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...
As Voldemort departed from Spinner's End, the clarity he had sought enveloped him like the morning mist. The revelation that he, indeed, loved Hadria was not just profound...it was transformative. Love, he had always believed, was a vulnerability, a chink in the armor of the invincible. Yet, as he named the tumultuous emotions that surged within him, he did not find weakness but a sense of liberation. It was an awakening, a fierce acknowledgment that he could feel intensely without losing the essence of who he was...a man far removed from sainthood, yet capable of profound change.
The flight back to the Manor was a contemplative journey. The landscape below, a tapestry of greens and browns, seemed to mirror the tumult and tranquility of his thoughts. This flight was different from the one earlier that day; it was a flight marked by introspection and a newfound acceptance of his emotions. Severus, whose loyalty had been a beacon in the murky waters of his mind, had become more than a servant—perhaps even a confidant. The bond of loyalty was something Voldemort held in high regard, and Severus, driven by personal motives, had proven his fidelity.
Their lives, he mused, were now entwined not just by allegiance but by the friendships they shared—Hadria with Hermione, and now, perhaps, himself with Severus. Hermione, the 'little mudblood,' had earned a grudging respect from him, not just for her association with Hadria but for her unexpected wit.
Landing on the back patio, Voldemort's feet padded across the stone as he entered the manor. The living room was a quiet sanctuary, save for the soft humming of Mippy, the house-elf, as she dusted the furniture with a flick of her magic. Her tune was a simple melody, yet it filled the space with a sense of normalcy.
Mippy jumped at his approach, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and reverence. "Oh! The Dark Lord... how may Mippy be of service?" she stammered, her small form quivering slightly.
"Where is Hadria?" Voldemort inquired, his voice betraying none of the concern that knotted his stomach.
Mippy's eyes darted towards the kitchen, her hands wringing together. "Mippy checked on her this morning, as the master requested. She was unwell, so Mippy assisted her to the ladies' room, so she wouldn't be sick on the floor..."
Voldemort's heart clenched at the thought of Hadria being ill. "She was sick? She vomited?" he pressed, his usual composure fraying at the edges.
Sick again?
Mippy nodded earnestly, her hands clasped tightly. "But she's better now!" she assured him, her voice bright with relief. "She insisted on helping in the kitchen with the other elves," Mippy continued, her smile a testament to her admiration. "She is such a wonderful witch, your Hadria."
A ghost of a smile tugged at Voldemort's lips. "Yes, she is," he agreed, his thoughts momentarily softening at the mention of her name.
He made his way to the kitchen, a place he seldom visited unless the early hours beckoned him for a solitary cup of coffee. Pausing at the threshold, he leaned against the door frame, his gaze finding Hadria amidst the flurry of activity.
There she was, clad in a simple white dress, the fabric catching the light as she worked alongside Dobby, the house elf. They were a picture of domestic bliss, their laughter mingling with the soft sounds of the kitchen as they playfully flicked flour at one another. Around them, the other elves moved with purpose, each engrossed in their tasks, the rhythm of their work a dance of preparation for the meal to come.
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