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...
With her potions assignments clutched tightly in one hand and a leather-bound book in the other, Hadria descended the narrow stone staircase. Narcissa's directions had been precise: follow the hallway to the old wine cellars of Malfoy Manor. There, Voldemort had set up a secluded work station for her...a place where magic and secrets intertwined.
The corridor grew darker, the torches flickering as if reluctant to illuminate this forgotten part of the manor. Hadria's footsteps echoed against the cold walls, and the air smelled of incense and ancient spells. She reached the heavy wooden door at the end of the hall, its iron hinges groaning as she pushed it open.
The scent hit her immediately...a heady mixture of potions and memories. Maybe a hint of old wine, too. The cellar yawned before her, its stone steps leading down into shadow. It was a stark contrast to the opulence above...the Malfoy legacy hidden beneath layers of enchantment.
Hadria hesitated, then stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The air grew cooler, and the torchlight danced across the rough-hewn walls. The hallway leading to the main chamber wasn't large, but it held an air of anticipation...a place where magic thrived.
And there it was...an oddly beautiful scene. The cellar had shed its former purpose, no longer housing wines or vegetables. Instead, it had become a sanctuary for creation. Cauldrons stood on sturdy tables, their surfaces etched with arcane symbols. Shelves lined the walls, laden with jars of rare ingredients and ancient texts.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
And at the heart of it all stood Voldemort, his back to her. He was grinding something in a mortar and pestle, his movements deliberate and fluid. Hadria leaned against the cold stone wall, watching him. His pale hands moved with grace—the hands that had wielded power, shaped destinies and brought her pleasure she had never known. He hadn't noticed her yet. His focus was on the potion he was crafting.
Voldemort poured the powdered substance into a small glass jar, his eyes distant. He placed it carefully on a shelf, next to other vials containing rare essences. Then he reached for a larger jar, removing something that looked like Mandrake root. His movements were precise, almost tender.
Hadria found it endearing...the Dark Lord, lost in the simplicity of potion-making. It made him seem more human, less a figure of terror and more a man with desires and vulnerabilities. As he began grating the root she wondered what else drives him...simply the hunger for power, the quest for immortality, or something deeper?
Hadria stepped closer, the cellar's magic hummed around them, a symphony of possibilities. She wanted to touch him, to trace the lines of his face and unravel the enigma. But she held back, content to watch.
He finally looked up, hearing her footsteps. His blue eyes met hers, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.
"I see you found your way, my dear," he said, his voice a low murmur but a smile tugged at his lip.
