My fingers tapped slowly against the armrest of the throne.
"I suspect it might be related to what we are searching for," she continued.
Interesting.
I leaned back slightly and rested my chin against my hand, my thoughts turning inward.
Albania.
That sounds exactly like the sort of place where I would have hidden if I had been reduced to a wraith.
Which meant the search was finally bearing fruit.
The question was how to proceed.
Should I go personally?
Or should I send someone else?
If I approached Voldemort directly, there was a significant risk.
I knew myself better than anyone.
My other self was cautious.
Paranoid.
If someone with my current power level suddenly appeared nearby, he would flee immediately.
In his current wraith state he would be extremely vulnerable. Far too weak to defend himself against someone of my strength.
He would not take the risk.
And if he escaped, tracking him again could take years.
No.
Sending someone else might be wiser.
Someone he would trust to do everything they could to assist him.
Someone like Barty.
Or Bellatrix.
My gaze drifted slowly toward her. She stood quietly now, patiently waiting for my next command.
Completely devoted, and completely unhinged.
A thought crossed my mind.
Perhaps this could serve another purpose. Maybe it could work as a test.
If I sent one of them to retrieve my other self, what would happen?
Would they betray me?
Would they abandon the superior version standing before them in favor of the broken wraith that resembled the Dark Lord they remembered?
Or would they obey my command faithfully?
Would they recognize the truth?
That I was the superior version.
The one worthy of their loyalty.
My lips curled slightly.
Yes.
That could be... very enlightening.
I would have to place a few fail-safes, but it was worth a shot.
…
The heavy doors at the far end of the hall opened with a dull metallic groan.
Footsteps echoed across the polished stone floor.
I looked up just as Barty returned, dragging someone behind him.
The chain clinked loudly against the ground with every step.
Igor Karkaroff stumbled forward helplessly, his wrists bound by enchanted iron shackles connected to the chain Barty held firmly in one hand. His once-elegant fur robes were torn and stained, and his normally well-kept hair hung in damp, tangled strands across his face.
The proud Headmaster of Durmstrang looked nothing like the dignified figure the wizarding world knew.
He looked broken.
Karkaroff trembled occasionally as he walked, small involuntary shudders running through his body. His breathing was uneven, and it seemed like he would fall if he relaxed for even a moment.
He had clearly been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse more than once.
Barty, meanwhile, looked immensely pleased with himself, so there was no need to wonder who had done it.
No matter. It was still less than what a traitor deserved.
Unfortunately, I had need of him, so that would have to be the extent of his punishment for now.
Barty yanked the chain one final time and forced Karkaroff forward until the man nearly collapsed near the base of the dais.
The chain clattered loudly against the floor.
Karkaroff remained hunched over, breathing heavily, clearly struggling to stay upright.
I straightened slightly on my throne.
"Igor," I said calmly, my voice echoing softly through the large chamber.
Karkaroff slowly lifted his head. His eyes were unfocused at first, but they eventually settled on me.
Confusion spread across his face.
"It's been a long time," I continued. "Twelve years, to be exact."
He stared at me, clearly trying to understand who I was.
His gaze traveled across my face, then my posture, then the throne behind me, but recognition did not come.
Behind him, Barty's expression darkened. Seeing the confusion on Karkaroff's face seemed to irritate him deeply.
"Pathetic," he muttered.
Before Karkaroff could react, Barty suddenly yanked the chain with all his strength.
The enchanted metal jerked violently and Karkaroff let out a pained gasp as the force pulled him forward.
His weakened body collapsed instantly and he hit the floor hard, falling to his knees.
"Can't you even recognize our Lord?" Barty snapped angrily. Then he pulled his hair back, forcing Karkaroff's head up.
"His imposing presence," Barty continued, his voice rising with fervor, "his intoxicating magic, his…"
"Enough." My voice cut through the chamber and Barty froze immediately.
I looked at him calmly.
"That will do, Barty," I said.
He immediately lowered his head and let go of Karkaroff's hair.
"Yes, My Lord."
I shifted my gaze back toward Karkaroff.
The man was staring at me now.
Really staring.
And this time there was no confusion in his eyes.
Only terror.
Pure, overwhelming terror.
Suddenly, he threw himself forward. His forehead slammed against the cold stone floor with a loud crack.
"My Lord!" he gasped.
His voice shook uncontrollably.
"Forgive me! Please forgive me!"
He remained pressed against the ground, his body trembling violently as he spoke.
"I was forced to cooperate with the Ministry! I had no choice! They would have killed me!"
"Traitors don't deserve forgiveness, and they would have only sent you to Azkaban like the rest of us," Bellatrix said coldly.
Her voice echoed through the hall like a blade.
She stepped forward slowly, her dark eyes fixed on the groveling man.
Then she turned toward me.
"My Lord," she said reverently.
"There is no need to dirty your hands dealing with this piece of trash."
Her smile widened slightly.
"Please allow me to dispose of him in your place."
Karkaroff's trembling intensified.
I raised one hand slightly. "No need."
Bellatrix immediately fell silent and pouted, clearly disappointed.
My attention remained on the man kneeling before me.
"Igor," I said calmly.
The trembling figure slowly lifted his head.
Fear dominated his expression, but something else appeared as well.
Desperation.
"I can give you a chance to redeem yourself."
For a moment he simply stared at me. Then his eyes widened and hope flooded his face so quickly it was almost comical.
Igor Karkaroff was many things.
Ambitious.
Cruel.
Self-serving.
But above all else, he was a coward.
A man absolutely terrified of death.
And when someone like that heard there was a chance to live, they grabbed it with everything they had.
"My Lord!" he said quickly, his voice filled with frantic eagerness.
"Whatever you wish! I will do anything you ask!"
His forehead pressed against the floor again as if he were afraid I might reconsider.
"Anything."
I watched him for a moment.
Then I smiled faintly.
"Good," I said.
…
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