Voldemort returns and is intent on revenge, preventing the prophecy from coming true and ensuring his reign over the wizarding world. But everything changes when he realizes the girl who lived, his ultimate nemesis...is actually a Horcrux...
Voldemo...
Voldemort had never felt quite so content. They lay in bed together, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the window. His eyes were closed, breaths deep and slow, as he lay on his back. Hadria snuggled into his side, her head resting on his chest. The world outside seemed distant, irrelevant.
She lifted her head, setting her chin on his chest, looking up at him. He opened his eyes slightly, taking in the sight of her. Her face held a beautiful glow, and he made a mental note to make her look like that more often.
"Where did you go?" she asked, her voice soft.
"Hm?"
"After...yesterday," she clarified, her curiosity evident.
He cleared his throat, caressing her face.
"I went to Azkaban, my dear," he admitted. "I had a little...chat with the Dementors. You see, I have quite a few valuable followers who've been there for the last thirteen years. Hopefully, we'll be bringing them home in the next few months."
He closed his eyes, the rhythmic motion of stroking her hair soothing. It was the truth. He had indeed traveled to Azkaban, ensuring that when he called for it, the Dementors would release his followers. The promise of more prisoners in the near future had secured their cooperation. As much as he found himself not wanting to upset Hadria, the reality was that there would be some who would refuse to fall in line. For those, he would relish the opportunity to torture them and throw them into Azkaban.
Afterward, he journeyed back to the abandoned Gaunt Shack. Partly to be alone, but he had been meaning to return anyway to retrieve a particularly important family heirloom he had buried beneath the home. The ring—it was another one of his Horcruxes. After retrieving it, he left a fake ring in its place, cursed to ensnare anyone who dared touch it. Since the Order seemed to be aware of his Horcruxes, he had already begun working to recover them.
Years ago, before his resurrection, Hadria herself had unknowingly destroyed one of them at Hogwarts...his diary.
Voldemort sat in the overgrown, dilapidated home, lost in thought. His mind churned with conflicting desires—to move forward with his plans and yet keep Hadria at his side. It wasn't merely about her safety; he wanted her there, a presence that stirred something unfamiliar within him. No longer could he rely on fear and control alone. This time, he needed creativity, restraint, and softness.
The Dark Lord grimaced at the notion. Softness was a foreign concept—one he had long abandoned. But for Hadria, he would learn to wield it, even if it meant navigating uncharted territory.
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He hadn't slept that night at all. His thoughts wrestled with newfound feelings—an unfamiliar vulnerability that grated against his pride. On one hand, he despised it, feeling weakened by this longing. On the other hand, he yearned to be near her, haunted by the knowledge that he was responsible for her pain. Regret...a foreign emotion...twisted within him. For the first time, he felt remorse for hurting someone.
