Chapter 8: The Shadows Behind the Mask
The aftermath of the Halloween attack left a heavy pall over the castle. Though students were reassured of their safety, whispers danced in every corridor—rumors of dark magic, of monsters in the Restricted Section, and of the prodigy who had stepped forward to accuse a professor.
But Harrison Strange Potter knew the truth.
It wasn't just an attack. It was a test. And someone had failed.
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Malrik Crowe's Secret
Malrik Crowe had been a promising scholar once. A half-blood Ravenclaw, he'd graduated with top marks in Defense and Ancient Runes and had spent years researching forbidden magics across Eastern Europe and the Middle East. He had once authored a paper on anti-possession rituals that had drawn the attention of the Department of Mysteries.
But two years ago, something changed.
On an academic expedition to Albania, Crowe had pursued a myth whispered in the shadows—of a dying lord whose soul still clung to the edges of life. Driven by ambition, he found the ruins deep in the forest: a shrine corrupted by dark magic, warded by curses that devoured light.
There, Crowe encountered what was left of Tom Marvolo Riddle—Voldemort, not in body but in spectral echo. A remnant of his shattered soul, tethered by Horcruxes and hate.
Crowe had been tempted. He had believed he could study the wraith, perhaps bind it and use it to unlock the greatest secrets of soul magic.
He was wrong.
The remnant was cunning. It fed on Crowe's ambition, whispering knowledge in exchange for obedience. Crowe believed he was in control. But Voldemort had never been one to remain a pawn. Over the course of two years, the fragment wormed into his mind, poisoning his thoughts, feeding off his body. Unlike Quirrell, Crowe had strength and magical resilience—but it only delayed the inevitable.
By the time he arrived at Hogwarts as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, he was compromised.
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The Truth Revealed
After the attack, Dumbledore had confined Crowe to his chambers while the investigation continued. Harrison, however, had no intention of waiting for bureaucracy to catch up.
He stood in the corridor outside Crowe's quarters, eyes glowing faintly. Beside him stood Cedric Diggory and Professor Flitwick, who had been the only faculty member to fully believe Harrison's theory.
"Ready?" Cedric asked.
Harrison nodded. "Wards are weak. He's distracted."
He raised his hand, summoning a ripple of eldritch sigils around the door. With a whisper in Ancient Greek, the wards collapsed silently, and the trio stepped inside.
The room was dim. Books lay scattered across tables and floors, and strange black symbols were carved into the walls. At the center sat Malrik Crowe, hunched over, muttering to himself.
His skin was pale, eyes sunken, and from the way his fingers twitched—like a marionette with frayed strings—it was clear he was not alone in his mind.
"You shouldn't be here," he rasped without turning. "He knows you. He fears you."
Harrison stepped forward. "Then he knows why I'm here."
Crowe turned, and for a moment, Voldemort's presence flared behind his eyes. A mocking smirk twisted his face.
"Ah... the false prince. Champion of Chaos. You reek of magic older than the stars."
"Get out of him," Harrison said coldly.
Crowe laughed, a sound like glass breaking. "He offered me eternity. I accepted."
"You're not immortal. You're a prison. And I'm here to perform the execution."
With a flick of his fingers, Harrison summoned the Glass Veil—a relic forged with eldritch magic and powered by the Time Stone. The veil shimmered with translucent layers, each representing a sliver of forgotten time.
Crowe rose to his feet, arms outstretched, mouth opening to scream a curse—but Harrison was faster.
He slammed his palm forward, chanting in the language of the Void. A burst of golden-cyan light erupted, seizing Crowe in mid-motion. Time slowed, then stopped.
Cedric and Flitwick watched in awe as Harrison walked forward, placing the Veil against Crowe's chest.
"Tom Riddle," he said, voice resonating with cosmic energy, "by blood right of Peverell and Gryffindor, I cast you from this world."
A ghostly scream tore through the room. The soul fragment tried to flee, but eldritch chains shot from the Veil, binding it. The dark essence twisted, flailed—until with a final pull, Harrison sealed it inside.
The Glass Veil shimmered, then became inert.
Crowe collapsed.
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A Second Chance
Hours later, in the Hospital Wing, Malrik Crowe awoke. His mind was his again, but scarred. He looked to Harrison, who stood silently nearby.
"I thought I could control him," Crowe whispered.
"You tried," Harrison said. "But darkness doesn't make deals. It consumes."
"I can't teach anymore."
"No. But you can help. There are more Horcruxes. You know what they feel like now."
Crowe nodded slowly. A silent pact formed between them.
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Revelations at Potter Castle
That evening, Harrison returned to the ancestral Potter Castle, where Harry, Daphne, and Astoria were waiting. The young siblings had been practicing wandless magic under Harrison's guidance, but they paused as he stepped through the portal.
"You found it," Harry said quietly, watching the Veil glow in Harrison's hand.
"One piece down," Harrison replied. "More to go."
"What was he like?" Daphne asked.
"Voldemort?" Harrison's gaze darkened. "A coward hiding behind power. But now he's weaker."
Astoria walked over, her small hand slipping into his. "And we're stronger."
Harrison smiled faintly.
As they sat for dinner that evening, he raised his goblet.
"To the House of Potter," he said. "Bound not just by blood, but by purpose."
Harry raised his glass. "Blood runs thicker than water."
Daphne grinned. "And we're born to conquer."
The castle echoed with their laughter—and with the distant stirrings of war.