Chapter 328. Lord Voldemort's Warning
The man died cleanly and swiftly. Adrian Wesson's Sectumsempra flew straight into his chest cavity and stopped his heart on the spot.
There was no need to keep him alive.
Under such deep control by the Imperius Curse, even if the spell were lifted, his brain had already turned to mush and lost all function.
What was more… Wesson's instincts warned him that if he didn't finish this quickly, a greater danger awaited him.
When the spell struck, the man's body gave a violent shudder. The pain in his eyes froze in an instant; then he slowly toppled over and lay still.
Wesson watched the scene in silence.
However, just as he stepped forward to deal with the corpse, something abnormal happened.
The Dark Mark on the man's left forearm began to writhe; the pitch-black lines twisted and spread through the air.
In the blink of an eye, those lines sketched a ferocious face—Lord Voldemort's face!
The phantom visage, woven of Dark Magic, slowly opened its eyes. Scarlet pupils fixed unblinkingly on Wesson.
"Ah…"
A voice like ice cut through the air. "Adrian Wesson… I know you…"
"I know you as well, Mr Tom."
Wesson smiled faintly.
Strangely enough, in the tense moments before Voldemort appeared, he had indeed felt a trace of unease.
But the instant Voldemort's face truly manifested before him, he felt instead a curious lightness.
Voldemort could do nothing to him, could he?
At least not now.
And…
At present, Voldemort was likely just using this Dark Mark to pass along a message.
At the sound of "Tom," Voldemort's face twisted in the air for a moment.
"Hahaha." He let out a bone-chilling peal of laughter, then said in a flat voice, "You are very bold, sir.
"Barring Dumbledore, it has been a long time since anyone dared call me by that name."
"So what state are you in now?"
Wesson changed tack. "A lonely soul drifting about?"
Voldemort did not answer that question.
"It won't be long…"
His voice hissed like a snake's tongue, saturated with a terror that crept under the skin. "I am about to return. Live in fear— you will be the first sacrifice!"
Before the words had fully fallen, the floating face began to contort, then slowly faded, and at last vanished completely.
Only the lone body on the floor remained.
The Dark Mark still lay on the corpse's left forearm. It had not disappeared.
As for what Voldemort had just said—
Wesson felt no fear; if anything, he found it rather baffling.
Voldemort went to all this trouble just to spit out a threat?
Incomprehensible.
At least one thing was confirmed: he had indeed been marked out.
That much was to be expected.
After all, he had made a deep impression on Voldemort back in Harry's first year.
On top of that, he had already destroyed quite a few of Voldemort's Horcruxes (not yet discovered).
They were destined to be mortal enemies.
That, at least, made sense.
However… Wesson narrowed his eyes.
With his interference, he did not believe Voldemort could be resurrected as easily as in the original course of events.
After Voldemort dissipated, Wesson used a Transfiguration spell to conjure a hessian sack, roughly wrapped the corpse, and started towards the castle.
By now Rita Skeeter should already have been escorted to Dumbledore by Harry and the others.
He needed to bring this corpse over as well and explain what had just happened.
He suspected Dumbledore likely already knew about this Dark wizard's presence.
Because Dumbledore knew everything!
All right, that was a joke.
He remembered Dumbledore once mentioning that there were detection magics within the Hogwarts castle.
Outside the castle, he wasn't sure.
Wesson pondered as he dragged the sack along.
When he came to the corridor—
"Oh, what are you dragging there, Professor?"
A familiar voice drifted down from above.
Wesson looked up and found an old acquaintance: Peeves.
Peeves was as lively as ever.
As he had noted before, although Peeves had been taught a lesson more than once by him, he hadn't curbed his behaviour in the least and often acted up right under his nose.
This time, for instance, Peeves had taken an interest in the sack in Wesson's hand.
For a ghost—or for a "half-ghost" like a poltergeist—it was quite easy to peek into a box or a bag.
All one had to do was stick one's head in.
Before Wesson could stop him, Peeves had already thrust his head into the sack.
"?"
!!
When Peeves pulled his head back out, three expressions ran across his face in quick succession.
"Pro… Professor…" Peeves's voice went thin. "In there is…"
"Oh, a corpse," Wesson said blandly. "Nothing to make a fuss about."
Peeves let out a shriek and did three somersaults in mid-air.
"Relax, Peeves," Wesson shrugged. "You're not among the living; a corpse oughtn't to be all that frightening to you."
At that, Peeves immediately halted his stress reaction.
"Just joking," he burst out laughing.
"You know what to do," Wesson went on. "I'd prefer you didn't spread this about."
"I understand!"
Peeves made a zipping-the-lips gesture at once, though his eyes still spun roguishly.
Then—
"The professor's killed someone!"
"The professor's killed someone!"
He shouted the words and sped away down the corridor.
Wesson sighed.
Forget it; he couldn't be bothered with the fellow.
The students would hardly take Peeves's words at face value.
Aside from Peeves, Wesson met no one else on the way—most students were in class.
When he reached the headmaster's office, a parade of every sweet he could name rose involuntarily in his mind.
Just as he was about to try the password, the door swung open by itself.
It seemed Dumbledore already knew he was coming.
Wesson climbed the stairs, opened the office door, and stepped straight in.
At that moment, in the headmaster's office—
Albus Dumbledore sat leisurely behind his desk, a Sherbet Lemon pinched between his fingers, smiling amiably at Wesson as he entered.
Rita Skeeter, by contrast, sat stiffly on a nearby armchair; her gaudy green robes looked thoroughly rumpled now.
"Ah, Wesson," Dumbledore greeted cheerfully, "would you care for a sweet?"
"I don't think I'll have much of an appetite just now."
Wesson answered offhandedly, then flicked his wand.
The sack behind him floated to the middle of the office.
Its mouth slid open of its own accord, revealing the cold corpse within; the head still wore a mask of terror.
At once, the copper tang of blood filled the office.
Rita Skeeter let out a piercing scream and nearly leapt from her chair.
"Th—this… this… this…"
She lapsed into incoherence.
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