The candles in the obsidian chandelier flickered with unseen wind. In the manor carved into the bones of a dead hill, Malthazar sat cross-legged on a floating slab of slate, his eyes closed, soul humming softly.
A thousand whispers crawled beneath his skin—souls he had met in the space between death and life, between execution and rebirth.
But this whisper was different.
Not ancient.Not ghostly.Not demonic.
It came by owl.
The creature crashed through a window of iron glass, feathers soaked with ash, and dropped a wax-sealed envelope into his lap. Malthazar opened his eyes, one of them burning faintly gold.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He stared for a long moment. Not with shock. Not even amusement.
Just… curiosity.
"They remember I exist," he murmured.
The Letter:
Dear Mr. Black Riddle,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term begins on September 1st. Enclosed is a list of necessary books and equipment.
Yours sincerely,Minerva McGonagallDeputy Headmistress
He traced the Hogwarts crest with a single finger. "A prison made of stone and tradition," he whispered. "Shall I walk its halls?"
From the shadows behind him, the demon stepped forth.
Not fully beast. Not fully man. Antlers of obsidian twisted into a crown. Wings torn and stitched. A tail like barbed wire dragging across the floor.
"Shall I burn the letter, my lord?"
Malthazar stood, folding the parchment with surgical precision.
"No. I'll go."
"Why?" the demon hissed.
"Because the world believes Potter is the answer. Let's not disappoint them too quickly."
Later That Night…
In the black library beneath the manor, filled with cursed scrolls and bound spirits, Malthazar lit a silver bowl with a single breath of hellfire. The flames curved into runes mid-air. Names. Places. Bloodlines.
He was searching.Not for Potter.Not for Dumbledore.Not even for Voldemort.
He was searching for Lucifer.
"Where is the one who made me more than human?" he asked.
The demon at his side bowed its head. "Your father's soul is sealed in the Ninth Gate—the prison of Thorns. Bound by the Circle of Judas and guarded by the Seraphim who fell."
Malthazar's hand twitched. Not in pain. Not in fear.
In challenge.
"Then we will break the seal… after Hogwarts. One inferno at a time."
Then, the flames shifted. Another name appeared.
A child.
A girl.
Sabrina Morningstar-Spellman.
Three years old.
Born of mortal flesh and witch blood. Cursed and blessed. A daughter of prophecy. A sister… by blood.
His head tilted, raven-black hair spilling like ink down his shoulder.
"Sabrina," he whispered. "My sister… hidden in the veil of Greendale. Shielded by charm and fate."
The demon watched with wary curiosity. "What will you do?"
Malthazar smiled faintly. Not cruel. Not warm. Something in between.
"Watch her. Guard her. She is not for the Dark Lord. She is not for the Church of Night. She is mine."
That Morning – Packing for Hogwarts
His trunk was not filled with books, but with secrets.
The Sentient Grimoire, still growling in its chains.
Vials of soulglass, storing captured essence from spirits.
A cloak woven from thestral manes.
A silver locket containing a portrait of his mother Bellatrix—burned halfway through by his own hand.
And hidden in a velvet pouch…
A single black scale from a Basilisk, pulsing with latent magic. The core of a wand not yet forged.
He dressed in robes of midnight stitched with threads of starfire.His blood-runes shimmered faintly beneath the sleeves.
He looked into the cracked mirror one last time.
"Hogwarts," he said softly, "prepare your ghosts."
And with a snap of his fingers, he vanished in hellfire.