The physical body is the ultimate fortress of the soul.
Whether dead or alive, as long as the flesh remains intact, the Mark of Enslavement simply cannot take effect. Conversely, once the physical body is completely destroyed, the soul naturally dissipates along with it, rendering the mark equally useless. It was a highly frustrating paradox.
Therefore, Maurise had always considered this particular piece of magic to be functionally useless.
Until today.
Tom Riddle, the future Lord Voldemort, just happened to exist in an incredibly bizarre, highly specific state. This particular soul fragment lacked the absolute protection of a physical body. It was merely housed within the fragile pages of a mundane notebook. Metaphorically speaking, it was essentially running around completely naked.
It was a one-in-a-million opportunity.
Truthfully, prior to today, Maurise had genuinely believed the diary only contained a sentient memory. Who would have possibly guessed it actually housed a genuine piece of a soul?
Even better, this soul fragment belonged to Lord Voldemort himself. Maurise could essentially do whatever he wanted to it without suffering a single ounce of moral guilt.
Tracing the cold leather cover of the diary, the corners of Maurise's mouth curled upwards. At least he had discovered the truth before it was too late.
"You possess absolutely no means to affect my soul..."
"Zul... Gath... Khaar!" (Mark of Enslavement)
Before Tom could even finish his arrogant declaration, Maurise completed the incantation. A chilling, spectral purple light flared brilliantly where his palm touched the diary's cover.
There was no earth-shattering explosion, nor were there any blinding visual effects.
Tom's translucent figure violently shuddered. He didn't feel physical pain. Instead, a deeply unsettling, highly invasive sensation washed over him. It felt as though something highly unnatural had forcibly burrowed into the very core of his being.
"No... this is wrong... stop!"
His handsome face twisted into a mask of pure, hideous agony. He fought desperately to resist the encroaching magic, but it was utterly futile.
The spectral purple light took root deep within his fractured soul, spreading like a highly aggressive virus until it completely merged with his essence.
Maurise nodded in deep satisfaction. The spell was a flawless success.
At that exact moment, the raw fury and terror contorting Tom's face receded like the tide, replaced by a chilling, absolute calm. Every single thought of rebellion or defiance had been quietly and permanently erased from the very source code of his soul.
Aside from that single, fundamental alteration, he remained the exact same arrogant, cold-blooded teenage Dark Lord.
"Now then," Maurise spoke softly, breaking the silence. "I believe it is time we properly reintroduce ourselves, Tom."
Tom drifted forward several paces. His knees hit the damp stone floor as he knelt in total submission.
"Master." His voice was perfectly steady, completely devoid of any emotional fluctuation.
'Huh?'
Maurise blinked in genuine surprise. 'Is it really necessary to be this dramatic?' He supposed that, in the Dark Lord's twisted worldview, this was exactly how a servant was meant to behave.
How fascinating.
"Stand up," Maurise instructed lazily. "I have no need for such theatrical formalities."
Obeying instantly, Tom rose to his feet. He stood rigidly in place, his head bowed in absolute reverence.
Maurise was just about to issue his first command when the black diary in his hand suddenly grew searingly hot. He glanced down, noting with mild alarm that the worn leather cover was rapidly blistering and cracking. It looked exactly as though it had been tossed into a blazing fire, emitting a highly pungent, acrid stench.
"What on earth is happening?" Maurise frowned, turning his gaze to Tom.
Tom raised his head, his dark eyes locking onto the smoldering notebook. A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his face.
"Master, that object is my Horcrux. More accurately, it is the physical vessel anchoring my soul to this plane." He paused, closing his eyes as if sensing a shift in the magical currents. "The vessel... it is actively rejecting me."
"Rejecting you?"
Maurise understood immediately. The catastrophic structural failure was undoubtedly a direct side effect of forcibly stamping the Mark of Enslavement onto the soul inside.
"And what exactly is a Horcrux?" he inquired.
Tom answered smoothly, holding absolutely nothing back. "A Horcrux, Master, is one of the most malevolent and powerful constructs in the Dark Arts. The fundamental principle involves violently splitting a fragment of one's own soul and sealing it within a physical object. As long as the vessel remains intact, the creator cannot truly die. Regardless of the catastrophic physical damage inflicted upon their main body, they remain anchored to the mortal realm because a piece of their soul survives."
'Incredible,' Maurise marveled inwardly.
The underlying motivation behind Voldemort's soul mutilation was now crystal clear. It was an obsessive, desperate bid for eternal life. He was terrified of death.
"The vessel is collapsing rapidly," Tom stated, a hint of genuine urgency finally bleeding into his voice. "Before it turns to ash entirely, I must secure a new physical anchor. If I fail, I will dissipate completely."
Maurise stroked his chin. Hmm... what to do?
Letting Tom simply evaporate into nothingness after going through the trouble of enslaving him would be a catastrophic waste. However, locating an object magically resilient enough to house a Dark Lord's soul fragment wasn't exactly something he could do in five seconds.
Wait!
Maurise's eyes lit up. He had a brilliantly twisted idea.
With a sweeping flourish of his robes, he activated his summoning array, pulling out the skeletal wolf he kept in storage. Yes, it was the exact same lopsided, limping wolf skeleton he had haphazardly cobbled together using spare bones scavenged from the Forbidden Forest.
While his bone constructs possessed rudimentary consciousness, they entirely lacked a true soul.
"There we go," Maurise snapped his fingers cheerfully. "Your brand new body."
Tom stared at the pathetic, mismatched pile of canine bones. He looked thoroughly disgusted.
However, because it was a direct order from Maurise, he possessed absolutely no capability to resist. He couldn't even summon the willpower to form a complaint. The absolute authority of the Mark of Enslavement was truly terrifying.
"I obey your will, Master."
The moment the words left his spectral lips, the diary in Maurise's hand gave a final, violent shudder. It instantly crumbled into a ruined, charred husk, looking exactly like the pathetic remnants of a terrible fire.
Simultaneously, the pale blue soul fire burning in the skeletal wolf's eye sockets flickered and died. A split second later, twin points of piercing, luminous crimson light flared to life in the empty sockets, looking like a pair of flawless rubies.
Tom's spectral form dissolved into a streak of bright light, shooting directly into the skeletal canine's ribcage.
"Did it work?" Maurise asked.
"Yes, Master."
Tom's smooth, aristocratic voice echoed bizarrely from within the ribcage of the undead dog. The wolf slowly lowered its skull, thoroughly inspecting its brand new, incredibly bony physique.
"How does it feel?" Maurise inquired.
The skeletal wolf took a few limping, highly uncoordinated steps forward, its mismatched joints creaking and clicking loudly in the echoing chamber.
"It feels exceedingly strange. However, I am certain I can adapt."
"That is perfectly adequate," Maurise nodded in satisfaction.
After all, he didn't need Tom to serve as a combat summon. He only required the Dark Lord for the vast, forbidden knowledge locked inside his head.
Wasting no time, Maurise immediately launched into an interrogation regarding Tom's activities since arriving at Hogwarts.
Tom delivered a flat, highly objective report. "I initially took control of a young girl. Her name was Ginny Weasley."
"Through written communication within the diary, I systematically corrupted her mind, siphoning her life force and magical energy. Ultimately, when her willpower was at its absolute weakest, I completely seized control of her physical body. I used her to manipulate the Basilisk and orchestrate the attacks around the castle."
"However, the child eventually succumbed to sheer terror and attempted to dispose of me by tossing the diary into the girls' lavatory."
'Ginny Weasley?'
Maurise vaguely recalled the name. She was the younger sister of the Weasley twins, currently a first-year in Gryffindor. That explained everything perfectly.
"And how exactly did the diary end up in Ginny's possession to begin with?" Maurise pressed.
"I am completely unaware of those details," the skeletal wolf shook its bony head. After all, he had been nothing more than a dormant notebook prior to her opening him.
"That is enough for now, Tom. Return to the array and rest."
Maurise gave his robes a sweeping swish. The limping skeletal wolf vanished instantly, absorbed into his pocket dimension. Any further interrogations could wait until they were safely out of this damp dungeon.
The Chamber of Secrets returned to its eerie, suffocating silence.
Maurise turned his attention back to the pulverized, highly pathetic corpse of the Basilisk. How on earth was he supposed to process this mess? He honestly didn't know if he could patch the creature up well enough to successfully convert it into a viable undead summon.
Regardless, he needed to pack it up first.
Drawing his wand, Maurise aimed it at the massive carcass and cast a powerful Shrinking Charm.
The Basilisk's corpse didn't shrink a single inch.
Clearly, a magical beast of this immense caliber possessed incredibly high innate spell resistance, even in death. The residual magic clinging to its scales completely neutralized his charm.
"How incredibly annoying," Maurise frowned in mild irritation.
Just as he was trying to formulate a logistical solution to his massive snake problem, a pained groan echoed from the base of a nearby stone pillar. The unconscious Malfoy was beginning to stir.
"Ah, right. I almost completely forgot about you."
Maurise strolled leisurely toward the groaning Slytherin.