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Chapter Text

It was a cold and lonely winter afternoon, a big dark sky looming on the edges of the castle, low enough that the sharp roofs of the numerous towers cut into the leaden clouds like naked knives of shiny metal cut into soft butter. You could smell the rain into the air, electric and charged with soft earthy tones, and something more cruel - almost ferrous. Harry, much like a snake, had the instinct to taste it on the tip of his tongue. But he was not a snake, even if those days he felt he had one stirring directly into his spine, sleeping into his bone marrow. Shivering, the young wizard fell into step with his friends, keeping his head low to reach his final class of the day.  Just on the edge of his vision, he could see Professor Umbridge watching him, as if she was a hawk and he her prey. Another shiver that went unnoticed by Hermione, Harry bit down the soft of his cheek to keep his teeth from rattling.

Charms was as it always was, a lot of beautiful explanations and waving of wands. Harry completed his task after the fifth or sixth try, staying right in the middle of the class-scale of success. He was not first, like Hermione, nor last, like poor Neville. Mediocre, as always. Beside Defence, Harry was really just a nobody in the magical world, someone capable of doing things right when he needed to, but never brilliant enough to excel. Maybe the Dursleys were right all along and Harry was just plain stupid. Well, not in Defence. Ignoring the dark pit that opened inside his mind at the thought of the Dursleys being right, Harry put away all his things when the lesson was over, and said his goodbyes to his friends.

“I have detention for the rest of the week, remember?” he said, and got himself a piting glare from Ron, and a hand on his shoulder from Hermione.

“We’ll see you later then. And think about my… proposal, for Defence.”

Sure, like I want to lead a fucking army. Harry sighed.

Once, the quiet room of Defence Against the Dark Arts was one of his favourite places in Hogwarts. When it was nothing more than the background of the hours spent learning the Patronus Charm with Remus Lupin, and drinking hot tea while nibbling chocolate and hearing soft stories about his parents when they were young. And even if it made his stomach revolt, he could admit that last year wasn’t so bad. Sure, the professor turned out to be a Death Eater, but Barty Crouch Jr teached them valuable lessons, and always helped Harry. Protected him, even. Of course it was just so he could reach Voldemort in the end, but he still could fondly recall one or two instances - and that was a strange thought.

Now, the office was a dreaded place.

Harry swallowed, straightening his tie, and entered after knocking twice. Professor Umbridge was sitting at her desk with a small pile of essays to grade, and she was waiting for him with a sneering smile on her face.

Toad.

“Good afternoon Mr. Potter, I see you’re learning the value of being punctual. Sit, please.” as always, the small desk he took his detentions in was ready on the corner. So he sat down and discreetly started evening his breaths. He could feel the fear grabbing his organs and twisting them, and he knew he would feel pain soon enough. His skin was already prickling with the promise of violence, and he could only steel himself and force his muscles to lock without trembling.

“You shall write your lines today, Mr. Potter. Here, have some tea.”

Harry grabbed the cup and then the quill, and drank some tea to get his wits together even if the tea was overly sweet and tasted like the inside of Mrs. Figgs closet. Slowly he began writing, over and over again, I must not tell lies.

With his mind numbed by the repetition and the pain flaring in his left arm, Harry began to wander off - at first, he simply traced the outline of his memories, caressing the edges like they were something precious. His friends, all the laughter they had together, and Sirius , waiting for him with open arms even after having spent the majority of his life inside a cell. He never shied away when Harry needed him, he always listened. No one had done that before for him. Not like… Dumbledore . A sudden awful aftertaste filled his mouth remembering the Headmaster. He always put his trust into the man, but he wasn’t so sure anymore, not after these past months, at least. Dumbledore was evading him, always disappearing before he could talk to him, vanishing from his office when Harry tried to corner him. Then, he tought back at the trial. When the Minister had the whole Wizengamot called, like Harry was a crminal, like he was a Death Eater ready to be sent to Azkaban for having cast a Patronus.

Presence of a muggle my ass, I live with them, they know about magic, it’s not like I violated the statute of secrecy.

Then he remembered all the titles on the front page of the Prophet. The slander and the lies.

The boy-who-lied. They called him. And Hermione… she wanted him to teach students about Defence. Form a sort of club. Was she mad?

If we are found out, Umbridge will expel me, no trial this time. How could Hermione think it’s a good idea putting me in charge of something like this? Just after I got tried on the Wizengamot?

Swallowing an acrid lump, Harry kept writing silently, ignoring the blood that was seeping down his trousers, where he put his hand to rest. The tingling feeling of his nerves damaging made his fingers twitch involuntarily, and after weeks of deepening the wound, the pain was now flaring through his elbow and shoulder as well. If he didn’t have the murtlap essence, he knew, the damage would be irreversible.

“Tell me, Mr. Potter.” started the toad, “Have you finally understood the meaning of the lines I’m making you write?”

Harry glanced at her, and felt the need to respond, to let her know exactly all he felt and thought. So he did.

“I’ve only understood your sadistic pleasure of torturing children, Professor.”

Umbridge made an unpleasant face, then walked around her desk to face Harry directly.

“You don’t see what is wrong in telling lies, then?”

“Oh I see that well enough, simply, I’m not telling any.”

Harry bit his tongue. Why was he responding to her ruse? He knew she was only doing that so he could say something vulgar or wrong, and she could give him even more detention. I want to kill her , a voice said, somewhere in his mind. Harry ignored it.

“So you’re not lying about You-Know-Who returning?” her tone was saccharine sweet, like cheap poison. She wanted to be scary and terrifing. After having faced Voldemort, she seemed just like a sad and wet toad. I want her to hurt . Harry swallowed. The snake inside him stirred lazily, like he was slowly waking up after a long hibernation.

“But he returned.” he said, and then bit down his tongue, again . He was doing exactly what she wanted! Why?

“Mr. Potter, I believe your delusion has reached… dangerous territory. I’m concerned, you see. Maybe a visit to the Janus ward in St. Mungo would do you good, mh?”

Harry didn’t know what that was, but it didn’t sound well.

She wants to put you away in a mental institute.

“I’m not lying, and I’m not delusional. Voldemort is back, I saw him! He crucioed me, or do you think I did that to myself while killing Cedric, huh?” letting the quill fall down, Harry faced her with no fear. He was right, and she was torturing him. He would not keep quiet.

He was so tired.

“What you think you saw is not my concern, you’re apparently so unstable to fabricate an entire story just to go against the Ministry. Mr. Potter. But I will see to the bottom of this matter. Now, you can go, I believe you have some previous commitment with Professor Snape. We’ll see eachother soon enough.”

Harry gathered his stuff and left the pink office, deciding to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the day.

It didn’t last long.

After an hour, Harry had to travel back to the dungeons for his mandatory second-torture, ahem, Occlumency Lesson, with Professor Snape. He tried to meditate, he really did, and he was a bit hopeful for that session. So he entered after receiving permission to do so, and sat down in front of the Potion Master. Snape was unimpressed, but he was always unimpressed so Harry didn’t react much.

“Let’s begin.” was the only thing he said before drawing his wand - then Harry felt only pain.

Maybe it was because he just got away from Umbridge and his hand was still twitching, or maybe it was because of the lack of sleep, since he had only nightmares for the entire week before and didn’t manage more than four hours of sleep at once - but Harry was feeling his mind ripping apart and he couldn’t do anything. He was just a witness to his agony. Snape, without care, tore through his thoughts, crumbling the shimmering beginning of walls Harry put together in the last months. His voice, echoing in his head, was laughing.

“You call this Occlumency, Mr. Potter?” Snape said. Harry convulsed, mouth gasping for air. There was nothing he could do.

After a few seconds, Snape retreated, and he still had a smirk plastered fiercely on his face.

“What a pathetic attempt. I see you didn’t listen to a single thing I said, didn’t even try to meditate and clear your mind and -” 

Harry snapped his head then, and screamed: “I would if you ever explained to me what the fuck I was doing!”

“Five points for language.” then, “I fear, Mr. Potter, that you would not grasp any concept I try to teach you even if I took my time explaining. Legilimens!”

Harry was again submerged in pain. It was worse than the quill, worse than the crucio.

Again, Snape retreated after a few seconds.

So, it’s one of those sessions. He’s taking his time, savoring it.

Time passed slowly.

Harry alternated pure rage to immense terror, he felt on fire, and he could see memories swimming freely in front of him whenever Snape dug one out.

The Dursleys, beating him with a cast iron pan until his bones cracked. Dudley, chasing him in the garden, making Harry crawl under the rose bushes like a fox hunted by a dog. Vernon, disappointment written clearly on his face, taking off his belt to make his lessons sink .

When he came back to himself, Harry could not tell how much time had passed. Snape was pensive, but Harry had enough. He tried to stand, unsure on his legs like a baby deer on his first day on earth.

“Where are you going, Potter?” the Professor asked.

“Anywhere but here.” he responded, and again, he bit his tongue. Why he said that?

“Try to be more prepared for your next lesson, your excuses are starting to become tiring. Just like your father you like to hide behind a wall of incompetency, do try to change that attitude.”

“Well maybe if you actually tried to explain what I’m supposed to be doing instead of casting legilimens and torturing me, it would be great!” Harry shouted, rising on his feet. He was so angry and so damn tired - he wanted to launch himself at Snape and put his bloody hands around his throat and squeeze . He wanted to watch his eyes slowly dimming, while the life left him - he wanted him to hurt as much as he hurt him. The snake stirred some more, warm inside Harry, soft and protective of his ward. The snake would never hurt him. The snake could make them regret what they were doing to him. Harry turned around and stalked out of the office without even hearing what Snape said back.

Fifteen steps later, Harry had to grab the wall. He could barely stand, and the wound on his hand had opened and was bleeding again. Dizzy, Harry crawled back to the stairs, and there found Dolores Umbridge standing in all her pink glory.

“Mr. Potter! I said I would see you again soon, but I didn’t expect so soon. What a surprise.”

He wanted to throw up.

“Yeah right, unexpected.” he murmured. The toad marched straight to him, and her sudden presence made him flinch. He was so tired and in pain, he didn’t even notice her until she was just a breath away.

“What are you doing outside your dormitory at this hour? You’re violating curfew.”

Snape was slow on purpose so the lesson would finish late. Fucker.

“I was with Professor Snape.” nausea built up in his esophagus, he wanted, no - needed to throw up.

“Doing what?”

Remedial potions.

“Occlumency lessons.” as soon as he finished saying that, Harry blanched. The nausea subsided, but why did he say that? Was he so tired to blurt out secrets now? Umbridge had a strange glint in her eyes.

“And what for? I doubt a child your age would need occlumency .”

Harry tried. He tried so much. But the nausea was building up again and it hurt to resist - he opened his mouth and let the words come out.

“Because Voldemort is in my head, he sends me visions and dreams and it’s dangerous, so Dumbledore made Snape give me lessons to try and block him.”

Pure horror took possession of Harry’s expression. That was not what he wanted to say! He wanted to suggest that it was a way - for him - to finally see the truth of that night, so as to not tell lies anymore. But he just gave away one of the biggest secrets he had to keep.

“And why… would You-Know-Who see into your mind?”

The young wizard was at loss. He didn’t know why, how could he? That was Voldemort’s secret. But he felt compelled to respond, to say anything, and so he did, again.

“Because his soul is inside my head.”

Umbridge raised her eyebrows, Harry froze. Eyes wide open, mouth agape.

What the fuck? Voldemort is… his soul is… 

But he knew it was the truth, somehow. He felt Voldemort’s inside him, a big and black snake coiled inside his bones. He felt it all the time - so why did it just come to him that maybe the connection they shared was… his soul? And why did he tell her ?

“You dosed me with Veritaserum, Professor?”

Umbridge was not listening anymore. She was thinking, stuck, just like him, on the revelation he just blurted out. So Harry did what he was best at - he ran. Ignoring the pain, he ran up the stairs to the seventh floor and shouted the password at the Fat Lady. Then he ran to his bed. Ignoring Ron and Dean and Seamus and Neville, talking between themselves, Harry grabbed his cloak and the photo album of his parents and shut the curtains on his bed. Sitting down, Harry had a quiet panic attack that left him tired and vigil at the same time. He hid under the cloak all night, caressing the moving pictures of his mum and dad, and for the first time prayed to something to come and help him. He had a piece of Voldemort inside him, and he told Umbridge of all people. He could already see it, the titles of the Prophet come tomorrow: Harry Potter is the next Dark Lord! He admitted under Veritaserum that he shared his soul with the darkest wizard of our time!

He could not stay here, he had to go. But where to? If he told Ron… damn, if he told Hermione, they would run away with him. But if he had Voldermort inside… then Harry could put them both in danger. Besides, they wouldn’t believe him. No one did when he said the truth anyway. Dumbledore? No. He barely looked at him - if he went to him with that knowledge, there was a possibility the Headmaster would sell him to the Aurors. A year ago he would’ve thought absurd the fear of Albus Dumbledore selling him, but now he couldn’t exclude it. McGonagall? No, she did nothing but tell him to keep a low profile. Snape? Yeah, right.  Maybe Sirius… maybe he could… but no, because Grimmauld was the Order headquarter and Sirius was still an escaped convict. If he went to him, the Order would know it, and then both of them could be sent to Azkaban. And Sirius made it clear that summer he didn't fully believe him either.

He spent all night worrying, and in the morning, Harry shrunk his most treasured possesions and put them inside his pocket. If he had to run, he didn’t want to leave his parents behind.

“How are you feeling Harry?”asked Hermione first thing first. Harry was certainly not good , with blood still on his hand and body twitching from the torture and the lack of sleep. Deep shadow under his eyes and hair more unkempt than usual. Harry looked like shit.

“Good.” he lied, and felt relief when he discovered he could lie again. The Veritaserum was out of his system at least.

“Maybe you could go see Madame Pomfrey?” she said, and Harry distractedly nodded.

“Yeah maybe.”

It was raining. It started somewhere around four o’clock the previous night, and was still falling - violent and freezing cold. A dark curtain covering all of Hogwarts, blocking the sun behind a black velvety cloak. It was so dark that all the lights were bright and torches ablaze. They walked together to the Great Hall, and step by step, Harry felt the pit in his stomach grow.

I’m dead.

Dumbledore would surely know by now, and Umbridge would be out for his blood together with Snape.

I can always run. The snake inside him spread a calming warmt in his veins, rising to hug him in his spires without hurting him. It was strange, feeling something else inside him, but Harry couldn’t hate the snake - even if it was Voldemort. The snake was helping him, and was protecting him. Shielding his soul, the snake was softly telling him to keep going, it’s all going to be allright, I’m here Harry.

So he did, he kept going and entered the Great Hall. He felt some eyes on him, but ignoring the stares had become easy for him. He sat at his usual place, grabbed some toast mechanically, took a bite and suppressed the need to vomit.

It’s all good, Harry . The snake said. Harry wanted to rip open his ribcage to reach inside and pet it. The image was morbid and horrid, but the snake appreciated it nonetheless, and a vague sense of contempt filled the young wizard.

Maybe no one would reveal my secrets. Maybe Umbridge is too scared to spread it. Maybe Dumbledore won’t hate me, and Snape… Well, I have no hope for him. But maybe I’m safe here.

He felt marginally better then, he even started to relax.

“Ugh, double potions first thing in the morning should be illegal.” Ron said, and Harry laughed at that.

Yeah, maybe I’m good and I have nothing to fear. It’s not like I did something wrong. It’s not my fault I have a piece of Voldemort in my soul.

“I can’t wait for Christmas, man.” Harry responded. He even took another bite of the toast.

Harry never went to double potions.

He was feeling better, and the snake retired again in the deep of his bones. No one said anything about strange headlines in the paper, and no accusations came from the head table. Harry almost forgot about his pain and lack of sleep, just happy to be feeling again like himself - and then, everything happened.

It was just outside the Great Hall. Three steps beyond the big arched door, Professor Umbridge stood, looking down on some first years clad in Hufflepuff colors. The two girls, so tiny and shivering, were terrified.

“Detention with me tonight, Miss Wright, Miss Morgan.”

Harry’s blood froze in his veins, Hermione gasped.

Detention? With her? She was gonna make them write in that awful quill. It was still sort-of okay when he was the only victim, but now the toad wanted to torture first years, literal children, eleven years old! Harry saw red. He scanned the crowd - why was no one doing anything? Dumbledore was there, watching from the top of the stairs. He didn’t stop Umbridge. He didn’t do anything. He would let her torture children, for the greater good.

The snake awoke.

“And what, pray tell, did a couple of first years do to you, Professor, that warrants you to torture them with a blood quill?” he said, loud, so everyone around could hear him. Professor Umbridge glared, but she was still smiling.

“Mr. Potter, ten points for insinuating I would possess forbidden dark artifacts, and ten for bad manners. Detention with me tonight, two hours.” she did not deny the torture.

Harry took a step forward, and when Hermione grabbed his hand to keep him from doing something stupid, he rejected her, freeing his hand.

“Why aren’t you telling me the reason for detention, Professor? Scared?”

The toad made an ugly face - well, an uglier face, and spat: “These two muggleborns,” and that sounded a lot like mudbloods , “Disrespected some older purebloods.” she concluded, mouth a thin line on her face. She resembled even more a toad, like that.

One of the two girls started crying then, grabbing her friend.

“We said sorry! We didn’t want to bump into them!”

At that, Harry narrowed his eyes.

“You’re giving them detention because they bumped into some purebloods?”

On his left, Ron tensed, and Hermione whispered: “Harry don’t.”

But Harry could not overlook it any longer. All the rage, and fear, and pain - it all came back to him, a cold waterfall that grabbed his shoulders and twisted his heart, and washed him away into a boiling pit of pure hatred.

The snake rose, sharp like a silver knife, coiling around his arms - protecting him, but still ready to attack.

“And no one is doing anything?” he yelled. He looked straight at Dumbledore, and the hatred grew, becoming impossible and immense and devouring. The Headmaster did nothing . “You know she’s torturing students!” then Harry showed his hand, with the words carved still fresh and red and bloody. “She’s gonna do this to children just because they bumped into purebloods!” but no one listened. Ron and Hermione both kept trying to move him, to make him stop. Umbridge kept smiling, Dumbledore stood still, and no one did anything!

“This is enough Mr. Potter, come with me.”

Umbridge grabbed him by the arm, and led him through the room to make an example out of him. To show everyone that not even Potter could do anything to her. They were all still watching, not doing a single thing. From a corner, Professor Snape said, vaguely amused: “Well Potter, you’re just like your father, simply incapable of doing anything worthwhile beside getting punished. Maybe this time the lesson will finally sink .”

And Harry snapped.

He wrangled his arm free and drew his wand - the snake inside him sang and Harry felt a wave of euphoria mount inside him. His whole soul screamed in pleasure, shining through him. Eyes aglow, Harry pointed his wand at Umbridge.

“You’re so fucking right! I’m useless just like my father, and I need to do something worthwhile!”

All around him students were keeping their breath and Professors were trying to stop him - but they were slow .

“Potter what-” Snape said.

Harry looked at him, then he waved his wand in the air - you know the words, the snake said, you know the movements. You’re doing so good, Harry. So good.

“Avada Kedavra.”

Umbridge fell to the floor with a muted thud .

He bolted. The crowd opened for him, and he ran. Someone cast spells at him, to stop him, but they missed. And the ones that didn’t miss, were deflected by protego after protego . Harry didn’t know if it was him casting the shields, if it was his friends doing, or if it was the snake - but he ran, outside the castle and down the path to Hogsmeade. He knew they were after him, he could still feel spells whirling around him, he could still see the flashes of light - so close to him. They were gonna reach him, so he ran. Under the freezing rain, so cold and so strong, hiding him behind a solid curtain of water. Harry ran until his legs gave out and his lungs burned, and kept running down the hill until Hogsmeade appeared like a clump of lights in a black meadow.

I’m dead, they’re gonna kill me. I’m dead. He repeated in his head like a mantra. But the snake never left. He guided him, warmed him, wrapping him up inside his smooth skin to keep him safe.

I’m dead. I’m going to Azkaban.

Hogsmeade was deserted.

Where… I can’t go anywhere. I need a floo. I need a floo and… and where would I go? Grimmauld? No, no I can’t, I can’t!

Quickly he scanned the empty street, looking for somewhere to hide. But he could’t hide, they would find him any minute now, with magic. He didn’t know how to apparate, nor did he have a portkey.

Floo, floo I need to floo somewhere safe and… 

Just as he sprinted again to reach The Three Broomsticks to use the fireplace, a loud crack resounded through the small village, and ten Aurors in full red robes appeared in front of him, wands ready.

I’m dead.

An empty voice echoed in his mind, then. It was dark and eerie, but so warm, just like the snake. And the voice whispered to him trust me, my child. I will guide you.

Harry raised his wand. One of the Aurors shoot first, without even trying to talk to him.

“Incarcerous!” he said, but Harry dodged, falling on his side and getting up again to run behind a building.

“Immobilus!” another screamed, the grey-red light avoiding his calf by a mere inch. But Harry was not tired anymore, he felt new strength flood into his blood, his senses sharpened. Something guided his hand high in the air, moving it together with his lips - “ Umbra Clypeus!” and suddenly a dark shield materialized itself in front of Harry. Shadows were wirling around, pressed solid in a thin wall, so thin it was almost like a fissure in the fabric of the world - absorbing light and spells, attracting them like a black hole. Paper thin, and so strong.

His hand was moving again just as the shield fell.

“ Gladium Stringo.” he raised his wand straight ahead of him, and then moved it horizontally in a cutting movement. Suddenly, three Aurors shouted and fell down, bleeding from their chests, where deep cuts appeared. Harry felt sick, but the power in his hands was sweet and warm. The snake softly hugged him.

They were going to take you to Azkaban.

Harry dodged another red spell and ran again, even if his thighs hurt so badly that being crucioed sounded better. He knew the Professors from Hogwarts were at his back, almost there, and he couldn’t get into a fight with them and the Aurors. He dodged again, raised another Umbra Clypeus and fled behind a cottage, jumping the low fence with legs on fire. W here do I go?

In front of him apparated an Auror. He had military-short black hair, and he didn’t hesitate. He wordlessly cast, and Harry could only keep running while the cutting curse dug into his shoulder and back, drawing blood. Then another Auror appeared, and Harry felt his left leg crumble and lock.

I need help! I need… I need somewhere to go. Please, please.

A stronge force hit him then, like a baseball bat knocking over his skull and bones, tearing a scream of pain from his lips when he felt his ribs crack and his shoulder twist.

Harry repeated the cutting enchantment, the Gladium Stringo , and made the third Auror fall - another cutting curse caught him straight in the chest, Harry shouted in pain, pressing a hand on the wound to keep the bleeding down. But he could’t win. He was trapped. He would die of blood loss before managing to take down his enemies.

And when Aurors and Professors became enemies? He didn’t have the time to think about that.

His vision dimmed, darkening around the edges.

I’ll faint… and they will get me to Azkaban…

In front of him was Dumbledore. Face full of disappointment, but stern eyes, dull and sad.

“Harry, please.”

The snake exploded. He was everywhere, his power overwhelming and beautiful.

You just have to ask, he said. Harry closed his eyes. Take me somewhere safe.

A hook grabbed him by the navel, like a portkey, and Harry felt himself being squished down a narrow tube until he was nothing else than a long string of atoms - and then he was on the floor. Closing his mouth shut so not to retch right then and there, he tried to figure out where he just apparated to. He was down into a puddle of mud and blood, his own blood, and it was still raining. Straight ahead of him, stood a tall wrought-iron gate, black and bigger than the Hogwarts gate. All around a tall wall and even taller edges closed off what appeared to be a garden, and a long boulevard went straight from the gate to the high steps of a Manor. Cypresses lined the boulevard.

Where…

The snake made him go ahead, moving his body and drowning out the pain. Slowly, Harry reached the gate, and it opened at his touch like he was an old friend. The garden was beautiful, symmetrical and well looked after, full of small white flowers and perfectly round rose bushes. Scattered around, albino peacocks screamed their verses and trutted like they were the rulers of the world. Harry walked, guided by the gentle hands of the snake and his magic, until he was standing in front of the main door. The Manor loomed, imposing and absolute, with his dark marble finishes and almost-glowing windows.

He knocked.

*

Lord Voldemort sat at his throne, nothing more than a high chair found in one of Lucius' rooms, with a pinced look on his snake white face. He was not alone, but he was among… friends. The Malfoys were loyal, and part of his Inner Circle, always ready to please him - even if they pledged innocence and faked being under the Imperius after the last war. He understood, they had to clean their reputation to keep their social standing.

Then, there was Avery. Not the brightest, but still ready to bend whichever way Voldemort wanted him to. Nott, with his quick wit and cold smartness, and Alecto Carrow, excellent dueler. It was a lazy day of scheming, and Voldemort was slowly reading through a bunch of documents copied straight from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by Lucius. Legislations and holes in said legislations were his main objective.

Right then, Voldemort felt something . A push inside him, like a thread he didn’t know was fixed at his soul, suddenly came to life, and started tensing. The Malfoys felt something too, because they were raising, watching confused at the gate.

“Someone is here, my Lord. I don’t know who it is, I don’t recognize the magical signature, but the gate opened.”

Arching a brow - even if he didn’t have brows in that face - Voldemort rose from his seat. The thread kept pulling, like…

It can’t be.

It felt exactly like when he was near a Horcrux. But it couldn’t be. The only one that was out in the open was the diary, and Lucius managed to get it destroyed - and how much Voldemort enjoyed his screams when he punished him. So what arcane creature managed to get inside Malfoy Manor imitating Voldemort’s magical signature so well his soul reacted to it? The Dark Lord curled his lips and walked to the foyer.

“I will greet our guest personally.” he said.

Then someone knocked.