Chapter 50
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Malfoy spun around, blood turning to ice.
Pansy.
Why is she here?
"L–Lord Dark Lord, you misunderstand!" Malfoy blurted, panic sharpening his voice. "She's pure-blood. Parkinson family. Absolutely pure. She's also my girlfriend—completely loyal!"
He shot Pansy a frantic look, silently begging her to come forward, to bow, to survive.
But Pansy just stood there, staring numbly at them, her face drained of all emotion.
"Oh, Draco," Riddle said with a low, amused laugh. "You're a little naïve."
His crimson-tinted eyes gleamed with cruel delight.
"Compared to your eyes and my basilisk's nose, I know which one is more reliable. She's a Mudblood, of course."
Riddle flicked his wand. Malfoy's heart nearly stopped—he couldn't block it, couldn't even breathe. Relief shook him only when he realized the jet of light wasn't green.
At least it isn't the Killing Curse…
"Your performance earlier wasn't bad," Riddle said lazily. "Let's see it again."
Hermione—disguised as Pansy—snapped up her wand on instinct.
"Protego!"
The shield shattered as if it were made of glass. The spell tore straight through it.
"See?" Riddle laughed. "Polyjuice Potion? I must admit—even for a Mudblood, brewing that as a second-year is impressive."
His smile sharpened.
"That's why you can die after earning my praise. You'll be the first piece of filth ever to receive it."
He raised his wand again. This time, Malfoy knew it would be the death curse.
He stood frozen, watching in horror as Pansy's features melted and shifted—revealing Hermione's pale, furious face beneath.
Suddenly every odd detail about "Pansy" clicked perfectly into place.
The butterfly effect… what in Merlin's name is happening?
Malfoy's mind raced. He hadn't expected anything to unfold like this.
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"Lord Dark Lord!"
Hermione, hidden behind a pillar, nearly screamed.
Dragon's blood…
She remembered the bottle Malfoy had threatened them over in first year.
"My father refused to believe you were dead," Malfoy said breathlessly. "He insisted the Dark Lord couldn't die—that a body wouldn't stop you."
"So he temporarily returned to the Wizarding Society to prepare for your resurrection. I'm sure you saw in Lockhart's memories how wealthy our family is. We can serve you… completely."
"So please forgive him for his apparent betrayal."
Hermione felt something inside her crack.
All this time… the Malfoys were loyal to Voldemort. Father and son helped resurrect him.
She suddenly felt ridiculous for every affectionate, protective thought she'd ever had about Draco Malfoy. For every moment she'd felt guilty or conflicted.
How stupid was I…?
"But why does it hurt?" Hermione pressed a trembling hand to her chest. The ache felt like being carved open with a blunt knife—slow, agonizing.
Was Hogsmeade all fake? The warnings in the diary? Fake?
"He probably just wanted to toy with the feelings of a Muggle-born," she told herself, voice cracking silently. "That's why he did all of that."
"And the warnings… he probably wanted us to walk right into the Dark Lord's hands. To die by him."
Her thoughts spiraled—wild, painful—but horribly plausible.
She forced herself to breathe. She had heard too much. Her only goal now was to escape alive and tell Dumbledore.
As for Malfoy…
She couldn't think about him anymore.
Her feelings—barely sprouted—were stomped out cruelly, roots and all.
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"You seem to have brought me a tail," Riddle said lightly. "A dirty little Mudblood."
Hermione froze.
She'd been discovered. She would die in seconds.
"Oh?" Riddle's eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked at Malfoy. "Look at her. What is she trying to do?"
Hermione clutched the bundle of enchanted letters to her chest—then threw them into the air.
Nothing happened.
"I just praised you for being clever," Riddle mocked. "But now you're acting stupid."
He waved his hand dismissively. "Magical items won't help. The anti-cheating enchantment your professors created is surprisingly effective."
Cold terror filled Hermione's lungs. She could barely breathe.
"I suppose you were hoping they'd turn into a rooster?" Riddle laughed. "How quaint."
Still nothing.
Hermione felt like she had fallen through the floor into an icy abyss.
She was going to die.
"You must think you're safe just because you handled the basilisk?" Riddle sneered. "If my loyal servant hadn't brought me dragon's blood, then perhaps I'd still be vulnerable. But now…"
He looked down at his hands with something like worship.
"Now this body is nearly perfect."
He raised his wand again—slowly, savoring it. Like a cat who has played with its prey long enough and is ready to end it.
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"Dark Lord—wait!"
Malfoy stepped forward, desperation cracking his voice.
Riddle's smile vanished.
"You dare plead for a Mudblood?"
"No! No, of course not, my Lord." Malfoy shook his head violently. "Forgive me. I—I forgot something important."
He reached into his robes and pulled out a small silver-filled vial.
"For your first battle after resurrection, everything should be flawless," Malfoy said quickly. "This is unicorn blood. It will perfect your body entirely. I was too excited earlier and—forgot. I deserve punishment."
Riddle's expression shifted—his anger cooling into greed.
"Yes," he murmured. "In terms of vitality… this is far more potent than dragon's blood."
His smile widened.
A mistake forgiven. After all, sometimes a servant's failure led to an even greater reward.
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