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"I'm not bragging, Professor," he said with a calm, almost conversational tone, "but deceiving hearts has always been my specialty. Ginny poured her soul out to me — completely and utterly — and that, you see, was exactly the nourishment I needed most. I've grown stronger day by day, far beyond what little Miss Weasley could ever compare to. Strong enough to control her… to make her do things she didn't even realize she was doing…"
Sargeras stepped in right on cue, playing the role of a perfect straight man. "Such as?"
"Such as opening the Chamber of Secrets," the monster replied with a chilling ease, "strangling the school's roosters, scrawling bloody messages across the walls, unleashing the basilisk to attack Filch's cat… and then a Muggle-born wizard."
Sargeras nodded slowly and asked again, his tone perfectly measured, more like someone guiding a confession than conducting an interrogation. "And after that?"
"Indeed," said Voldemort. His voice remained steady, eerily composed, but now carried a coldness that seemed to seep into the bones. "After that, she knew nothing of any of it. That's what made it all so delightful. I truly wish you could have read her diary entries later on.… they were marvelous."
He began to mimic her voice, soft and girlish, but coming from that grotesque, towering mass of flesh and malice, the effect was utterly disturbing:
"Dear Tom, I seem to be constantly losing time… and there's chicken feathers on my robes again…"
"Dear Tom, what did I do on Halloween? There's a cat… a cat died…"
"Dear Tom, Percy says I look terrible, like I've changed into someone else…"
"Dear Tom, I don't remember where I've been…"
"Dear Tom, what do I do? I feel like I'm losing my mind…"
"Dear Tom, I'm starting to wonder… what if I'm the one doing it? What if I'm the monster?"
"Dear Tom…"
"HAHAHAH—!"
And then came a harsh, jarring laugh — deep, cruel, and wild — that burst from the twisted thing's throat, echoing violently through the Chamber and making the stone walls tremble with its vicious glee.
"It wasn't until the school began to investigate," he went on, his voice now dripping with mockery, "that poor, foolish little Ginny finally stopped trusting her 'dear Tom'… and decided to get rid of the diary…"
He sneered as he said it, every word soaked in scorn, before casting a glance at the man collapsed nearby, his grotesque cluster of eyes shifting with visible contempt and derision.
"And it was just at that moment," he added, his voice thick with irony, "that our oh-so-"brilliant" Professor Lockhart happened to stumble upon it, by a twist of fate."
His eyes narrowed, and a cruel glint flickered through the unnatural cluster as he looked down at the pitiful figure of Lockhart, who gave a few weak spasms — feeble, involuntary movements that still failed to summon the strength to lift himself from the ground.
"To be honest," the monster went on with cruel amusement, "it turned out to be easier tricking Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professor than it was fooling a little girl… that part, I didn't quite expect."
His voice dropped lower, colder, as he added, "Dumbledore must truly be losing his mind, hiring such a fool to teach here… though I suppose it worked out nicely in the end. If it hadn't been for that, the path to my rebirth would've been far more difficult. After all, handling this imbecile was as simple as waiting for him to be helpless, then tossing out a few nauseating compliments and painting a few tempting visions of glory. He let me use him however I wanted… heh, honestly he was even more obedient than a house-elf."
At those words, Lockhart twitched again where he lay, his body reacting as if stung by the insult. Sargeras raised an eyebrow slightly. He was beginning to think Lockhart might be feeling a little unhappy.
"Is that all?" he asked.
The monster's lips curled in a grin, as if amused by the question. "Haha, of course not."
With a sudden lurch, he turned toward Sargeras, the immense weight of his monstrous body looming low with an overwhelming presence.
"After that," he said, his voice rising with pride, "the great Lord Voldemort, armed with nothing but a memory from when he was sixteen years old, accomplished the impossible… he achieved the miracle of rebirth."
As he spoke, he lifted one of his twisted claws. The writhing tendrils sprouting from it squirmed like living things, twitching and pulsing in the flickering torchlight.
"I told Lockhart I knew how to resolve the Chamber of Secrets crisis. He believed me without a moment of doubt and came along willingly. Then I released the basilisk… I couldn't risk that starving beast interfering with my sacred ritual."
His voice grew more triumphant as he went on.
"At last, I wrung every last bit of use out of that pathetic man and temporarily broke free from the diary, taking possession of a brand-new, flawless body."
He straightened with pride, showing off the grotesque, blood-red form that pulsed and shone with unnatural life. "I discovered this thing long ago… back when I was only sixteen. Salazar Slytherin's greatest masterpiece of flesh-bound sorcery. I couldn't command it then, not with the limited strength I had... but now, for a soul without a body, what better vessel could there be?"
"It is indeed very powerful," Sargeras said with a thoughtful nod, giving due acknowledgment.
"Oh, you're quite honest…" Voldemort looked at him with feigned appreciation, though his tone was heavy with insincere regret. "But how unfortunate. I still have to kill you!"
"That is indeed unfortunate…" Sargeras replied, nodding lightly, as if agreeing to a minor inconvenience.
"HAHAHAHAHA"
Then Voldemort burst into a fit of wild, shrieking laughter, a piercing sound so sharp and unnatural that it sent strange echoes ricocheting through the stone chamber, making the torches flicker and dance in their sconces.
"Obliviate!"
A sudden voice cut through Voldemort's laughter, sharp and unexpected. In the next instant, a flash of ice-blue light shot out from behind him, streaking forward with precision and slamming directly into the massive body of flesh and sinew.
A smile couldn't help but appear at the corners of Sargeras' lips. He had seen it all unfold. He had watched with interest as Lockhart, dragging his battered body, quietly crawled up behind Voldemort and, without a single word, raised his wand and cast the spell.
That dazzling burst of magical energy revealed a level of mastery in the art of memory charms that genuinely surprised Sargeras. He had not expected that from Lockhart.
More importantly, if it had been any ordinary offensive spell, it would have had no effect on this grotesque creature of flesh. On the contrary, physical attacks would have only fed its monstrous body, strengthening it further. But Obliviate didn't target flesh at all.
The torches swayed with a wavering glow, casting unsteady shadows across the walls as the heavy atmosphere settled once more.
The monster stood frozen in place. That great, crimson form that once shimmered with menace now loomed in silence. Where once the many clustered eyes had flickered with cunning, triumph, and cold malice, now there was only emptiness… blank confusion, a void where intention had once lived.
Lockhart had exhausted every last drop of his magical strength. He collapsed fully, unconscious, his limbs limp and motionless on the stone floor. Sargeras, on the other hand, remained standing, calm and composed, observing the unfolding scene with undisguised curiosity, almost as if watching the opening act of some absurd, surreal play.
The monster's multiple heads began to turn, slowly and awkwardly. Those vacant eyes swept across the dark Chamber of Secrets, taking in the faintly glowing torches, Lockhart's crumpled form on the ground, Sargeras standing upright, and the grotesque body he now inhabited… covered in writhing tendrils and twisted claws.
Then a low, guttural growl escaped him, rough and pained. The sound still bore that otherworldly distortion, but it no longer carried intent. There was no command behind it, no purpose, only the primal unease of something that had lost its place in the world.
"What... is this? Who... am I?"
His voice rasped through the air like a broken wind, no longer words in any true sense, but the confused and unconscious groaning of a beast, wild and unformed.
Sargeras remained still, wand slightly raised though not pointed at him, and that faintly amused smile still lingered at the edge of his lips. He looked like someone watching a theater piece unfold, fascinated by the bizarre drama playing out before him.
The monstrous thing of flesh looked down at itself in bewilderment.
"…This body… Why do I have tentacles? And also…"
He raised one of the tendrils and began using it to count the grotesque heads sprouting from his own shoulders, his movements jerky and slow.
"…this whole row of heads? Am I… a monster?"
Sargeras raised his eyebrows and replied with dry humor, his tone casual.
"I'm afraid so, Tom. Though, given your past taste in appearances, I'd say this current look might actually be an improvement."
The creature gave him a suspicious look. "'Tom'? That's my name? Sounds awfully plain."
Sargeras gave a light shrug.
"Don't worry. You ended up changing it later, to something with a bit more 'flair.' Voldemort, or the Dark Lord, depending on the occasion. But right now, we've got more immediate problems to deal with."
The creature lifted a tentacle and poked at its face, as if trying to confirm what it was seeing.
"Immediate problems? You mean like how I currently look like a failed experiment, some kind of botched hybrid between a troll and a giant squid?"
Sargeras couldn't help but chuckle, a soft and genuine laugh escaping him. "That's… surprisingly accurate. Technically, though, this particular work of art was created by a wizard. And you're… well, let's say you're its current tenant."
The creature was quiet for a moment: "…So I'm a tenant now? What's the rent? My soul?"
Sargeras nodded thoughtfully.
"Something like that. But the good news is, you've already paid in advance."
The creature looked around the chamber, eyes eventually landing on Lockhart's unconscious body sprawled out on the stone floor. "And him… is he my former landlord?"
Sargeras smiled, his tone dry. "No, more like the helpful 'assistant' who helped you move in… though his main contribution has been lying there on the floor."
The creature paused, a flicker of recognition or perhaps just raw instinct passing through its mismatched eyes. "Did I… do something to him? I vaguely remember calling someone… 'useless trash'?"
Sargeras lifted an eyebrow again. "Don't be too hard on yourself. He wasn't all that useful to begin with."
Then, all at once, the creature tensed. Something seemed to click into place… or almost.
"Wait a second. If I really am the Dark Lord — or assuming I used to be — then who are you? My nemesis? A loyal follower? Or… my debt collector?"
Sargeras replied slowly and casually, his voice as calm as ever.
"At the moment? Just a spectator. But if you're open to it, we could redefine the relationship. For example… maybe I'm the only one willing to talk to a memory-wiped monster?"
A dry, humorless laugh escaped from the creature's throat. "How touching. Really. So what should I do now? Am I supposed to conquer the world? Destroy it? Or… save it?"
He trailed off, looking down once more at his own grotesque form, at his clawed limbs, his tangled tentacles, and the many unnatural heads. Then he fell silent.
Sargeras stood calmly before the massive flesh creature beside him, his eyes steady and free of fear. He was looking directly at the thing that, in a way, he had created. If he wished, all it would take was a single thought, and this monstrous form would become a docile puppet in his hands.
And yet…
His gaze narrowed ever so slightly as he studied the creature again. There was no denying it now. The monster was clearly diminished, weaker than before.
"Stay here for now," Sargeras said casually, flicking his wand with an effortless motion. Instantly, the beast froze in place, limbs locking up, while a flicker of very human fear passed through the scarlet cluster of its eyes.
Without another word, Sargeras turned.
Then, like a black feather caught in the wind, he rose into the air, his cloak swirling behind him as he soared toward the gaping stone mouth of the Slytherin statue. Without hesitation, he slipped into the shadowed tunnel beyond and disappeared into the darkness.
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[Chapter End's]
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