Chapter Text
Voldemort inhaled deeply, absorbing the shift in atmosphere that had fallen over Hogwarts in the last few hours. The students had been escorted back to their dormitories, save the few reported to have fled the grounds. After a census, it had been determined to be muggleborns who fled. There was no sense pursuing children who would be barred from attending next year.
For now, Hogwarts was silent and Hogwarts was his. He stood in the corridor outside the Headmaster’s office, staring at the gargoyle that always seemed to track his every movement. There had been a time when he desired nothing more than to ascend this staircase as the Headmaster.
He could do it. He could claim Hogwarts in every regard, naming himself Headmaster, spending his days in research and in shaping future generations of students. His horcruxes would ensure every student from the surrounding countries would come to him for their education, every student, for the rest of time.
He had kept an eye on the diadem this year. Draco had casually set it aside more than once, not realizing its value, power, or historical significance. Voldemort could safely move it to the Headmaster’s office, the start of a display of his trophies. Perhaps he could finally find an artifact from Gryffindor to complete the set.
Voldemort placed his hand on the gargoyle, then exhaled. These thoughts were little more than passing whims. Dumbledore’s death would throw the continent into panic and chaos, and only Voldemort could correctly right the pieces. There was a world of knowledge left undiscovered. The changing political landscape required his oversight.
Hogwarts had been his only home, but now, he would create himself a new one, much in the same way he built a new identity in Lord Voldemort.
“I expected to find you upstairs.”
Voldemort removed his hand from the gargoyle, folding his hands behind his back. He faced Severus as though he hadn’t just been fantasizing about impossibilities.
“I have decided to leave Hogwarts tonight,” Voldemort said. “Presuming your search has come up empty.”
Severus bowed slightly. “Harry Potter is not in the castle, my lord.”
It must have been the reason Dumbledore had left. Something had given away Voldemort’s plan and Dumbledore rushed Harry out of reach. After all his efforts this year, Harry’s disappearance was a frustrating blow, but not a true defeat. Lily Potter’s sacrifice had been for her child, and soon, Harry would come of age. Voldemort would get his chance to face Harry, and this time, man-to-man.
“Something tipped my hand,” Voldemort said. “What was it?”
Severus approached, stopping a respectful distance to Voldemort’s left.
“Potter warned the Order. He says he saw your wand.”
Voldemort puzzled over that for a moment. He did always keep the wand with him, although, tucked away in an inner pocket. For Dumbledore and Harry to have left today, Harry must have seen it that morning. He had carried it to the infirmary to confirm something was being done about Draco’s scars. At what point did he switch to his true wand? In the corridor, or only in the infirmary?
“Do you believe Draco might have warned him?”
“No, my lord. Draco knows his place.”
And Draco narrowly escaped death at Harry’s hand.
Voldemort had monitored their interactions throughout the year, and it didn’t seem as though Draco carried anything but disdain for Harry. There had been times Voldemort questioned it: after Harry dragged Draco from apparition lesions, after a few of their public bickers, and after Harry had easily given Draco the bulk of the prophecy. Voldemort considered Pansy’s response to Draco after Harry made a spectacle of Draco and himself, after that apparition lesson.
You’re truly hopeless.
Had Voldemort misinterpreted Draco’s actions for disdain?
“My lord, Draco nearly died in your service. I am certain he gave away nothing of your plan, to Potter or Dumbledore.”
“When would Potter have seen my wand?”
“We know he has a talent for being places he shouldn’t be. Perhaps he had been on the way to finish what he started and saw us in the hospital wing.”
Draco hadn’t been placed under an unbreakable vow. But he had been so rarely out of sight, and when he was, Voldemort reviewed those memories.
His voice hadn’t fully returned to him either. If Draco had wanted to tell someone today, could he have managed the words?
“Where is Draco?”
“Lucius sent him home.”
Home. Standing here, after having bested and killed his greatest opponent, the sentiment rang hollow. Voldemort would be returning to Malfoy Manor, but it wasn’t home.
But neither was Hogwarts.
“I am placing you as Headmaster.”
“Me?” Severus said.
“Who else? Someone to ensure proper education, and I trust you will carry out my vision.”
“Your trust is an honor, my lord.”
“You will receive official word from the board of governors tomorrow. Work to ease tension. We want to instill confidence in this new order.”
“Every change will go through you,” Severus assured.
Voldemort nodded once. “Hogwarts is yours, Severus. Treat it well.”
Voldemort apparated to Malfoy Manor late, with the intention of skipping any lingering celebration. At this hour, nearing morning, the Manor was as quiet as Hogwarts had been.
He went upstairs to the room he had taken from Draco, but found it empty. The desk was still set up how he left it during the winter break, the bed neatly made, and no sign anyone had recently entered the room.
Voldemort set Thomas McGruder’s wand on the desk, then called for Nagini. When no response came, he left the room, continuing to call for her as he made his way through the long halls. Although he had spent over a year in the Manor, he only knew the spaces he frequented.
It took too long to receive a response. He followed Nagini’s answer to a greenery-filled lounge. Nagini lay coiled on the floor in front of a floral chaise where Draco slept, a deep purple paste covering the scarring on his face and neck.
“When did the others leave?” Voldemort asked Nagini.
“Loud and bothersome. Long after the boy slept.”
Draco should have gone upstairs. Perhaps he had wanted to avoid the celebration still dressed from hospital. But the more likely reason Draco stayed downstairs was a false assumption; he assumed leaving Hogwarts indicated his end of his part of things.
“Draco.”
Draco rubbed his eyes, smearing the purple paste, then withdrawing his hand, eyes opening in confusion. He first looked at his hands to identify what he had just touched, then he took in his surroundings.
His movements stilled when he met Voldemort’s gaze. Draco angled his face away, perhaps to prevent access to his mind, perhaps to conceal the injuries, and sat up, stained hand cradled in his lap.
“You saw a healer.”
“Yes, my lord.” Draco’s voice cracked, raw and pained. It caused Draco to wince, although he did play down his response by glancing down at Nagini. She began spiraling around his ankles.
“You remained down here despite the others having left. Perhaps you forgot your way?”
When Draco started to give an excuse Voldemort didn’t care to hear, Voldemort cut him off. “Or perhaps you believed your situation had changed?”
Again, Voldemort didn’t allow Draco to reply. As the last Malfoy, he would need his voice to fully recover, and listening to a child explain away his disobedience would only add to his lingering frustration of a half-completed plan.
Stepping aside, Voldemort gestured for Draco to leave the room first. "Come."
Draco bowed his head and obeyed.