"Professor, please, say something!" Darren pleaded, his eyes locked on Severus Snape.
Snape's mind reeled. The familiar words, the familiar face... it was a stark echo of the past. I held my tongue then, choked back the fire. Not this time.
"You might as well just obediently get yourself killed," Snape drawled, utterly devoid of emotion. "I'll collect the body."
Darren froze, all color draining from his face.
Snape's words were, in truth, a placation for Tom Riddle. He was confident Tom Riddle wouldn't actually kill Darren; keeping Tom Riddle appeased was Snape's priority.
A cold chuckle rippled from Tom Riddle as he watched Darren's fear-stricken rigidity. "Heh... I could block your escape with Fiendfyre, then control you with the Imperius Curse, follow that with a series of Cruciatus Curses to ensure exquisite torment, and finally, the Avada Kedavra to send you on your way... Are you quite ready?"
Darren visibly shuddered. "No! Not ready! Just kill me with a potion!"
"Kidding aside," Tom Riddle replied, a predatory glint in his eyes, "ready or not, you're still going to die!" He raised his wand. "Crucio!"
A bolt of crimson light erupted from the Elder Wand. Darren threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the curse.
BOOM!
The spell slammed into the dueling arena floor, carving a sizable crater into the stone.
The Cruciatus Curse wasn't known for its destructive force; it was a torture curse, plain and simple. The fact that it had blasted a hole in the ground did nothing to assuage Darren's fear of the pain it would inflict.
Tom Riddle had deliberately held back; otherwise, with his area-of-effect version of the curse, Darren wouldn't have stood a chance.
Gazing at the smoking crater, Darren felt a surge of adrenaline, a desperate, pounding awareness of just how close he'd come to oblivion.
"I'll cast the Cruciatus Curse on you six more times," Tom Riddle announced. "If you manage to dodge them all..."
Darren's eyes flickered with desperate hope. "You'll let me go?"
"I'll use the Avada Kedavra instead," Tom Riddle purred, a cruel smile twisting his lips.
Darren was utterly deflated, paralyzed with dread.
"Crucio!" Tom Riddle roared.
"Crucio!"
"Crucio!"
Crimson lightning relentlessly illuminated the dueling arena, forcing Darren to flee in a desperate, pathetic scramble.
Snape observed that Darren was only narrowly dodging the Cruciatus Curses each time. He knew Tom Riddle was toying with him and so held his tongue.
Gilderoy Lockhart, as usual, was clueless, but being Tom Riddle's loyal sycophant, he'd applaud even if Darren was brutally murdered.
The younger students, particularly those from other houses, were largely convinced that Professor Tom Riddle was indeed the Dark Lord himself, while the Slytherin Death Eaters were beginning to wonder if Darren had betrayed Tom Riddle.
If Darren survived this ordeal, they would see to his punishment themselves.
Darren finally collapsed, kneeling on the ground, hands braced against the stone, gasping for air, utterly spent.
Tap, tap, tap...
Footsteps approached. He looked up to see Tom Riddle strolling towards him, unhurried as ever.
Through his terror, Darren watched as Tom Riddle reached him, half-squatted, and leaned close to his ear. "In your next life," Tom Riddle murmured, his voice a silken threat, "don't touch what isn't yours."
The words hit Darren like a physical blow, and realization dawned.
With a thud, Darren prostrated himself. "Professor, I was wrong! It was the remnant soul in the diary that bewitched me! I'll never do it again!"
Tom Riddle's expression shifted in an instant, softening into a gentle smile. "Why didn't you say so sooner? Why all this unnecessary trouble?" I'm tired of this game. It's time to retrieve my diary.
...
Meanwhile, at the Ministry of Magic.
Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, hurried towards Fudge's office.
"Good morning, Head!"
"Morning."
"Mr. Scrimgeour, could you take a look at this..."
"Not now! Leave it on my desk."
Scrimgeour brushed past the greetings, focused on the urgent matter at hand.
Reaching Fudge's door, he didn't bother to knock but simply barged in.
Fudge was still preoccupied with election strategies.
"Minister," Scrimgeour announced, his tone fraught, "I've received word that something's happened at Hogwarts."
"And this news has already begun to spread. If we don't act now, I fear..."
"Enough, let us depart to Hogwarts immediately!" Fudge exclaimed, seizing what he perceived as yet another golden opportunity to boost his public image. But then, a flicker of unease crossed his face. "This isn't about You-Know-Who again, is it?"
"..."
Scrimgeour remained conspicuously silent.
"Don't do that! Say something! You're scaring me." Though his words were laced with bravado, Fudge's eyes betrayed his fear.
Seeing Scrimgeour's continued silence, Fudge grimaced. "Tell me, what's happened?"
"It appears," Scrimgeour said, "that the legendary Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts has been opened."
"What does this have to do with You-Know-Who?"
"Only the heir of Salazar Slytherin can open the Chamber of Secrets."
"But I thought You-Know-Who was..."
Fudge trailed off, his face blanching.
"And I've heard," Scrimgeour continued, carefully omitting his own lack of enthusiasm, "that whatever was inside has already emerged, and young wizards are likely to be targeted... Minister, should we... investigate?"
Scrimgeour, a contender for the next Minister of Magic himself, was subtly pushing Fudge into harm's way, figuring it would be advantageous if Fudge were to meet an untimely end at Hogwarts.
"Is that so? Then, by all means, you should go."
Fudge stared pointedly at Scrimgeour. "You are the head of the Auror Office. Take your Aurors with you."
"Huh?"
Scrimgeour's mind raced. "Consider the potential rewards, Minister! If you solve this, your reputation in the wizarding world will be unparalleled!"
"Spare me the lies. Reputation is worthless when you're dead." Fudge scoffed, "Let's not mince words. I'm not going, and you clearly don't want to go either. So, this Chamber of Secrets..."
"We shall pretend it never happened," Scrimgeour finished, sighing inwardly. He was disappointed to miss his chance to see Fudge meet his end but relieved to avoid any personal danger.
As for the Chamber, let someone else risk their neck for it.
"..."
Scrimgeour and Fudge tacitly agreed to bury the matter.
...
Back at Hogwarts, in the Slytherin Common Room.
"Professor, that's everything! I swear I didn't take anything else!" Darren burst into the common room, diary clutched in his trembling hands, and thrust it towards Tom Riddle.
Tom Riddle, lounging on the sofa, took the black notebook bearing the name "Tom Riddle" with a casual glance.
"Of course, I believe you," Tom Riddle said, rising and heading towards the door. "Just remember, don't touch what doesn't belong to you in the future."
Darren shuddered.
Only after Tom Riddle left the Slytherin Common Room did Darren dare to breathe.
But then, the other Slytherins began to emerge from their dormitories.
"So, you're the one who stole from the great Dark Lord?"
"Grab him!"
Two burly seventh-year students surged forward, seizing Darren and dragging him towards the dormitories.
"Help! Someone help me!" Darren shrieked, struggling in vain.
"Don't worry," one of his captors sneered. "My dormitory is quite spacious! We simply wish to share some... home truths."
---