Draco slouched over the row of cauldrons, steam rising and dampening his hair to his temples. He had a neat note sheet for each of the cauldrons, and with each step, wrote down everything he had done for it. Voldemort watched him work, ignoring how his gaze made Draco's shoulders tense, and contemplated his next steps.

After two weeks, all he managed was to refrain from killing Potter or Dumbledore in the Great Hall. He'd taken to avoiding meals as much as possible, as not to draw undue attention, but even then, had to stay his hand every time he laid eyes on either of them. His hand twitched towards his true wand, tucked away in an inner pocket of his robes, but taking the easy route would have been a weakness.

It was only easy in theory. Sheer numbers made Hogwarts an inviable option. The killing curse might be successful with surprise on his side, but then he would be surrounded with students attempting to disarm him, and professors attempting to maim. Deflecting six hundred jinxes was impossible for any man.

If he let himself go to Hogsmeade, staying his hand there would be much more difficult. But if he killed Potter at Hogsmeade, there was still the matter of Dumbledore. And as much as his pride demanded Potter die, Dumbledore was the true threat.

It did seem there was no other option for taking the school. He would have to bring his forces to him, which meant getting through the protective wards around Hogwarts.

Several hundred people couldn't sneak in with polyjuice.

After a brief glance at the clock on Draco's side table, Voldemort decided. There was only so long he could sit passively thinking, and so far, Draco gave no indication of needing constant supervision. The current brews needed another two weeks each, and if he monitored every step, he would never get anything accomplished.

Voldemort took Draco's Potions book as a cover to check on Severus. Getting to him without drawing attention was an unanticipated burden. Severus was his only means of contact to the Death Eaters, and while they had believed his absence was due to politicking in the surrounding countries, an extended silence would draw suspicion and rouse questions.

He said nothing when he left, and only nodded to passing comments in the common room. Draco's friends didn't swarm him like they did Draco, but the girl, Pansy, grew tiresome with her questioning. His knowledge of Durmstrang came from the memories stolen from Thomas McGruder's mind. Recalling them took effort. Secondhand memories never came through with ease.

The longer it took to take the castle, the longer he had to stay in this body, stuck surrounded by insipid children who cared nothing for self-betterment. His own classmates at that age spent their days planning their careers or searching for ways to advance their personal power. They had been the house of ambition and now Slytherin was the pariah of the school.

Students he couldn't name glared at him upon seeing the collar of his robes. And instead of doing anything about it, they sat around the common room, hiding to bemoan essays and to gossip about the other houses. They were content in their commonness, ambition lost to social pressure.

It was almost a shame he'd been forced to tether Draco's outbursts. He and the two oafs who followed him everywhere were the only ones who stood up for their house. Crabbe and Goyle's sons were still constantly on the offensive, but Draco stood silent, usually staring off at some unrelated location. Nightly, when Voldemort searched Draco's mind for any indication of his plan failing, he saw the struggle to remain silent. Draco didn't appreciate anyone speaking for him, and with the order not to pick fights with Harry Potter, Vincent and Gregory were running wild.

And with Lucius in Azkaban, Vincent had started to assert himself. Even in private, Draco couldn't keep Vincent in line. And Vincent seemed to want to joke about an incident on the Quidditch pitch that happened the year before, one that left Draco hospitalized for a night.

If Draco still had the time to think about the previous year, the workload couldn't have been as oppressive as he put on.

The dungeons were sparse this time of night, and the students he passed were mostly coming from the Potions lab. He hoped none of them had requested help from Severus, or worse, had detention with him, because he couldn't wait on such trivialities.

Severus kept his office at the room adjoining his potions storeroom, despite his new classroom being in a different wing of the castle. It made for a quicker trip, and ultimately would prove more convenient than making constant trips to the Defense classroom.

Severus had gotten the post Voldemort himself always longed after. Once he had the school—

No. He had greater issues than finally taking the post.

And taking the headmaster's office would be the greater victory, whether he chose to be headmaster or not. His sight had never been set on becoming Minister. Staying here allowed him to pursue knowledge and true power, not a show of politics.

Severus was taking inventory of his shelves when Voldemort walked in. He set down his parchment, gaze flickering from Voldemort to the door.

"Mr. McGruder," he said.

"Professor."

Voldemort closed the door before dropping Draco's book on one of the shelves. "Have you discovered how to work the map yet?"

"I believe it requires some sort of incantation," Severus said. He gestured towards his office, and they went inside, where they would have more privacy. To be cautious, Voldemort cast a silencing charm around them.

"You said you saw him using it last year."

"Only during the attempts to teach him occlumency. His thoughts never showed the moment he activated the map, only him using it."

Severus pulled the folded map from his desk drawer, and he set it on the desk between them. Voldemort took it and thought after how a simple incantation could be preventing him from accessing every secret Hogwarts held. Any paths in and out, rooms Dumbledore might not even know of, all hidden on the parchment in his hand.

"Perhaps you could persuade them to reinstate the lessons," Voldemort said.

"With no pressing threat, and with how disastrous they were previously, Potter will be difficult to convince."

Voldemort couldn't risk pressing his way into Potter's mind again. If he slipped for even a moment and revealed he was inside the school, there would be no path forward. It was better if Dumbledore believed he had chosen to relinquish access to Potter's mind, and believed all the reports of Voldemort being out of the country.

"Suggest it regardless. All avenues must be considered."

As anticipated, Severus simply nodded. He took the map when Voldemort offered it back, as loathe as he was to part with anything so valuable. If they couldn't discover the incantation, then perhaps they could break down the magic to determine how it had been initially created. They could make their own.

"The charms guarding the perimeter?" Severus asked.

"Multi-layered and complex."

With alarms set to trigger should any of the wards be tampered with. He knew there was a method to take them down, given that apparition lessons were listed on his time table for the spring term. Someone, likely Dumbledore, would have to remove the charms for the lessons to take place while on school grounds.

"Did you check the tunnel under the willow?"

"It has been sealed," Severus said. "And the tree charmed to prevent anyone from getting close."

"We are inside the school. There must be a way around their defenses."

Voldemort wished he could call them petty. But they proved formidable, and although it had only been two weeks, they showed no sign of failure. If he could uncover which exact charms had been layered together, he could reverse them. Severus hadn't been told which charms were used, and there were hundreds of options, with thousands of potential combinations.

"I will try speaking with the other professors to see if anyone aided Dumbledore with the charms," Severus said.

"Write me a pass for the restricted section," Voldemort said. "They won't have left anything useful in the general selection."

Severus obeyed without hesitation. Despite the years of supposed service to Dumbledore, the only times he questioned an order were when it deserved questioning. His loyalty was unmatched, which excused the questions.

"And one for Draco as well."

It was too early to have gauged a complete picture of Draco Malfoy, but he completed all their assigned work on schedule, some even in advance, and he had given no indication of giving away the plot. If his potion work was truly as advanced as Severus claimed, then he could be a useful asset.

If he could get past the constant cowering. For someone as terrified as Draco, he hadn't learned how to open his mind quickly enough to prevent being hurt by the legilimency.

Voldemort initially suspected he must have been hiding something, but after searching thoroughly, found only fear. At least the fear manifested in work ethic.

Severus offered Voldemort the two library passes, and Voldemort hid them within the front cover of the Potions text.

"Have you heard from Alecto or Bellatrix?"

"Yes, my lord. They have uncovered the schedules of the guards, and believe they can complete the breakout by winter holiday."

It was sooner than anticipated.

"Then I will expect nothing less from them."

If he could have his Death Eaters back from Azkaban by the new year, then they could all be prepared for the Hogwarts break-in. It also meant he could delegate others to deal with the Ministry, which they all insisted on taking over. While it would allow him to work on his own endeavors, he didn't want to devote his own resources to the effort.

That was Lucius's domain. But Lucius was a fool who couldn't do something as simple as retrieve a prophecy when the only defender was a group of fifteen-year-old children.

"Are there any other messages I should pass along?" Severus asked.

"Not tonight. I'll return to check in again come the weekend."

"Should any trouble arise?"

"Keep Draco after class and I'll know to meet you."

No one would question Severus looking after Draco, and Voldemort couldn't let any attention come to Thomas.

Potter's gaze constantly came close, but always settled on the seat beside him.

Their rivalry sounded petty, but ran deeper than anyone had let on. But as long as Draco continued maintaining a distance, Voldemort didn't see it interfering.

Voldemort took the book before heading back. He sipped from his polyjuice flask just before stepping into the hall. It was an hour early, but even while still drinking Severus's brew, he wouldn't take any chances. Anything could come up between now and the privacy of his room.

Despite the proximity of the dungeons, Voldemort lingered in the halls. So little had changed since his years here, since the time he called Hogwarts his home. He once knew every crack in these stones. He once wandered the halls with eyes shut, listening to the drafts and creaks and murmurs of ghosts. Had Hogwarts not once been home, would he have thought up a different plan? Certainly there were simpler avenues to removing the threats inside Hogwarts. Settling the decades-long battle between him and Dumbledore didn't necessitate personally slipping into Dumbledore's domain.

The truth might as well be acknowledged. He wanted to come. Since childhood, he knew all futures involved Hogwarts. Nowhere else ever came close to offering the same sense of home, and being back cemented the notion.

Hogwarts was home.

Hogwarts was his.

As frustrating as the prolonged effort had become, the end would give him everything he wanted. Dumbledore dead. Harry Potter dead. His home restored.

He grazed his fingers over the stone wall as he walked, letting himself enjoy his return. There was still much to do, and the constant threat of being uncovered, but the walk back to the dungeons was short enough he could indulge himself.

He knew coming in that the timeline would be extended. There would be no reason to have Draco brewing polyjuice if he expected to have accomplished anything by month's end. Patience reigned paramount, and Thomas could survive however long he was required to. Euphemia Rowle didn't understand his importance, but she could be trusted to keep him alive and imprisoned in her home. McGruder himself had been honored to be of use, even if only by means of giving over his son.

Voldemort could be thorough. When the time came, everything would fall into place concurrently. His efforts would produce results.

He offered the password to the Slytherin common room, then had to dismiss the immediate wash of surprise. Draco had left their room to join his friends by the large lake windows. He rested with his head on Pansy's lap, feet draped over the other half of the chaise. And as Voldemort began to make his way over, Blaise approached, lifted Draco's feet, and slid under them.

Theo sat on the floor nearby. Gregory and Vincent had pulled chairs over to sit within arm's reach.

Draco shouldn't have held such command over them. He was spineless and spoiled.

But even so, Voldemort understood the power of a name.

"You'd think you'd just left Quidditch practice," Pansy said, stroking Draco's hair. It was still damp from brewing.

"Trials haven't even happened."

"Training in the dorm?" Voldemort asked.

Draco opened his eyes and instantly found Voldemort's gaze. His throat bobbed in a steadying swallow, but it was the only indication of fear. His eyes shut again.

"Don't be absurd, McGruder."

"You've been impossibly troublesome hiding so much this year," Pansy said.

"Two weeks," Draco muttered.

"What happened this summer?" Theo asked. "Is it something with your father?"

"That's been well settled."

"Then what? We can't keep having Pansy drag you from hiding."

"Studying."

They were persistent. Voldemort would need to remind him that giving in to their questioning, even hinting at the truth, wasn't an option.

"Draco, you never—"

"You shouldn't even be in the boy's hall," Draco added.

Although he protested, he didn't argue her playing with his hair. He encouraged their battle for his attention without even having to say a word about it. Draco played off as if he had no interest in having his inner circle fawn over him. It was as though he expected it although he offered nothing in return.

"We should go flying tomorrow," Blaise said. He had a book propped on Draco's ankles. Turning a page gave him the illusion of disinterest.

"I'm sure the pitch is reserved."

Draco hadn't taken the hint to return to the dorm. Voldemort didn't need to stand here watching a group of children worship another child, especially one so ill-deserving of it. If the polyjuice brews turned due to Draco's inattention, he lost half his usefulness.

Nott might want his son to step up. No one would dare question punishing Lucius by killing his son.

"I do think I'll study," Voldemort said.

"It's a Friday, Thomas," Pansy said. "I think you're rubbing off on Draco."

"You all don't study?"

"Not nearly so much as you two," Blaise said.

"Which explains why none of you are sitting more than four NEWTS." Draco said. He pushed himself up, kicking his legs from Blaise's lap, knocking the book to the floor. "I'll hardly apologize for studying at school."

"Draco—"

He shoved Pansy's hand when she reached to pull him back down. The dismissal came with a sneer, one that kept her, and the others, seated. Draco always did keep his nose raised to them.

Why were they all drawn to him?

Before Draco finished worming free, Voldemort returned to their room. If they walked back together, they would have even more relentless questioning in the morning. He hadn't anticipated how possessive they were of Draco's time. Once Draco established the change in routine, they would have to give him space.

Voldemort tossed the Potions book on Draco's bed, and returned to his spot by the fireplace with the books he had taken from the library. None of them included the appropriate defensive charms, but there might have been something in Hogwarts's history or the letters of the founders that might inspire a solution.

If Severus failed to unlock Potter's map, their simplest option was off the table.

When Draco came in, his demeanor shifted. He lowered his chin, slacked his shoulders, and softened his expression.

"I trust she saw nothing when she dragged you out?"

"No, my lord."

"And the polyjuice?"

"Only needs ten daily stirs for the following week."

Draco settled in to study, Charms text in his lap and parchment beside him for notes. He had recently started to charm a quill to take the notes for him. His murmurs became background noise, hardly audible over the waves lapping the window. If not for the constant noise from the lake, Voldemort would have continually cast silencing charms on him.

They both studied their own subjects in relative quiet, and Voldemort paused as he stared at the initial diagram for the Hogwarts grounds. One glance into Potter's mind could reveal the method of unlocking it, but pulling on that one memory risked too much. Severus confiscated the map upon Potter's arrival, and any suspicion was too great a chance.

"I don't imagine that in any of your skirmishes with Potter, you happened to see him using a map of the school?"

Draco startled at being directly addressed, and seemed to bite down on the lip he had been chewing. Aside from a wince, he didn't acknowledge it before saying, "A map?"

"Of the school and all its hidden passageways."

"No, my lord."

Draco ran his thumb over his bottom lip, and it came away with a smear of blood.

"It would explain a lot," he mumbled, then licked his lip as though it would staunch the bleeding.

"How so?"

"Potter has a knack for turning up places he shouldn't," Draco said, words dripping with scorn and more genuine personality than he'd shown in the last two weeks.

"Like where?"

"Classrooms, Hogsmeade, then last year, they found that hidden room for their army meetings."

Setting aside his book, Voldemort gave Draco his full focus. "What hidden room?"

Having the gaze directly on him wiped Draco of the annoyance brought about by recollection. He returned to the appropriate submission.

"One on the seventh floor. The doorway came and went at will."

No one else should have known about that room, but if Potter had a map of the school, he might have found it.

"Did you see inside?"

"Umbridge eventually caught them, but I never saw past the entrance."

"Describe the door."

"It's on a wall across from the tapestry of Barnabas—"

Voldemort cut him off. Potter found the room of hidden things, and while the chance of him finding the diadem was slim, there was a chance. Any artifact from the founders would be certain to draw the eye.

It had gotten late. Not past curfew, but close to it.

"Put on your badge and come with me."

For a fleeting moment, Draco looked prepared to argue. The stack of tomes on his bedside table provided explanation, but the moment passed quickly. Draco nodded once and put on his robe.

"I don't have rounds tonight."

"I don't intend to have Pansy Parkinson accompanying us for this trip."

He had to get inside the room immediately. If Potter knew, Dumbledore certainly would. If they searched it, if they found it—

Voldemort took Draco's arm to lead him out more quickly. He kept his hand covered in the fold of the robe in the event anyone remained in the common room, but the only students lingering were from the lower years. Although likely unnecessary, Voldemort didn't release him. Draco didn't pull away.

Once they were in the dungeon corridor, Draco's only reaction was to lift his nose, only just. If Voldemort hadn't heard the comments whenever Draco didn't look appropriately haughty, he might have insisted an end to it. But he'd grown excessively tired of the questions.

Keeping Draco away from Potter would have to suffice. None of Draco's immediate circle would risk anything happening to him if they discovered the truth. But he wouldn't count on house loyalty or friendship to assure his success.

Depending on Severus and Draco was challenge enough.

Given the absence of class the next morning, the halls were busier than typical for the hour. It made the walk up to the seventh floor more of a challenge, what with the constant attention Draco drew. The glares came more commonly without Gregory and Vincent towering over Draco. Their attention meant Voldemort had to release his grip, but Draco didn't wander.

"Tell me more of this army," Voldemort said when they were alone on the moving stairs. They just stepped on when the fourth floor flight began shifting, and Draco leaned against the railing, arms crossed to wait.

"Potter gathered a group to practice defensive spells when the curriculum was changed. They merely called themselves an army."

"They defeated your father easily enough."

Draco's cheeks flushed.

"Yes."

"Do you know what they studied?"

"Only where."

The stairs swung back into place, permitting access to the remaining flights. Voldemort needed no direction to get to the room, but in the event Draco referred to a different hidden room, he kept pace.

Draco hid a yawn behind the back of a hand. He said nothing as they walked. Didn't glance to either side. He trailed obediently, evidently understanding his presence was only required for the badge pinned to his chest.

"Stand back," Voldemort said when they'd reached the seventh floor corridor. He didn't need Draco's thoughts interfering with the room's magic.

Draco did as instructed, and stepped back to the tapestry. It gave Voldemort the space needed to pace back and forth in front of the empty stretch of wall. He thought of the room piled high with furniture, trinkets, and rubbish. He needed the room where things were hidden.

The room where he had hid a part of himself.

The door appeared and Voldemort checked the hall to be sure no one had seen before holding out a hand for Draco to come. He took a grasp on Draco's left forearm, thought of the mark underneath, and nearly used it to send out a pulse to all who bore his symbol. But he couldn't summon them here. He could never explain to any of them why one item caused such a sense of urgency.

He closed the door behind him, and took in Draco's surprised expression. He glanced around the room, craning upward to the tops of the piles, chewing a thumbnail in thought.

"You said it was empty."

"It had been."

Then perhaps the room of hidden things was still hidden. The room must have adapted to different people. Potter uncovered a variation of this room's abilities, which meant Voldemort's trophy was safe. But still, while here, he walked back to check on it. He wouldn't touch, not with Draco trailing beside him.

He remembered the exact steps needed to get there, and passed through the rows that looked untouched. A layer of dust covered everything they passed, and not a thing seemed out of place.

Until they reached a corner, where a large cabinet marked the end of an aisle.

"Surprised they didn't destroy it," Draco mused.

"You know it?"

"Graham Montague was shoved in by some Gryffindors. I found him in a pipe, nearly dead."

Voldemort tuned him out to open the cabinet doors. They were tall, heavy, and concealed space enough inside for a person.

"A vanishing cabinet?" he asked, and was met with a nod.

"Is its twin in Hogwarts?"

"Borgin and Burkes," Draco said.

"You're certain?"

"I've gone in with Father enough to recognize it," Draco said.

He saw the splinters running up the side of the cabinet. The doors hung uneven, and something about the feel of the magic around it felt wrong. He ran his hands down the side, knowing this was the answer he had been searching for. If Draco was correct about the twin cabinet, then he had confidence in the idea.

Everything came around in the end.

"How was it broken?"

Draco shook his head. "Montague researched them after nearly dying to one, but this one was already broken."

A piece of furniture likely didn't need much to repair it. He could stop researching the wards and testing them, in favor of something much simpler. They might not even need the passes to the restricted section.

"Is it still at Borgin and Burkes?"

"Last I was there."

He needed to send someone to the shop to check. Severus could send word without risk of his post being checked.

In the time it took to repair the cabinet, he could gain control of the school. He would have a way to bring in his Death Eaters, and a way to get out without needing to apparate through the wards.

"Tomorrow we'll start researching how to repair this."

The exhaustion in Draco's eyes grew heavier, but he answered, "Yes, my lord."