Draco entered the common room half an hour before curfew. His arrival came earlier than expected, and the others noticed his presence immediately. Voldemort had claimed Draco's seat around the fireplace while waiting on his return, and he had no intention of moving to free up the position.
The others looked at him expectantly when Draco approached.
Draco looked down at him, then briefly to the lack of available seating, and in a split second, sat himself on the arm of the sofa beside Voldemort. It allowed him to look down at the others, and Draco made full use of the positioning.
"We thought for certain you would skip the first night back," Blaise said. He sat on a transfigured stool between the chaise where Gregory and Theodore sat, and the sofa Daphne, Pansy, and Voldemort claimed.
Draco dropped his book bag and propped himself up with a hand on the back of the sofa. He lounged there as though it had been his choice location for the last six years.
"I didn't intend to be gone so long," Draco said, which Voldemort knew to be a lie. "Potter insisted on bragging after being the Chosen One."
Harry confirmed it so easily, and to someone he claimed to hate. When Voldemort gave Draco the additional assignment over the winter break, he hadn't expected Harry to open up without extended effort.
"Can't make heads or tails of him this year," Pansy said.
"He can't survive a year without competition," Draco said. "Someone else needs to rise to the occasion."
"A little late for that," Theodore said.
Draco lifted a shoulder, and managed to make the action look vain. "He's hardly a concern. Someone change the topic before my mind melts from hearing his name."
"Vince was just regaling us with tales of his break," Pansy said, nodding over to Draco's right, where Vincent and Daphne were sharing a sofa and also a package of chocolates. "We were all in search of a subject change."
"We're close to apparition lessons finally beginning," Daphne said. "I've been reading up on it."
"Draco, Theodore, will you be taking the lessons, despite not being able to get your license?" Pansy teased.
"Of course," Draco said. "Do you think I want to learn from Mother over the summer hol?"
The expressions that came from the statement seemed to indicate a general sense of fear from Draco's friends. Voldemort had never considered Narcissa much of a threat or worry. She had left an impact nonetheless on the Slytherin sixth years.
"I still don't get how we'll be able to learn apparition here," Millicent said. "The seventh years constantly complain about being unable to apparate."
If waiting until apparition lessons had been all it required to get the death eaters into the school, Voldemort wouldn't have bothered with the Thomas charade. But he had attended those same lessons over fifty years before. The wards would come down, but only within the Great Hall. There would be no apparating from the lessons into the courtyard or to Hogsmeade. Only from apparition circle to apparition circle.
"They never did say it would be done here," Theodore said.
"Of course it will be," Draco said. "They wouldn't risk letting us off school grounds."
"You mean they wouldn't let Potter off the grounds," Pansy said.
"Now who's talking about him?" Draco asked.
He kept his posture at ease, expression almost disinterested enough to believe his confidence. But his positioning had him leaning against Voldemort, where he could see the subtle shift of Draco's right hand, as if he repeatedly had to talk himself out of drawing his wand. The display of tension would have been almost indiscernible to anyone unaware of Draco's every habit.
"You know I'm right. He's their main concern."
Draco sat up straight, and yawned against the back of his hand, not bothering to hide the exaggeration. "If you lot are going to talk about such boring subjects, I'll be off to bed."
"You will not," Theodore said.
"You just got here," Gregory added.
"If I've moved past talks of Potter, certainly you all could do the same."
"You brought him up first thing," Blaise pointed out.
Draco got to his feet, clearly acting out on his threat to walk away from them. From the seat beside him, Vincent reached out, grabbing Draco's arm and stopping him.
"Don't be petty. Sit down."
"You didn't even write us over the break," Pansy said.
Draco gave a vain struggle against Vincent's iron grip. Draco's attempt to wither away had left him frail, and he had been thin at the start of the year. Against Vincent's size, Draco had no chance at breaking away. He glared only for a moment, and then rolled his eyes as though Vincent were nothing more than a nuisance.
"Fine," Draco said, and Vincent released him.
Rather than return to sitting on the arm of the sofa, Draco made his way to the center of the group, and sat on the floor in front of Pansy. He crossed his legs and leaned back. Pansy obediently began carding her fingers through his hair.
"What was there to write about?" Draco asked.
"It seems like you'd have the most to say," Daphne said.
"Even Thomas managed to write," Pansy said.
"Even Thomas?" Voldemort said.
He had written one letter to them all, copying it before sending it out. It had been brief, but knowing Draco hadn't considered writing, a simple letter had given him an edge over the others. They had written back, and since the owls were set to deliver to Thomas McGruder, the letters arrived at the Manor.
It allowed him to keep track on those vying for Draco's attention, as well as garner more information about what his followers spent their free time doing. The information had been as informative as anticipated. Vincent wrote that they hadn't acknowledged the holiday, not when his father was assigned to the poisoning of a muggle village they intended to overtake. Pansy wrote that her family went abroad, and nearly considered staying to avoid the conflict. Theodore wrote that his father had been spending his days in Knockturn, although to what end, he couldn't say.
The small details others overlooked tended to complete a larger picture.
"Is that right?" Draco asked, tilting his head back to look up at Voldemort. He only held the gaze long enough to carry out the show for the others, then arched his neck to look up at Pansy. She moved on to braiding back the hair around his forehead, tutting under her breath at the products he used, then took out her wand to vanish the hair potion.
"Hold still," she chided him, and returned to braiding.
"I'm surprised you didn't," Voldemort said. "Your break must have been eventful."
"Hardly." Draco closed his eyes, head resting between Pansy's knees.
"Don't tease, Draco," Blaise said. "Just tell us what you did."
"I stayed home. Visited with Mother. Worked on personal projects. What did you expect?"
"We all know what's happening in your home," Theodore said.
A few in their group cast their attention around the rest of the common room, although no one was paying them any mind.
"Are you asking for a commentary on meetings my Mother held?" Draco asked. He kept his eyes closed.
"It isn't just your mother," Vincent said.
"I can't fathom what you're implying."
"Didn't daddy visit for Christmas?" Vincent said, a bit too loudly.
"My father escaped Azkaban. Wherever he is, I'm sure he isn't concerned with where he suppers."
"He hasn't been in touch?" Pansy asked. She shook her fingertips through the braid she just finished, then began again.
"If he has, I haven't been told."
"Bollocks."
Draco didn't have to say anything. The others shuffled and sighed in Draco's defense, but it was Blaise who spoke, "It could have easily been your father."
"Wasn't though, was it."
"Your father is likely to have a spell backfire and die at his own hand," Draco said. "Honestly, Crabbe. Do you really think the dark lord cares about the Crabbe family?"
Voldemort wondered if Pansy could feel Draco's nerves, or if she gave too much focus to her idle task.
"I think the Malfoys are done for."
"That's why we have someone do your thinking for you, Vincent."
Vincent got to his feet. "I don't have to take this from you."
"So run along. I've already dealt with one prat blathering on at me today."
Vincent stepped forwards, stopping in front of Voldemort to leer down at Draco. He didn't open his eyes, even when Pansy's hands stilled.
"You don't tell me what to do."
"Anymore?" Draco said, as though he was telling a joke.
Vincent reached down, took a hold of Draco's arm, and jerked him to his feet. Draco stumbled slightly, but opened his eyes to stare at Vincent, condescension thick in his eyes. Vincent kept Draco's arm pinned against his chest.
"What does pulling me around prove?" Draco asked.
"What can you manage without your wand hand?"
Draco didn't flinch.
"People with actual authority don't need to prove it through brute force."
"You disgrace yourself," Voldemort said, and Vincent's grip tightened. "Do you believe the dark lord would approve of this sort of display?"
Particularly against someone marked as his own. The Crabbes never had been gifted with extraordinary wits, and this little display spoke ill of their bloodline.
"What would you know of it?" Vincent snapped. From where he stood, he stared down at Voldemort.
"Indeed," Voldemort said. "What would a transfer during a war know of anything?"
When he first returned to Hogwarts, Voldemort hadn't intended on drawing attention to himself. He hadn't anticipated Draco's shortcomings, or how possessive his classmates were not only of Draco's time, but his very person.
It would never serve to allow it to go on.
"What are you saying?" Pansy asked.
Vincent had yet to release Draco. The two of them standing drew attention from the other groups milling in the common room. Nothing said would be confined to this group any longer. And Slytherin had lost much of its former loyalty.
"That in-fighting certainly will be reported back, and held accountable."
"You're here to spy on us?" Blaise said, quietly.
"Not on you."
Vincent released Draco, who returned to his spot on the floor as if the whole ordeal hadn't been worth a reaction. Perhaps the new warnings had finally gotten him to play his role.
"The McGruders aren't anyone," Vincent said, facing Voldemort straight on.
"You see what notoriety does to a person," Voldemort said, and casually reached beside him to mess with Draco's hair, drawing attention to him. "Everyone has a different role."
"Everyone?" Vincent said.
"Everyone capable of controlling themself."
Vincent searched the faces of those around him, perhaps in search of an ally, and found no relief for his anger. His jaw gritted, and with no one sympathetic to his tantrum, he stormed off to his dorm.
Draco closed his eyes again. "Daphne, did you all winter in Wales?"
When Draco closed the door, his posture shifted downward. His shoulders relaxed on an exhale, and he lifted his gaze almost entirely to Voldemort's eyes. The remnants of Pansy's braid held on at the crest of his forehead.
"He confirmed it?" Voldemort asked.
"I said being the Chosen One gave him an ego, and he said that being the Chosen One didn't change anything about him."
It was the only confirmation Voldemort needed, along with the assurance Harry would open up to Draco. Holding Harry at bay had been impossible, and if he intended to come after Draco, Voldemort would certainly take advantage. It had worked, after all, with Regulus's brother.
"Anything more?"
"No, my lord," Draco said. "Pushing might have made him suspicious."
"You performed better today."
"You wrote to them over the holiday."
"You underestimate the importance of maintaining connections."
"We're in year six."
"And you think that makes you unable to be of any use? Do you believe the same of your friends?"
Draco pressed his lips together, and wisely chose to remain silent. Voldemort had already begun building his following at Draco's age. He learned forbidden magic. He kept connections with the professors. Lazing about in the common room wouldn't have gotten him far.
"Begin brewing the potions."
Draco dipped his head, then went to the corner to begin brewing the first of the polyjuice for this term. Severus had sent them back with enough polyjuice to last the month, until Draco's batch was completed. Given the duration of Draco's current brew, Draco now only needed to maintain half his original cauldrons.
Draco's worth was little more than a token, or perhaps his influence over his parents, but once Dumbledore and Harry Potter were dead, Severus might require an apprentice. Anyone who could brew a polyjuice lasting eight hours had skill worth developing.
Draco would need some manner of occupation. Voldemort had no intention of allowing Draco to return to Hogwarts.
Draco shifted his book bag as they walked up from the dungeons, then shuffled inside of it. It kept his attention off the hall in front of him, and Pansy guided him around a corner when he made to walk straight. He adjusted in stride.
"And I still think that being of age, we should be permitted to go to Hogsmeade any weekend," Pansy said, "Or night, for that matter."
"We're in the middle of a war, Pansy," Draco said, seeming to find whatever he had been searching for in his bag.
She huffed. "You'd care more if you weren't still a child."
"So commiserate with Blaise."
"Your jealousy is showing," Pansy said.
"Jealous I can't sit around drinking butterbeer in a new location?" Draco said. "Let's not pretend you'd hold Honeydukes hostage from me."
They came to the grand staircase tower, where throngs of students were heading to breakfast. Voldemort casually took them all in, watching for any gazes in their direction. This close to the completion of his task, he prepared for interference.
"Oi, Malfoy!"
Draco looked up right as Harry Potter dropped something from the flight overhead. For all Draco's shortcomings, he never failed to catch anything Harry had thrown at him in the last two months. He reached to grab it before it landed on his head, then with two fingers, angled it so he could see what had been thrown at him this time.
"Now you're giving warnings?" Draco called up. It was the loudest Voldemort had heard him speak. He had only been louder under the cruciatus.
"You'd call me for assault if I didn't." Harry's voice was equally as loud. He propped his arms on the stone bannister, leaning over to meet Draco's gaze. The Boy who Lived, again within reach of the killing curse.
Lily Potter's protection had yet to fade. There was no sense in bothering with him now.
"You assume I wouldn't catch it?"
"Are you giving permission for me to start dropping sweets at you?"
Despite their shouting, no one gave them more than a fleeting glance. They were treated as a minor irritation, and the red-head beside Harry looked at the girl next to him, sharing an exasperated look.
"Should I be grateful it wasn't an apple?"
Harry grinned. "Then you really would say I assaulted you. Theatrically, I imagine."
"Do you frequently devise ways to assault me?" Draco asked, cocking his head.
Pansy hooked her arm through Draco's, pulling his attention back to her. He seemed startled by it, as though he had forgotten where he was.
"Breakfast," she reminded him, and began pulling him towards the Great Hall. Draco gave Harry a final glance before allowing Pansy to lead him away.
"You're entirely hopeless," Pansy said.
"He's the one throwing things."
"And you're one step away from shouting across the tables at each other again. Aren't we past that now?"
"That's hardly the same."
Pansy gave his arm a chiding pat. "It's good you're feeling more yourself, but do attempt some decorum."
Draco shook off her hold, and Pansy reached back out for him. He didn't let her grab on. She stared up at him, a little lost.
"You've been hovering," he told her. "It's not necessary."
"You don't get to judge that."
"You aren't my healer," Draco said, under his breath, "And this isn't being supportive. You're drawing attention where it isn't wanted."
He left her standing at the entrance to the Great Hall, and Pansy turned to Voldemort for support. So few of them knew the supposed truth. She must have assumed he would back her desire for controlling Draco's actions.
That wasn't her place.
Voldemort followed Draco to the Slytherin table, taking a seat beside him as normal. Unlike Pansy's failed attempts to make Draco eat, Voldemort ensured it. He watched Draco fill his plate, and then throughout the meal, a hand on his thigh reminded him to continue. If the nightly checks through Draco's mind had turned up any indication of Draco intentionally avoiding meals, Voldemort would have replaced him over the break. However, he had seen exactly as Draco assured him. Draco truly forgot to eat. His mind wandered to maintaining his appearances, and when he did eat, nothing went down easily.
Vincent and Gregory sat across from him and Draco, followed closely by Pansy, who had caught up with Millicent and sat down primly, not looking at Draco.
"Could you help with Charms?" Gregory asked Draco.
"What are you covering?"
"Banishing."
Draco nodded. "When is your practical?"
"Next week. Can't get anything to stay gone."
Voldemort put his hand on Draco's knee, and Draco waited to answer until he had taken another bite.
"I can make time tonight. Walk with me on my rounds."
Since returning to Hogwarts, Draco had done much better at carrying himself as the others expected. It prevented the others from asking questions about the change in his behavior, but also meant they asked more of him.
Theodore and Blaise rushed up, both sitting on the other side of Draco.
"Draco, you have to help Harper practice. Urquhart was raging in the common room just now," Theodore said.
"He could have said something while I was there."
"The Ravenclaw match is coming up. If Slytherin loses, we'd be lucky to tie with Hufflepuff."
"Does Harper not practice?" Draco asked.
"I'm not on the team," Blaise said.
"Neither am I," Draco pointed out. "You'd be better off asking me to take points from the other houses to even the score."
"We already lost to Gryffindor. Again."
"And my being on the team never helped matters," Draco said. He rested his arms on the table, leaning forwards enough to look over Theodore to Blaise. "Urquhart will just double efforts to send the bludger at Chang."
Voldemort put his hand on Draco's thigh again. Draco instantly righted his posture, and took a bite of his eggs. His plate was still over half full.
"We only have two years left to win the cup."
"There's no competing with Dumbledore's favorite."
"I nearly miss you plotting against them," Blaise said.
Vincent snorted around a mouthful of food. He swallowed it in a large, loud, gulp. "You miss him keeping us up while he sewed those dementor costumes? While he made five hundred badges?"
"It was entertaining, at least."
"I'm always entertaining, when I choose to be," Draco said.
"You sew?" Voldemort asked.
Draco didn't look at him while spearing a potato on his fork. "It isn't as though dementors float around in the height of fashion. Ratty black cloaks worked well."
Gregory looked over Draco's shoulder. "Potter's staring again."
"He's plotting more ways to kill me with fruit."
"Think he knows?" Gregory said, and after a pause, seemed to catch himself revealing something he shouldn't have. "That you made the costumes," he added quickly.
Draco stared at Gregory, severely, conveying the warning well. "I doubt it's crossed his mind."
Voldemort should have considered it before. Harry only began throwing sweets at Draco after his stay in hospital. Somehow, Harry knew the reason for Draco's overnight stay.
Draco had said nothing of it. There had been no knowledge of it in his mind.
Harry Potter had managed to learn information Voldemort sought to keep quiet. None of the Slytherins would have told him anything. Madam Pomfrey? Would Dumbledore have told a student about another's medical condition?
He pondered over it while the others finished breakfast, keeping his hand on Draco as a constant reminder. Harry's obsession with Draco hadn't concerned him up until now, and while it would aid Draco's efforts to obtain the full prophecy, Draco couldn't be fully in control of their encounters. He had to keep a closer watch on both of them.
After breakfast, Draco broke away from the others, starting upstairs as he had been instructed. Voldemort lingered with Pansy, who vented for several minutes about having Draco's best interest at heart, and the heartache of watching him not care for himself. He assured her that her efforts hadn't gone unnoticed, and Draco simply didn't like being reminded of any weakness.
She insisted Draco wasn't weak.
Voldemort chose not to mention Draco's reflection proved otherwise.
He went upstairs once she talked through her frustrations. The first week back had overloaded their schedule, and the weekend was their first chance to test the connection they had established at Borgin and Burkes.
Draco waited for him on the seventh floor.
"How long has Harry known about your inability to eat?"
Draco turned to him, eyes wide and surprised. "He doesn't. That's just Goyle talking."
"He only began throwing food at you after you were in hospital for it."
Draco looked at the corridor ahead, processing. They walked the length of the hall before Draco spoke again, saying, "I don't know how he would know."
"Gregory mentioned he was staring again."
"Potter and I used to be petty like that, glaring and shouting across the Great Hall."
Voldemort would never have considered such a display. In his seven years as a student here, he had never witnessed anyone causing such a scene, and in front of the professors, nonetheless. To debase oneself like that, and for such a pointless reason, was unimaginable.
"You truly possess no respect for your lineage," Voldemort said.
A flush rose in Draco's cheeks. His natural coloring meant he had no disguise for every blush, and he wore every embarrassment and frustration in the flush. Occlumency couldn't hide everything.
Draco paced outside the Room of Hidden Things, and the door appeared before them. Draco led the way inside, but stopped to ensure the door shut behind them. It was a useless action; no one would wander this part of the seventh floor on a Saturday morning. Voldemort went ahead through the narrow paths cut through the detritus and remnants of once useful and wanted objects. When he first happened upon this space, he had spent several weeks going through the contents. He suspected there might have been items of value hidden amongst the rubbish, but aside from the diadem, nothing held any true value.
Even the vanishing cabinet had been worthless, still was, in fact. Until the connection to its sister was restored, it stood as a frustration alone.
Voldemort traded to his original wand once he reached the cabinet. He didn't wait on Draco to catch up. Draco would record the remainder of the notes for Voldemort to review that night while the rest of the castle slept.
Draco set up at the podium, and when he had the quill in hand, Voldemort instructed, "For tonight, you will need to record what you see, rather than what you hear."
"What should I be looking for?"
So little intuition, such a great need for guidance.
"Have you ever watched a curse breaker at work?"
"No, my lord."
"Curses are interwoven spells, magic intentionally set against itself, but wound too tightly for it to operate as designed. To break a curse, one must be able to see the tangle."
Voldemort cast the spell, and the cabinet began thrumming with visualized magic. Like a spell being cast out of a wand, the magic took physical form. It pulsed and twisted, and in several places, the light splintered and fell away. A pale green ray of energy shot out from the cabinet, attempting to travel southward, only to peter out an arm's reach away. Although faint, in proper form, it should have connected to the sister cabinet.
"Here is the connection in need of repair."
"Can that spell be performed on any object?" Draco asked.
"If one can be certain in casting it correctly."
"Why isn't it taught to us?"
"It is part of an advanced education curriculum," Voldemort said, and tested the strength of the broken connection. "Most commonly, it is taught to curse breakers and healers."
"To people who need to identify dangerous spells," Draco said.
"Specifically curses. The unraveling requires a physical sight of the spell."
He caught Draco attempting a step forwards in his periphery, only to catch himself and steady behind the podium. He began making notes, whether they would be worth the review, Voldemort would discover later on. Draco's interest in new magicks aligned so little with the rest of him. Perhaps it was only a childish whim at discovering a new trick.
"The cabinet was broken, not cursed," Draco said.
"Now that I have established the other cabinet is in working condition, I must see the strengthening connection between them. As you see here, it is severed."
Voldemort gestured to the pale green ray, but then down to the base, where another led out.
"The connection works one way, but not in a direction that serves me."
Voldemort raised his wand and settled his gaze on the severed connection, and channeling in his energy, began the chant, "Harmonia Nectere Passus." With each repetition, the broken ray flared, only by the faintest amount, indicating the spell had taken effect. The incantation required no wand movements, but Voldemort tested several, standing to where Draco could see and record each's effect.
They worked in tandem, Voldemort restoring the connection and Draco scratching notes. Occasionally, Voldemort checked over to ensure that Draco wasn't again on the precipice of fainting. After a month of monitoring his daily meals, Draco's appearance had improved, but sleep still troubled him. Given his propensity for failure, something certainly would interfere with his work again.
After an hour of repeating the incantation, Voldemort lowered his wand.
"Come, Draco."
Draco twitched, looking up in surprise, then righted his posture and expression. He set down the quill and approached the cabinet.
"Take over the recitation," Voldemort said.
Draco had performed the incantation before. He bowed his head and took position in front of the cabinet, watching his feet where they intersected the spell visuals. Something in the angle and the way he carried himself made Draco look smaller. It was little wonder his classmates hovered around him.
As he worked, Voldemort reviewed the notes Draco had taken. He would go more in depth in the review during the night, but for now, sought out any changes in the strength of the spell. Draco's notes were well-taken, describing only the effect with no personal opinions on the effects of each change.
Before lunch, they finished working, and Draco returned to pack his notes. They said nothing on the walk back. Each descent down a flight of stairs brought more idle chatter to their surroundings. Given the hour, students milled about in the corridors, and the benches on the lower floors were all filled.
With lunch soon, there was no reason to descend to Slytherin and then come back up. Draco's path was to the Great Hall, although it would bring them there early. With his current mental state, Draco would need the full hour to finish his plate.
Draco stopped once to take points from two students hiding behind a tapestry. The boy and girl rushed off, their muffled giggles carrying down the chilly hall. Hogwarts hadn't changed entirely since Voldemort had been a prefect. He had caught dozens of couples behind that same tapestry.
Draco watched them go, gaze lingering a trace too long, and then carried on.
Voldemort still debated the merits of taking the headmaster post once Dumbledore had been dealt with. Hogwarts would rightfully belong to him, but the post of headmaster came with its own politics. It would afford him the time he desired for research. He could reform Hogwarts and shape the future generations, and prevent those lesser from attending.
It might be worthwhile, for the next hundred years or so, until a new standard had been thoroughly established. If he chose the staff and the board of governors, then the oversight required would be minimal.
Hogwarts would truly be his home, and remain so as long as he desired.
Voldemort stopped just as he passed through a doorway, realizing Draco was no longer walking at his side. He shouldn't have needed to stop on Draco's account, and turned expecting to have to track him down.
But Draco had stopped halfway across the trophy room, staring at one of the illuminated display cases. The light it cast reflected off him, and it gave the impression he had fallen off the shelves. Surrounded by trophies, Draco melded in with them. He would have looked equally in place safely locked inside the display.
Voldemort walked back over, tracking the subject of Draco's gaze. The plaque listed all the past house cup winners. The last several engravings were all the same: Gryffindor. Before it, Slytherin had reigned for six years.
"Their accusations affected you."
"Not only theirs."
"Slytherin is not your lineage."
"Isn't it? What Malfoy hasn't been in Slytherin?"
Voldemort watched Draco rather than stare absently at the trophies. Draco's features had tightened, and he clutched the strap of his bookbag where it draped across his chest. The Malfoy ring had never suited him in the way being surrounded by trophies did. The Malfoys had invested centuries of selective breeding to create Draco.
And Draco wore Voldemort's mark. The pride of the Malfoy house had given himself over without question.
"You will only be at Hogwarts a short while. You trouble yourself with trivialities."
"Will I not be returning next year?"
"No."
Draco nodded, jaw working. "It's a poor way to go out."
"Your departure will come with the death of the supposed greatest wizard of recent generations, not some victory in sport."
Voices carried over from the adjacent hall, filling the silence Draco chose not to break. Voldemort pictured Draco surrounded by truly valuable trophies—Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem, Slytherin's locket, the seat of the Chief Warlock, or Merlin's Pensieve. His collection would never stop growing. The last Malfoy seemed a worthy addition.
