Chapter Text
I won't suffer, be broken, get tired, or wasted
Surrender to nothing
Or give up what I started and stopped it
From end to beginning
A new day is coming, and I am finally free
—Thirty Seconds to Mars ~ “Attack”
My patience was about to be rewarded. After residing in my diary for fifty years as a splintered soul, I was about to be fully restored to human form. Ginny Weasley was lying on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, slipping closer to death and bringing me closer to life with each passing second. I smirked at her clutching the diary as if her life depended on it. How ironic.
Loud crashes sounded near the Chamber entrance. A long pause followed, broken by a man shouting, “OBLIVIATE!” A low rumble preceded the slew of rocks toppling to the ground. There was only one explanation: Harry Potter had come to rescue his little princess.
I stood in the shadows and watched the scrawny git climb down the ladder into the cavern where I waited. Freezing in horror, his green eyes fixed on the pathetic Weasley girl. I willed myself not to laugh as he sprinted over to her and begged her to wake up.
When I grew tired of this, I decided it was time to reveal myself. I stepped out of the shadows and announced, “She won’t wake.”
The boy looked up and gasped.
“Tom!” he exclaimed, fear and confusion written all over his soot-covered face. “Tom Riddle! What do you mean, she won’t wake? She’s not—”
“She’s still alive, but only just.”
He clearly didn’t comprehend the situation. How he’d managed to survive this long was beyond me. Was he really that dense?
“Are you a ghost?” the dense boy asked me.
“A memory,” I replied flatly, “preserved in a diary for fifty years.” I gestured to the little black book that had gotten all of us here.
“You’ve got to help me, Tom. We’ve got to get out of here. There’s a basilisk...I don’t know where it is, but it could be along any moment....please, help me!”
He returned his attention to the dying Weasley girl and resumed begging her to awaken. Taking advantage of his diverted focus, I reached down and picked up his wand.
The boy’s eyes narrowed as he stood, upon realizing that I was not handing him the instrument. “Give me my wand, Tom,” he said with a slight quiver in his voice.
Do you get it now, you stupid brat? Let’s see how long it takes you to realize that you’re in mortal peril. It’s all right; I’ve got plenty of time. More than you ever will.
“Listen, we’ve got to go! If the basilisk comes—”
“It won’t come until it’s called.”
“What do you mean? Look, give me my wand, I might need it—”
“You won’t be needing it.”
The little pipsqueak looked even more confused, but pressed on. “What do you mean, I won’t be—”
“I’ve waited a long time for this, Harry Potter,” I drawled. “For the chance to see you. To speak to you.”
“Look, I don’t think you get it. We’re in the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk later—”
“We’re going to talk now.” I pocketed Harry’s wand, savoring my long-awaited power over the worthless little boy.
And so he finally began to understand what was happening. Since he would never be able to speak of the events that had transpired over the past year, I revealed everything. He was utterly dumbfounded by how easily I had manipulated Ginny, and enraged that he could not reverse the damage.
To add insult to injury, I wrote my full name in the air with Harry’s wand...and gloated over the boy’s dismay as the letters rearranged themselves from TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE to I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.
He thought he had me cornered as he sang his praises of the fool Dumbledore, especially in the old codger’s defense of the bumbling Hagrid, but I quickly turned the tables: I strode over to the statue of Salazar Slytherin and summoned the basilisk. As the mouth of the statue lowered into the ground, I sneered at my victim.
“Now, Harry, I’m going to teach you a little lesson,” I taunted. “Let’s match the powers of Lord Voldemort, heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter!”
The boy turned around and dashed toward the ladder as the basilisk began to emerge from behind the statue.
“Kill him!” I ordered in Parseltongue.
Potter flinched, having understood the command.
“Parseltongue won’t save you now, Potter; it only obeys me!” I boomed.
Harry ran even faster—until he tripped over his own feet. His glasses flew off and fell to the floor a few feet away. As he scrambled to pick them up, the basilisk lunged forward, mouth agape. It devoured the boy within seconds, silencing his screams as its fangs tore open his flesh and ripped his organs apart. I relished the sound of his bones being ground into nothingness.
And just like that, my enemy was gone.
The basilisk pivoted and slithered back to me.
“Well done,” I hissed.
“Thank you, massster. I enjoyed myself immensssssely,” the basilisk replied, while munching on the last bits of flesh and bone. I chuckled and sent the beast back inside its lair.
A few minutes later, Ginny Weasley took her last breath. I inhaled deeply and stretched my arms with a triumphant grin. My sixteen-year-old body had been fully restored, never to change in the slightest, and I could finally finish what my great ancestor had started.
I twirled Potter’s wand in my fingers before pocketing it once more. Strolling around the Chamber, I pondered just sitting here for a little while and reflecting on this momentous hour. Unfortunately, another loud crash changed my plans. I walked toward the sound and discovered a hole in the rock formation by the Chamber entrance. A redheaded boy was throwing rocks onto the floor, trying to make an opening large enough to crawl through.
“HARRY! GINNY!” he bellowed. “CAN YOU HEAR ME! I SHIFTED ENOUGH OF THE ROCK AND YOU CAN CLIMB BACK THROUGH! WE CAN GET OUT OF HERE!”
A pause.
“H-Harry?”
“Harry! Harry!” I responded in a mocking tone. “Help me, Harry!”
“WHO IS THAT?! DO YOU HAVE HARRY!! WHERE’S MY SISTER!!”
Ahh, so the ginger is Ginny’s brother. It looks like Mummy and Daddy are losing two children tonight. What a tragedy.
“You obviously didn’t hear our little discussion, silly boy. Your dear friend and sister are dead.”
“NO! NO! WHY?” he choked. “Har-ryyyy!” He forced his way through the hole he’d created in the rocks. “I’ll bloody kill you, whoever you are! I swear, I’ll—”
“Harry? Who is this Harry?” piped up a groggy yet cheerful male voice from behind the ginger. “My head hurts. Is there a Healer anywhere? I feel off.”
What on Earth was that about?
“WHO ARE YOU AND WHY DID YOU KILL MY BEST FRIEND!!”
I pointed Harry’s wand at the boy. “Nothing that need concern you, young lad. Avada Kedavra!”
Killed by his best friend’s wand. I’ll bet Harry never saw that coming.
The Weasley boy toppled over and hit the Chamber floor with a loud thud. His confused companion attempted to stand, but I hit him with another flash of green light from Potter’s wand. And finally, all was quiet.
Now I could think.
I plucked my diary from the Weasley girl’s cold hands and stashed it in my robes. After smiling at the image of my revered ancestor, I folded my arms and leaned against one of the snake statues. What to do? I asked myself. Where do I begin? How do I pick up where I left off?
I smirked at my reflection in a puddle of water—I looked just as devilishly handsome as I had in my Hogwarts days, and I was still wearing the school robes I loved so much. Oh, how I had missed this. My young body, my school, my robes...all of it.
Tracing the fabric of my sleeves, I reflected on everything that had led up to this point. After splitting my soul into seven pieces and being preserved inside a diary for five decades, even that small gesture was thrilling—being able to touch something. Being able to stand, breathe, smell the air (dank as it was), and feel my robes on my skin was rejuvenating.
Memories from the other pieces of my soul were slowly coming back to me in fragments, now that I had a body of my own for the first time since 1981. The rush of information was a tad disorienting, and caused me to sway on my feet as I processed the onslaught of words and sounds and images. My legs nearly buckled under me.
Despite the power all of this knowledge would grant me, I knew I’d have to lay low for a while, to learn about what had happened in the magical world since my downfall. But I felt confident that all of my prior memories, from my Horcruxes and my original human form, would fully return soon and allow me to function optimally in present time.
What an eventful evening.
I couldn’t linger in the Chamber and mull everything over, however. I had too much to do.
As much as I would have loved to remain at my treasured school, I knew that Step One was to get out of Hogwarts and find a place to stay. Malfoy Manor seemed the ideal location. Since I’d entrusted Lucius with my diary, surely I could count on him to provide lodging until I could get my affairs in order and find somewhere to live by myself. He wouldn’t actually want me living under his roof, and so the impending tension in his mansion would be mutual—though it would also amuse me, as I could toy with his mind while there. He would no longer be the king of his castle.
But first, I would need to alert him to my imminent arrival. That was the most important task this day.
Time to get started.
I took one last look around, and then climbed up the ladder out of the main Chamber room and into the tunnel. Once I found the bone-littered entryway at the bottom of the slide, I cast Disillusionment and Levitating Charms, and flew up the passageway into the girls’ bathroom.
“Who’s there?” squeaked a young girl’s voice as I closed the entrance to the Chamber. “Harry? Have you returned? Where are you?”
Ah, Myrtle, you still haven’t moved on. Predictable as ever, you are.
I ignored the simpering ghost of my victim from fifty years past and strolled out of the bathroom, smirking at the knowledge that Harry and his friends would never be discovered. But at least I had been considerate enough to have Ginny write her own farewell on the castle wall before bringing her down into the Chamber, thereby alerting everyone to her final resting place. Someone at Hogwarts would surely possess enough common sense to infer that she had taken the three missing wizards with her.
There was a lull about the school, which reminded me of the atmosphere when I had been a fifth-year student. Myrtle had perished after locking eyes with the basilisk; no one had even come close to locating the Chamber or discovering how it functioned; and most of the students had feared becoming the monster’s next victim. Funny how my fondness for Hogwarts was the only thing that had stopped me from releasing the basilisk again and attacking more Muggleborns. Lucky little blighters, they were. They didn’t deserve it.
I wandered the corridors for a while, basking in the memories and getting my bearings. Upon entering the library, I slinked around to find supplies. Luck was on my side: before me was a table filled with students who weren’t paying attention to their surroundings. I was able to steal a quill, an inkbottle, and a roll of parchment, which I took to a secluded table and then drafted a short letter to Lucius.
A breath I hadn’t known I was holding released as I strolled toward to the owlery; getting caught would have been disastrous, and I had evaded all manner of obstacles. I plucked an envelope from the stack against the wall, sealed my letter, and attempted to hand it to one of the owls.
Apparently, the birds were not accustomed to receiving letters from invisible persons. A cacophony of squawks and fluttering wings filled the room, and I had to retreat.
Fabulous. Absolutely fabulous. Just what I needed.
Scoffing, I scanned the area to make sure I was still alone, and then removed my Disillusionment Charm. It was a struggle not to tap my foot while I waited for the owls to calm down. Once the menagerie had settled, I slowly approached a different owl. The bird cooed and cocked its head to the side, as if sizing me up before deciding that I was not a threat.
“Take this to Lucius Malfoy,” I instructed, taking care to sound quiet and friendly. The owl snatched the letter in its beak and flew off into the forest. When it was out of sight, I cast another Disillusionment Charm and left the owlery.
A creeping sadness and anger filled me as I walked through the familiar halls. Why did I have to leave? Hogwarts was my home. As pleased as I was with Lucius for having orchestrated my resurrection, I didn’t want to live with him. He may have been a trustworthy Death Eater; but he was also a spineless coward and I didn’t want to interact with him unless it was necessary.
Well, this will just be another test of Malfoy’s competence as a Death Eater. Let’s get going.
A memory resurfaced, of the castle’s secret passageway that led to Honeydukes’ cellar. I felt quite undignified, creeping around the castle like a disobedient student trying to avoid punishment, but I had no other way out. At least no one could see me in such an unflattering position.
I Apparated to the entrance of Malfoy Manor as soon as I arrived at Honeydukes, and began pacing around the walkway to await entry.
Fifteen minutes passed before the familiar ice-blond locks emerged from the front door. Lucius cast a furtive glance around, and then padded toward the gate. He stopped short when he saw me—he hadn’t expected to see someone who appeared to be a Hogwarts student, but there we were.
“Evening, Lucius,” I greeted my servant. “I assume you received my owl.”
“Y-yes, my Lord. I just—Dobby just finished preparing the third-floor guest room,” he replied, attempting to appear calm and in control. The exact opposite of how he felt. I didn’t need to be the world’s most powerful Legilimens to see that Malfoy was scared out of his mind. Too bad for him. With a heavy sigh, he granted me access to his fortress and led me inside.
Step One was complete.
* * *
Settling into Malfoy Manor was as awkward as I’d expected it to be. I liked the room Lucius and Narcissa had cleared out for me, but it still wasn’t mine. However, considering the circumstances from whence I came, it was acceptable. I had spent the last fifty years in a bloody diary. Any room was better than that.
The Malfoys were baffled by my appearance. A few weeks after my arrival, Lucius had the brazenness to ask me why I looked so young. I told him that I was now immortal and I could therefore choose the age I appeared; and as I’d matured slightly faster than average and looked more twenty than sixteen, I settled with that. The latter part of that statement was false—I was, of course, immortal, but I looked as I did at sixteen because I’d been that age when I’d turned the diary into a Horcrux.
Lucius had no business knowing about my Horcruxes. No one did. Though he was thoroughly disturbed and awestruck bymy achievement of immortality, there was nothing he could do about it.
One thing he had been able to do was protect Nagini in my absence. Before the fractured part of me disappeared into Albania, I had sent Nagini to live at Malfoy Manor, in case anything happened to me when I killed the Potters. Caring for her had been a daunting task for Lucius. He had initially tried to contain her inside a room—but as a Maledictus, being caged inside an animal’s body was difficult enough. She had destroyed many doors and windows before Lucius got the message; however, she was in perfect health when I arrived at the Manor, so I couldn’t complain. Lucius bowed and mumbled his thanks as I praised his snake-rearing abilities.
Nagini was my only desired housemate at Malfoy Manor. Not only did she harbor a piece of my soul, but she was also a unique creature whose company I enjoyed. I especially liked being able to speak with her and not have anyone understand the subject matter. Being a Parselmouth was a wonderful gift.
As just one more way to remind Lucius who had the upper hand, I made a point to carry out loud and lengthy Parseltongue conversations with Nagini. And oh, was he dying to ask me what the snake and I were discussing.
“What does Lucius think we’re talking about?” Nagini hissed at me one evening as we strolled about the house, discussing Narcissa’s choice of décor. This was the first time she and I had communicated outside the confines of my bedroom, and it was hard not to laugh at the Malfoys’ reactions.
“He thinks I’m plotting to kill him, or set you on one of his peacocks if he displeases me,” I replied.
“The birds are too big—unless you plan to cut them into pieces and give them to me as separate meals before they rot. If you’re going to feed me a Malfoy, which I’d prefer, give me Draco. He’s small, so he’ll be easy to digest. And he’s annoying. I can’t stand him.”
“Neither can I, dear. Oh, look! Here’s his mother. What do you reckon she thinks we’re discussing?”
“Probably the truth, at this point. Ohh, wow. Look at the expression on her face! You probably have a better view from up there—”
“Yes, I can see her abject terror from here. She doesn’t look nearly as dignified as she thinks she is when she’s scared, now does she.”
“Not at all. And given the scent coming off of her, I think she just wet herself.”
“It’s moments like these when I’m glad I don’t have your superior sense of smell.”
“I thought about chewing holes in her robes the other day because she kept staring at me and it was aggravating. I wasn’t actually going to eat her; I just wanted to scare her enough that she’d stop bothering me.”
“You have my permission to do that if she doesn’t respect you. As long as we’re living here, you are the lady of the house. Scales and fangs notwithstanding. You’re infinitely more formidable than she’ll ever be.”
And on and on it went. The Malfoys never got used to the Parseltongue, as I limited its frequency so that it always caught everyone off-guard. I brought Nagini around for a walk and chit-chat whenever I was particularly displeased with one of my blond servants—sometimes we discussed the offender’s behavior, and sometimes we discussed topics as innocuous as the weather and Lucius’s obsession with his snake cane. I simply needed to keep psychological control over my hosts.
Lucius was terrified of Nagini, of course. However, during my absence, he had apparently spent a lot of time observing her, attempting to level with her and assuage his fear. Nagini told me that they’d spent several terse hours just watching each other, each silently daring the other to do something dramatic. It had never happened. The only dramatic thing she’d done was to put up a fight about not having the run of the house.
Nagini was much more observant and coherent than the Malfoys realized. In my absence, they had given her clues about their weaknesses that they would have otherwise kept hidden—but they were on their best behavior now, as they grappled with my domineering presence. I began taking Nagini for walks around the grounds when I needed to get out of the house, during which she regaled me with stories of fights between father and son, Narcissa’s insecurities, and Draco’s fear of being upstaged at Hogwarts. I could definitely use such information to my advantage if necessary. I could only imagine Lucius’s face if he disobeyed me, and I retaliated by mentioning a private conversation of his:
“Lucius, why did you have Dobby give me the earl grey tea, when I specifically requested English breakfast? You thought I wouldn’t notice?”
“Oh, no, my Lord...I—I suppose I may have overlooked—”
“Might you have also overlooked the fact that Narcissa wasn’t in the mood for you last night, but you kept pestering her for half an hour? Should I be concerned about your sudden inability to follow instructions? Nagini hears everything, you know.”
—cue deathly silence—
I figured that several such exchanges would occur before Lucius got his act together. In the meantime, I had work to do.
* * *
Harry Potter’s wand functioned well enough, but it hindered my spellwork because the instrument hadn’t chosen me. It resisted my power. The wand technically was mine—I had murdered its owner and had therefore won it from him—but it didn’t feel the same as my own wand.
I had no idea where my wand was.
This was a subject I had been avoiding since departing the Chamber of Secrets. Could I travel by Apparition for a few days, arriving in Albania to communicate with the non-corporeal part of myself? More than likely; but that piece of me was not able to hold a wand, so it couldn’t help me.
Where was my wand? What had happened to it after I’d killed the Potters? Maybe one of my followers had retrieved it from the scene.
Many Death Eaters were surely shaking in their boots, having seen their Dark Marks blacken upon my ascension from the diary, but others were likely waiting for me to make contact at this very moment. They could hold onto their anticipation for a bit longer; I wasn’t ready for them yet. I first needed to acclimate to this new time period and locate my own wand. As hilariously ironic as it would be, I refused to use my dead enemy’s wand for eternity.
As it so happened, I didn’t have to wait too long. One morning during breakfast, an owl zoomed into the dining room with a parcel for me. Baffled, I accepted the package and began to unwrap it.
My wand was inside.
I grinned as I read the attached note:
My Lord,
I discovered this in Godric’s Hollow on Halloween of 1981, and I’ve kept it hidden in a loose floorboard of my residence since then.
I knew you had returned when my Dark Mark turned black a few weeks ago. I await your summons.
W.
“Is—is that your wand, my Lord?” Narcissa asked quietly.
“Yes. One of your comrades kept it while I was gone, and he was smart enough to send it back to me.”
“Who was it, my Lord?”
“None of your concern.”
The Malfoys flinched, and returned to their food.
I wouldn’t tell them that W stood for Wormtail, the nickname of Peter Pettigrew. I had no idea where the errant Death Eater was living, or how he’d managed to hide my wand without anyone noticing, but he’d done it all the same. I’d have to ask him about it when I was ready to call everyone back to my table.
I’d never trusted Wormtail. He was only out for himself. He’d joined me out of fear, and desire for power and glory; not from a belief in my mission. Nevertheless, the little lump of a man deserved some reward for having protected my wand for so many years. What would he receive? I’d have to think on that.
And what should I do with Potter’s wand? I thought, twirling my own wand before pocketing it in my robes next to Harry’s. I’d been able to work with it well enough; but one of the wands could now malfunction or cause me harm if it sensed that I was using its twin, since the instruments were in close proximity. Keeping them both wasn’t worth the risk.
I resolved to destroy Harry’s wand immediately after breakfast.
Once sated, I took the wand out into the backyard and broke it in half, and then set the pieces on the ground. After retrieving my own wand, I stepped back and shouted, “REDUCTO MAXIMA!” The remains of Harry’s wand exploded into dust and splinters, scattering dirt and grass everywhere. I was so enthusiastic when casting this spell, I even made the ground tremble. The Malfoys’ peacocks scatter in fear. I sneered in triumph.
Until Narcissa screamed. She must have heard—and felt—the commotion.
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?!” she shrieked, running out into the backyard with her wand extended. “IS THERE AN INTRUDER?! WHAT IS—oh.” She stiffened and quickly lowered her wand.
“Hello, Narcissa!” I called out with mock cheerfulness. “Fine day to destroy Harry Potter’s wand, I say. Absolutely perfect.”
“I—I see. Ah—I’m glad you succeeded, my Lord. I was just a bit—”
“Startled, yes. I can see that. Don’t worry; I didn’t cause an earthquake.”
Narcissa’s face was priceless as she backed away and gingerly closed the patio door. Ignoring the mortified woman, I strode around the backyard, basking in the adrenaline rush of once again holding my own wand.
The yard was sprawling. And it had to be, in order to house the family of gigantic white peacocks. The birds had beenambivalent to my presence at first; but since I’d blown up Harry’s wand, they were now scattering in fear each time they saw me. That was fine by me—it gave me more space to move around. I couldn’t be stuck inside the house all day, as large as it was. I found myself thinking more clearly in the fresh air and greenery, and I decided that I would resume my magical experimentation there.
I needed to learn as much as I could. Just because I was now immortal didn’t mean that I would ever slack on perfecting my skills; there would never be enough information to satisfy my thirst for knowledge.
Inventing spells and fine-tuning my technique often resulted in booms and bangs and brief tremors in the ground. Lucius and Narcissa quickly learned not to bother me during these moments, but their son missed the memo. One afternoon, I was pacing around the backyard, deep in thought after a spell had gone badly wrong. I was ruminating on what had happened and how I might fix it—mere seconds away from a solution—when a high-pitched voice called out, “LOOK WHAT I JUST MADE THIS PEACOCK DO!!”
I jerked my head around to see Draco leading one of the peacocks around in circles. No one would ever consider this a brilliant feat, but the pompous young Malfoy must have fancied himself the Peacock Whisperer. I was not amused.
I pointed my wand at the boy and growled, “Stupefy!” He flew backward a few meters and landed on his rear. The peacock he’d been “training” squawked and ran off. After stomping over to the scene and reviving Draco, I grabbed the boy’s robes and pulled him to his feet.
“Didn’t your parents tell you not to disturb me?!” I scolded. “Do you not realize who I am?!”
“Yes, my Lord, I...I know who you are. I’m sor—”
“I was just solving a complex problem, and you distracted me moments before the solution came to me. Do you understand what you’ve done, Draco? Do you understand how angry I am? You do not make Lord Voldemort angry!”
The boy trembled and looked away from me. I pretended not to see his terrified parents standing on the patio and watching me berate their son—they needed this lesson as much as Draco did, having neglected to teach him manners. I grabbed the boy’s chin and forced him to look up at me.
“When you are around me, you do not speak unless spoken to, and you address me respectfully. You do not scream at me and order me to pay attention to your silly little games. You do not interrupt me when I am working, unless it’s an emergency. I don’t give a damn about your peacock nonsense! I will not pretend to be excited about your accomplishments to make you feel good about yourself, just because your parents do! Do you understand?”
“Yes, m-my Lord,” Draco stammered, blushing furiously and fighting back tears. He pressed his quivering lips together and averted his eyes once more.
“I did not tell you to look away from me, boy! You will meet my eyes when I speak to you! This will teach you to stop disrespecting me: Crucio!”
Draco screamed and collapsed. I lifted the curse and pointed my wand at the distressed Lucius and Narcissa, who had just begun running toward us. They gasped and stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the look on my face.
I resumed torturing the boy for another minute or so, before striding toward the Manor.
“Don’t even think about protesting, Lucius!” I snapped as the man’s mouth opened. “Your boy deserved that. I will not speak of the issue again, and neither will you. Now, get back inside. All of you.”
“Y-yes, my Lord,” he muttered. Narcissa’s eyes were brimming. The family trudged back into the house, heads bowed.
Though relieved to be alone once more, I was still furious with Draco for having distracted me. I resumed pacing until I regained my original train of thought and solved my problem. But in spite of the subsequent satisfaction lifting my mood, I did not speak to the Malfoys for the rest of the day, and I had Dobby bring my meals to my bedroom. I wanted everyone on tenterhooks.
* * *
Like his parents, little Draco tiptoed around me from then on. This didn’t shock me; however, I was surprised to discover an even younger occupant at the Manor: Lucius’s cousin Margo. The eight-year-old had recently come to live with Lucius and Narcissa upon the death of her father, Lucius’s uncle Hyperion. Like his brother, Abraxas, Hyperion had succumbed to Dragon Pox and left Margo an orphan. Her mother had died in childbirth. This little girl was quite peculiar in that, despite her age, she acted about five years older than twelve-year-old Draco. I supposed that being orphaned had forced her to mature faster—something I could certainly understand. I found myself respecting her more than her older relatives. She was a very serious, withdrawn, no-nonsense child.
Margo and Draco fought like siblings. Though they had both been born into luxury, Draco was spoiled and Margo was not. Oblivious to her wealth, Margo wanted nothing but her dead parents. She often yelled at Draco when she heard him whining about yet another disappointment he’d blown out of proportion.
I made sure to be out of sight during these altercations. I did not wish to be involved; I had better things to do than waste my energy on such folly. I had goals to accomplish. I needed to strategize and reformulate my original plans. I had to continue adjusting to this new time period. A lot could happen in fifty years, and listening to petty rich people squabble would not hasten my acclimation.
Malfoy Manor felt the same as it had always done. I had stayed here briefly after finishing at Hogwarts, having had nowhere else to go; the orphanage where I’d grown up had been demolished, anyway. I’d then left the Manor, after securing employment at Borgin and Burkes, and rented a flat of my own. By this time, I’d developed enough of a rapport with Lucius’s father, Abraxas, that he’d felt honored to have hosted me. Hyperion had been indifferent—he’d seen Abraxas with me so often at Hogwarts, having me at the Manor had almost felt like an extension of our school days. I didn’t think much of Hyperion, as he was rather dull and aloof, but I never breathed a word of this to Abraxas. He would have been flabbergasted had his godlike best friend insulted his little brother.
Abraxas and I met in our first year at Hogwarts, equally quiet and ambitious Slytherins, and he was drawn to me immediately. He even began adopting some of my mannerisms after a while. I enjoyed his company sometimes; but there were also moments when I wanted to tell him to scram. Especially as little Hyperion kept tagging along after us. Abraxas was trying to cement himself as my closest confidante, and Hyperion kept embarrassing him. Their dynamic was interesting to witness, and it allowed me to size up Abraxas more accurately—observing the way he conducted himself in the face of filial obstacles gave me an idea of how he would perform when given more stressful tasks. Like becoming my first Death Eater.
I’m not sure I’ve ever truly considered anyone a friend; but if I had, it would have been Abraxas. We did have some shared interests and could carry on a conversation well enough. I found him a fascinating study: he possessed the standard Malfoy pompousness about being a wealthy Pureblood, along with a primal fear of being unworthy. He lived in constant terror of disappointing his parents, professors, and friends—and me.
He likely found me fascinating, too, though in a different way. I wasn’t interested in understanding the full extent of that.
Abraxas and me being “best friends”—his words, not mine—became common knowledge at Hogwarts by the time we’d entered our third year. Abraxas felt very smug about this, but I was ambivalent. So we worked together in class. So we sat together during meals. Why did we need a special title? Why did Abraxas tie so much of his self-worth to his association with me? It irritated me, as I was less interested in making friends and more interested in acquiring followers. I wanted servants who would cater to my every whim. And someone clamoring to sit next to me at dinner was useless unless they could follow orders.
A flicker of fear betrayed his haughty countenance when I revealed some of my goals to him—but the thought of wielding power through loyalty to me was too tempting for him to resist. I tightened the noose more and more over time, until he invited me home during the summer after our sixth year; he had since established himself as my right hand.
His parents absolutely adored me. He had already informed them of my imminent ascension from brilliant Hogwarts student to powerful overlord of Dark magic, and they were enthralled. Desiring to be on the right side of history, entrenched in privilege and glory, they jumped at the chance to prove their worth to me. I basked in their performance. By the time Abraxas and I had graduated from Hogwarts, his entire family was addressing me as “My Lord” and promising that I’d always be welcome in their home.
I continued to visit the Malfoys after setting out on my own, though less frequently as the years passed. I was busy making money and searching for magical artifacts to turn into Horcruxes. But I still responded to all their letters—even though they were serving me as Death Eaters, they still considered me a third son. I never told them that a small part of me enjoyed that fondness. A very, very small part.
I was the first to hear about all the news in the Malfoy family. Many of their letters detailed the parents’ worries that Hyperion would never find a wife; his personality was a tad off-putting. (He must have eventually married after I’d disappeared into Albania, but I never met his wife.) I disregarded this fluff, as I cared not for Hyperion’s status in life.
The most dramatic events I heard about from the Malfoys were the deaths of Abraxas’s parents, followed by his marriage and the birth of Lucius. I observed the child closely and watched him grow up to be much like his father. Before I began my travels in researching Dark magic, I told Abraxas that Lucius would need to become a Death Eater when he was of age. Abraxas beamed with pride.
Lucius followed in his father’s footsteps, as the saying goes, and I trusted him enough to safeguard my diary—but I did not tell him that my departure had been prompted by a failed attempt at becoming the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I wanted to be back at Hogwarts, discovering all the magical processes I could find there, and passing on my vast knowledge to future generations. Unfortunately, the venerated Albus Dumbledore did not trust me with his students. He even went so far as to tell me I didn’t want to teach—though he didn’t know what I was up to, he did recognize that my motives were not entirely pedagogical.
I was incensed. No one said no to Lord Voldemort. No one denied me that which I desired. But there was Dumbledore, thwarting my plans, and seeming to gloat while doing so.
I disappeared shortly thereafter, and only resurfaced to begin my first reign of terror after I had created and hidden all of my Horcruxes. Abraxas returned to my side, accompanied by a teenage Lucius, his girlfriend Narcissa, and Narcissa’s older sister Bellatrix. Though Bellatrix was engaged to Rodolphus Lestrange, she suddenly became more interested in me. I wasn’t sure what to make of this. I’d never had a girlfriend, nor expressed interest in one—though I had bedded several witches at Hogwarts. I enjoyed the act, but I’d never cared for any of my partners; the weakness of love was a distraction from productivity and success. And I would never let a girl convince me otherwise.
Bellatrix and Rodolphus married and became valuable Death Eaters, so the loyalties of the girl’s heart didn’t matter to me. She was pretty, though. I may have been the most powerful sorcerer in the world, but I was also a man. And I did have certain needs that had not been met in quite some time. At Bellatrix’s insistence, I began bedding her when Rodolphus wasn’t paying attention. Which was quite often. The boy was clueless. And anyway, Bellatrix insisted that her husband was carrying on with a female werewolf. He was rumored to have fathered a child with the lycan, which gave Bellatrix every right to shag other wizards if she chose. I didn’t need to know her motivations for jumping into bed with me; she knew it was a purely physical venture and nothing more. We’d only run into problems if she tried to make it something more.
Though an enjoyable activity, frolicking in between the sheets with Bellatrix was not my biggest focus—I needed control. Authority. And I was indeed achieving that. My forces grew over the next couple of years, replete with werewolves, trolls, giants, and the like. I was drunk on power and determined to amass as much of it as possible.
And then I received a letter from Lucius and his now-wife Narcissa, telling me that Abraxas was dead. I was aggravated that I had lost my first and best Death Eater. His son had proven to be relatively useful; but he hadn’t lived long enough to serve me for as many years as his father had done. He lacked experience.
I couldn’t share in Lucius’s grief; my mother had died giving birth to me, and I had murdered my father and grandparents for abandoning me. Still, I traveled to Malfoy Manor to offer Lucius “support”—really, to see if any of the mourners seemed fit to join my ranks. I wasn’t drenched in despair like the rest of them. The funeral was a boring, awkward event.
I had never felt a deep attachment to Abraxas, but I had appreciated his admiration. His devotion to me had always been two-pronged, however: he enjoyed my company while also viewing me as a status symbol. A frightfully insecure boy underneath all the bravado, he’d latched onto anything and anyone that would elevate his social status...and I had been the ultimate prize. He, like many of my followers, carried this mentality throughout his life.
The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree.
I didn’t respect Lucius as much as I’d respected his father, but he had his uses. He was a revered, wealthy Pureblood likeAbraxas had been, he could follow most orders, and he was a decent host. I knew I could stay with him until I could figure out how to regain my independence.
* * *
Reading The Daily Prophet after breakfast became a morning ritual. I typically took my meals with the Malfoys—less from a desire to socialize and more from an interest in observing their dynamic—and then I brought the paper to my room. This venture turned out to be the best way to learn about current events. I kept each newspaper Lucius passed to me, and read through them multiple times, in order to become knowledgeable about the happenings of 1993.
Magic itself hadn’t changed much—unlike what I’d seen as a child in the Muggle world, magical folk were not obsessed with advancing technological processes as quickly as possible. Everyone still wrote with feather quills and possessed ample rolls of parchment. What was the purpose of altering that? Magic was, in some ways, infinitely more sophisticated than Muggle technology. We could Apparate, send mail by owl without knowing the recipient’s location, and use wands to complete household tasks with ease. These processes would always be relevant.
Politics was another matter. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, seemed only mildly competent and a bit skittish. He had begun sensing danger lately, but refused to accept the possibility of defeat against me—especially considering that no one knew who had killed Harry Potter and where the boy’s body lay. Many people were speculating that I may have been involved, but no one had a scrap of evidence. As usual, I had set a trap and left everyone wringing their hands. The Prophet featured some editorials about my possible whereabouts and culpability in Potter’s death, but no one’s ideas were anywhere near the truth—these people just wanted to make their voices heard. Some even blamed Fudge for not being proactive enough in searching for the Chamber of Secrets.
I found one particular editorial highly amusing. It was from a woman who believed that she alone possessed the sleuthing skills required to solve all the biggest mysteries of the day. She rambled on about her friendship with Fudge, her certainty that Slytherin’s heir was a current Hogwarts student, and her fear that my followers would one day infiltrate the Ministry because Fudge wouldn’t face the truth of my return.
All in good time, dear lady. All in good time.
From the more serious sections of the paper, I also learned that Dumbledore was still Headmaster of Hogwarts. Though this angered me, I wasn’t surprised; the man was a brilliant wizard who had always been able to wield immense influence over the school. I would have to keep a close watch on the institution.
Dumbledore would, of course, have to be eliminated. Though I’d love to be the one to kill him, I couldn’t attempt this at Hogwarts. His territory. He would have all manner of protections in place to shield himself from an attack, making it impractical for me to provoke him. I couldn’t chance sustaining injury in one of the many tricks up the old man’s sleeve; it wasn’t worth the risk. Someone else would probably have to do it for me—someone already inside the school. I stowed that fact in the back of my mind while I read the paper each morning.
I chuckled as I read article after article hypothesizing the whereabouts of the Chamber. Dumbledore had considered closing Hogwarts after my four victims had disappeared into its depths, but too many people had begged for the school to remain open—especially given that there had been no further attacks. They wondered if perhaps Potter’s death had been the end goal, which was why the Chamber was now dormant!
Aurors and other Ministry workers pledged to double their efforts to locate the Chamber anyway. Some even volunteered to escort students to class to shield them from danger—danger that had passed and would likely never surface again. I had already achieved what I’d set out to do inside the Chamber; I didn’t actually want to kill magical children, apart from Harry. Ginny and Company had simply been collateral damage.
Despite the somber tone of the Prophet, a gossip-column writer named Rita Skeeter was running her mouth all over the newspaper. This couple got married; that one got divorced; this crotchety old codger finally died; this witch had an affair with that wizard, and her son was traumatized. Why was Rita interested in such trivialities? One would think that, as a middle-aged woman (though she was attempting to look much younger in her photos), she would have matured past teenage nattering, but she had not. And people ate up this drivel with their breakfast every morning.
And then my Death Eaters wonder why I find most people boring. Asinine, the lot of them. Always trying to impress each other to maintain their imaginary status in life.
Speaking of which, I found it humorous that Lucius had always strutted about as if he owned every piece of land he set foot on—but he suddenly had no idea how to act in his own home, because I was under his roof. And immortal. He wasn’t jealous of my newfound powers; he simply couldn’t stand not being in control. He was perched atop a house of cards in the form of his financial and social status which, though revered, could crumble if he made a large enough mistake. Proud as he was, his greatest fear was losing the iron-grip on his privilege. And it was now much easier for him to slip, with Lord Voldemort watching his every move.
Narcissa, on the other hand, was walking a tightrope no matter who was in her home. She didn’t work, so she depended on Lucius to maintain her wealth. She took comfort in the widespread knowledge that her husband had the Minister of Magic wrapped around his little finger. And, like her husband, she was terrified that her life of luxury would one day end. She needed the safety of her privilege to feel secure.
Lucius and Narcissa fed off of each other’s insecurities and enabled each other; so, naturally, their son was an arrogant little prat. He once pretended not to know I was in the room while he bragged to Lucius about having (almost) the highest marks in his class—second only to one Hermione Granger, otherwise known as That Filthy Little Mudblood who refused to respect him. He wanted me to hear his words and praise him, but of course I didn’t. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction. If he wanted my praise, he would have to do much more than study hard at Hogwarts for two years.
I suspected that Draco secretly fancied Hermione, given that he complained about her all summer, but he would rather die than admit it. Lucius told me that the previous year, when Draco hadn’t been moaning and groaning about Saint Potter, Granger was always the target of his insults. Lucius and Narcissa listened patiently while their bratty son went on and on about the gross injustices he faced at Hogwarts, having to stand in the unfairly-long shadows of Harry and his friends. But after all this time, they were sick of hearing the same words over and over again. (And, quite frankly, so was I.) Potter was dead now, anyway. Why was Draco still prattling on about the boy?
Margo was never present during Draco’s whining sessions—she could spot the exact moment his facial expression changed to Complaining Mode, and she would immediately skirt off to her room. Where she spent a great deal of time.
When she wasn’t perusing children’s books, she was relaxing by herself or going for walks with Narcissa. She was a peculiar girl, uninterested in toys made for children her age. I’d felt the same as a child: I’d been more focused on surviving and, once I’d left for Hogwarts, devouring every complex book and magical process I could get my hands on. On some unspoken level, Margo and I understood each other.
The household dynamic shifted as Draco returned to Hogwarts for his third year. The Manor was quieter, and I often had the property to myself when Lucius worked and Narcissa took Margo for little jaunts out to the country. Draco wrote home often, complaining in his letters as much as he did at home. It became a habit for Lucius to read his son’s missives aloud to me over lunch, so I could get a better idea of what was going on at the school. I had to hold back a surge of laughter when I learned that my 1943 fall boy Rubeus Hagrid was now teaching Care of Magical Creatures...and one of his beasts had landed Draco in the hospital wing with a broken arm. Lucius was furious, as he assumed that the villainous Hippogriff had attacked his poor, innocent son for no reason. I found his theory hard to believe, given Draco’s penchant for antagonizing humans and animals alike, but I allowed Lucius to go on a tirade about his precious child’s (easily healed) injury, thinking I actually cared. It was free entertainment.
In other news, Draco’s imaginary girlfriend was on a rampage to avenge her best friends’ deaths. While listening to this content in Draco’s letters, I readied myself for a whine fest about another of Harry’s dopey friends...only to be met, instead, with the knowledge that this girl had discovered more about the Chamber of Secrets than anyone before her. I was taken aback. My blood ran cold as Lucius told me of Hermione’s discovery, that the basilisk had been Petrifying students after traveling through the school’s plumbing.
I hadn’t the faintest idea how she’d figured that out. Draco’s words presented Hermione’s discovery as a ridiculous conspiracy theory, but I knew better.
This girl was no Parselmouth, or she would have already attempted to locate and kill the basilisk, but she could still learn more of my secrets if she kept investigating. Despite no one believing her claims, I worried. I would have to kill the girl if she discovered too much. If I returned to Hogwarts in the next four years, maybe I could set the basilisk on her! That would be a delicious roast of poetic justice.
But maybe I didn’t need to fret. The girl was thirteen and incapable of wielding measurable influence over Hogwarts. And even if someone in power did believe her, what could they do? The basilisk was back in hibernation. No one knew where the Chamber was, or how to open it. Lucius, therefore, had no idea that Hermione’s conjecture was correct. I resolved to keep my thoughts to myself unless given a reason to do otherwise.
I couldn’t afford to ruminate on the girl’s suspicions, anyway; I needed to begin the process of rebuilding my ranks.
Some were surely in hiding. Maybe others had been jolted out of a fool’s paradise upon seeing their Dark Marks blacken after several years. Others were likely frothing at the mouth, awaiting some imaginary reward for their undying loyalty. Learning everyone’s true colors would be an adventure.
I informed Lucius that he was to assist me in breaking the Lestranges out of Azkaban. They were my most trusted followers, and it would not do to have them rot in prison. Though Lucius was mildly fond of his sister-in-law, if not a bit scared of her, he was flabbergasted upon hearing my orders.
“How...how are we to achieve this, my Lord?”
“We fly, of course! Surely, you possess a broomstick or two?”
“I—yes, my Lord. I have a couple left over from—”
“Splendid. We will fly to Azkaban together. I don’t want Bellatrix to see me, as she may grow distracted for long enough to be recaptured, so I’ll stay out of her line of sight once we locate her cell. You will blast it open, have her mount your broom while I break out Rodolphus, and follow me back here. We’re going together in case we run into trouble and need to duel. You will retrieve their wands from the Ministry when you return to work on Monday.”
“My Lord, it is the middle of December—”
“Haven’t you heard of a Warming Spell? Come off it, Lucius. Don’t be a coward. Are you a Death Eater or not?”
“Yes, yes, of course I am. As you wish, my Lord. When do we leave?”
“Right now.”
Biting back a shudder of alarm, Lucius nodded curtly and Summoned two broomsticks.
It was a typical blustery winter day. The journey to Azkaban was rough, but we arrived unscathed.
We had to circle the vast prison several times before locating Bellatrix’s cell. When Lucius finally spotted her, he dove down and shouted, “BOMBARDA MAXIMA!” The cell’s outer wall shattered and fell into the ocean below.
“LUCIUS!” Bellatrix shrieked over the howling wind. “HOW DID YOU—”
“I’LL EXPLAIN LATER! THERE’S NO TIME! GET ON!”
Bellatrix staggered out of her cell and, quite clumsily, positioned herself behind Lucius on his broomstick.
“WHERE’S RODOLPHUS?” Lucius demanded.
“I DON’T KNOW! ARE YOU GOING TO BREAK HIM OUT, TOO?”
At that moment, several Dementors began circling Bellatrix’s ruined cell. We couldn’t stay.
“WE’LL HAVE TO COME BACK FOR HIM ANOTHER TIME!” I called out.
“BUT CAN’T YOU—”
“I’M SORRY, BELLATRIX, BUT THERE’S NO TIME! WE NEED TO LEAVE! NOW!” Lucius yelled.
And then there was no sound, other than the wind. Bellatrix must have been processing the shock as we made our getaway.
“Who’s that?” I heard her ask a few minutes later.
“A friend of mine,” Lucius replied, as I’d instructed him—if he were to reveal my identity at this point, she could make a scene and ruin our plans. She might even fall off the broom in shock. As well-behaved as she normally was, there was no telling what years in Azkaban had done to her mind. She would need ample time to recover.
We had the wind at our backs as we returned to Malfoy Manor, so the flight took considerably less time.
“Who’s your friend?!” Bellatrix hissed as we walked to the front gate.
“Just wait,” Lucius whispered.
“I’ve been waiting! Why can’t you just—”
“Shhhhh. Calm yourself.”
I smirked at the woman’s anticipation, but refused to turn around and reveal myself until everyone was indoors.
Once secured inside the Malfoy fortress, Lucius cast Warming and Cleansing Spells on Bellatrix to make her appear (and smell) more presentable. No one could look normal in an Azkaban uniform, after having spent a decade in the prison’s halls of misery; but as long as she was here, she was safe. That was what mattered.
“Who are you?” she asked as I removed my winter gear. “Why did you help Lucius free me? Why won’t you reveal yourself? I need to know who—”
I slowly turned to face her.
She gasped so loudly, I thought she might have a heart attack. It was hard not to laugh as one hand flew to her gaping mouth and the other clutched her heart. And my, how her thoughts raced.
Is that HIM? How does he look so young?! How was he able to rescue me? I KNEW he’d come for me one day! I can’t EVER let him down! I will prove my loyalty to him again, in any way I can, for the rest of my life! And oh, Merlin, is he gorgeous...I’d still love to—
And then she fainted.
Lucius grabbed her just before she hit the ground, and helped her into a nearby chair. I regarded her thoughtfully as she regained her composure—what was left of it, that is. Azkaban had left its mark on my once-valiant warrior.
We stared at each other in crackling silence until she spoke.
“My Lord, I—I knew you had resurfaced! My Dark Mark had been growing more visible over the past several months! I knew it wouldn’t be long before you’d rescue me! I—”
“Bella, dear, relax. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. My first order for you is to rest and regain your strength. That could take weeks. Months, even.”
“But I want to help you—”
“Bella, that is an order. If you truly want to help me, help yourself grow strong again. Your brother-in-law is hosting me now, so I will know if you’re resting properly or not.”
She gasped—less over my instructions and more at the prospect of us living under the same roof—and then bowed her head. “Yes, my Lord,” she breathed. Lucius led her away to another guest room.
She was probably mortified when she looked in the mirror—she mightn’t have wanted me to see her just yet, had she known exactly how disheveled she was.
Despite her appearance, I could tell that she was still beautiful under the wear and tear of her imprisonment. So she was sporting more gray hair and she’d lost a fair amount of weight since I’d last seen her. So she looked older than her forty-seven years. That wasn’t a problem; she would regain some of her former vitality once she’d settled in. The Malfoys would feed her well, buy her some new robes, and offer emotional support throughout her recovery.
I distanced myself from Bellatrix for a few weeks; I didn’t want her hanging off my arm and prioritizing my approval over her health. I had Narcissa tell her that I didn’t want to be disturbed (which was true, regardless) and that she needed to take time to recuperate. She reluctantly agreed, after putting up a fight—which, in her weakened state, meant raising her voice and waving her arms around like a lunatic for five minutes, before she needed to sit down. I only heard about this spectacle through the Malfoys; they knew I had no interest in witnessing such ridiculousness.
I smiled as I reflected on the past several months. I had used my brilliance, patience, and persuasiveness to resurrect from one of my Horcruxes. I had fulfilled the prophecy from all those years ago, and killed my mortal enemy through my control over the basilisk. I had a place to stay, with no fear of being discovered. And I had my most trusted followers all under one roof.
In addition, I had more knowledge at my fingertips than most wizards would ever possess. As the only immortal soul alive, forever young and strong, I was now on my way to realizing my lifelong goals of infinite wisdom, superhuman capability, and profound influence over magical folk. Protected through my Horcruxes, I was interminably more powerful than any wizard, past or present. And that would never change. I really was quite extraordinary.
Nothing would stop me now.