The Malfoy Manor stood as a monument of grandeur and age-old pride. Even among the other twenty-seven pure-blood families, none could rival its stately magnificence.
It wasn't just wealth that built this place—it was legacy.
Yet tonight, Lucius Malfoy felt like nothing more than a guest in his own home, standing respectfully beside "Voldemort."
Inwardly, he was cursing Charles Gold. That boy had made such bold claims, and what came of it? Voldemort revived, just as feared! The morning's Daily Prophet had reported that Charles Gold had been "narrowly defeated by the Dark Lord." Even that phrasing—"narrowly"—was remarkable, considering his opponent was the most powerful Dark wizard in history. And still—
Lucius could feel that power now, simply standing near Voldemort. His gaze flicked to the Dark Lord's right hand, and the wand it held—a wand Lucius had never seen before.
That wasn't Voldemort's original wand.
After his defeat by Harry Potter, the Ministry of Magic had confiscated his wand, locking it away with those of other captured Death Eaters in Azkaban.
There had been no reports of theft from the Ministry, and yet, Voldemort now wielded a new wand—stronger, darker, and far more sinister.
Eleven years had passed since the world believed the Dark Lord was gone to dust. And now, he had returned more powerful than ever. Could Dumbledore stop him again? Or that poor boy, Harry Potter?
The thought made Lucius almost laugh aloud.
For Charles Gold to have even lasted against the Dark Lord was no small feat. The boy was still young; perhaps, given time, he could have surpassed even Voldemort himself. But… would he ever have that time now?
After venting his frustrations, Lucius found himself begrudgingly grateful to Charles.
If it hadn't been for Charles Gold instructing him to follow Voldemort's order and seek out unicorn blood, he might have ended up like the pitiful wretches kneeling before the Dark Lord—soon to be slaughtered.
"Voldemort" raised his chin, sneering at the trembling Death Eaters.
Then, suddenly, he gave a chilling, mirthless laugh, lifting one skeletal hand to point at a man.
"Stand."
The wizard rose on shaking legs, voice small and fearful. "M–My Lord…"
"Ah, you call me Lord—did you hear that, Lucius? He calls me Lord!"
Voldemort sounded amused, as though hearing the punchline of a cruel joke—but his smile vanished in an instant.
"Crucio!"
The man screamed, clutching his chest and writhing on the floor. The shrill agony filled the hall until no one dared even breathe too loudly.
After several minutes, the curse ceased. The man lay limp and pale, eyes rolled back like a dead fish, his body twitching faintly.
The others stood frozen, terror flooding the room.
This is the infamous cruelty of the Death Eaters?
Charles, hidden within Voldemort's body, looked down at them coldly—as though gazing upon corpses.
He hadn't forgotten that the parents of one of his "students" had been driven to madness by these very people. Compared to their noble defiance, these worms were nothing.
"I am deeply disappointed in you," Voldemort said softly, lazily flicking his wand. Every few seconds, it landed on another trembling figure—and another scream filled the manor.
The tortured cries echoed endlessly. Were the Malfoy estate not so large and secluded, the neighbors might already be whispering dreadful rumors.
"Now then," Voldemort's voice turned low and silken, "who among you will prove your loyalty to me?"
The wand tip swept slowly across the gathered faces. Each time it passed someone, the fear in their eyes deepened.
"You? Or you?"
"If you had all been as loyal as Lucius—if even one of you had lifted a finger to help in my return—I would not have waited this long to walk the earth again. Or… perhaps you would rather I had stayed dead?"
His voice grew darker, more venomous.
"You—tell me, when you called yourself a Death Eater, did I not give you glory? Did others not tremble at your name? Did you not strut before Mudbloods with your head high? Speak! How many have you killed? How many Muggles have you made scream before they died?"
The voice was like a whisper from Hell, stirring the twisted pride buried deep within their hearts.
Memories of blood and fire flashed in their minds—the wild days when they killed without restraint. Compared to that, this timid silence was unbearable.
"I killed sixty-three, my Lord!" shouted one, his eyes blazing with vicious pride.
"And you?"
"Seventy-seven! Twenty-six of them I tortured to death with my own hands!"
Soon, the room devolved into madness—each voice louder than the last, boasting of their crimes as though vying for praise.
Voldemort—Charles—clapped his hands softly. "Splendid. Excellent."
The Death Eaters visibly relaxed, believing their master was pleased. None noticed the fury flickering in those serpent-like eyes.
His fingers brushed the tip of his wand—the Destruction Wand—and he fell silent.
"My Lord," one finally dared to ask, "will you now strike back at Hogwarts? I've heard… Dumbledore is weakened."
"Strike at Hogwarts? Of course…" Voldemort murmured. "But first—"
He lifted the wand, the tip blazing with eerie green light.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green shot forth, striking a wizard dead in an instant—but the beam did not stop. It splintered outward like lightning, weaving itself into a net of emerald death that swept across the hall.
Crack!
In the blink of an eye, more than a dozen Death Eaters fell lifeless, their bodies collapsing like piles of meat. Only a few remained, staring in horror and disbelief.
"I do not forgive betrayal," Voldemort said coolly. "These… carried my name, basked in my glory, and yet showed me no loyalty."
He turned, voice cold as ice. "But I am merciful. From now on, you will obey Lucius. Take these filthy traitors away from my sight."
Merciful?
The word hung absurdly in the air. The survivors glanced from the corpses to their master, their fear bordering on hysteria. It was like hearing a bird claim it hated the sky before diving into the sea.
But what could they say?
They could only envy Lucius, the one man still standing beside the Dark Lord—lucky enough to have chosen the right side. Bowing low, they dragged the bodies away.
Soon, the courtyard was empty save for a few startled white peacocks fluttering through the still air.
After a long silence, Lucius finally ventured, "My Lord… to kill so many Death Eaters at once… even if they were traitors, perhaps some might still have been useful against the Ministry…"
"Lucius," Voldemort said softly, turning to him, "do you think you are not one of those traitors? Perhaps you, too, curse my name in your heart?"
Lucius fell to his knees instantly. "Never, my Lord! I would never—"
"Never? Perhaps not against Voldemort. But I wasn't speaking of him."
Lucius's head jerked up. "What—?"
Before his eyes, the Dark Lord's aura began to fade. The shadow beneath his feet twisted and coiled—until it rose and took shape.
Charles Gold.
"Mr. Gold… you—you—" Lucius stammered, speechless. How could Charles emerge from Voldemort's very shadow?
"I told you," Charles said with a faint smile, "I wouldn't let Voldemort revive—unless there was a reason for it."
And now Lucius understood.
No wonder "Voldemort" had slaughtered the Death Eaters so mercilessly. The real Voldemort would never have done that while still rebuilding his power; he needed followers.
But if this Dark Lord was under Charles's control… then it made perfect sense.
"How?" Lucius whispered.
"Simple," said Charles, smiling. "I defeated him. He did revive—but for less than half an hour before I turned him into my puppet. I placed a fragment of my consciousness in his shadow to control his movements."
The parasect mushroom had subdued Voldemort, but its intelligence was limited. Left unchecked, it might have caused unnecessary trouble. So Charles had embedded a sliver of his own mind in Voldemort's shadow to keep him under control.
Lucius was speechless.
The mighty Dark Lord, undone by a seventeen-year-old boy.
Seventeen—or perhaps eighteen?
Lucius's awe deepened into terror.
Even Dumbledore had failed to destroy Voldemort, yet Charles had not only defeated him—he commanded him. A puppet with greater power than before.
Lucius silently rejoiced that he had chosen the right side early on. From now on, who in the wizarding world could challenge the Malfoys' position?
"Sir… what would you have me do?" he asked, still kneeling, not daring to rise.
"I can't stay here watching all the time," Charles said calmly. "I'll give you the authority to use the Death Eater Mark. Coordinate with Fudge—he'll contact you. And remember… keep things quiet. I don't like killing."
Don't like killing?
Lucius glanced reflexively at the floor—empty. The corpses were gone.
Ah. Never mind then.
"I understand, sir."
"Good. Don't disappoint me, Lucius."
With that, Charles's projection dissolved back into Voldemort's shadow. The Dark Lord's body stood motionless, his eyes now blank white, pupils vanished.
Then, like some wretched creature, he crawled to a damp corner and crouched there.
Lucius stared.
The fallen Dark Lord… looks almost like a dog, he thought absurdly.
He shuddered. Compared to Charles Gold, even Voldemort seemed insignificant.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Lucius began to chant the incantation Charles had given him, summoning the scattered Death Eaters.
At their height, there had been hundreds. Even after Azkaban and the recent slaughter, many still roamed free—some having fled abroad.
Now, across Britain and beyond, every surviving Death Eater felt a familiar, searing pain in the Dark Mark on their arm. It burned again—like venom awakening after years of sleep.
Some felt wild joy. Others, dread.
——
That night, at Hogwarts.
Professor Snape strode swiftly through the corridors, his black robes billowing like a storm.
He stopped before the Headmaster's office and barked, "I must see Dumbledore!"
He had no password, but he didn't care. If the stone gargoyles refused him entry, he would blast the doors open himself.
Fortunately, they moved aside, revealing the spiral staircase.
"I have been expecting you, Severus," came the calm voice from above.
Dumbledore turned to face him, eyes gleaming with quiet wisdom.
(End of Chapter)