Lord Voldemort sat motionless on his throne, watching as the meeting room slowly filled with people – too slowly for his taste. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now!

Bellatrix assaulted in broad daylight and kidnapped – losing his top lieutenant in such a manner screamed weakness to high heaven. Even ignoring how it threatened his reputation, Bella's kidnapping was still disastrous for him on so many levels that he couldn't even begin to count them all. The first and foremost was one of his priceless Horcruxes being hidden in Lestrange's vault. With Bellatrix kidnapped and missing, it was no longer secure. He didn't think she would willingly betray him by revealing its location, but there were magical methods to get the information out of her against her will. It was a risk he wasn't willing to tolerate.

Therefore, he had already dispatched Rodolphus and Rabastan to retrieve the Cup from the vault, along with a list of other items as a cover. As Bella's husband and head of the Lestrange family, Rodolphus had full access to their vault and shouldn't have any trouble with this task. Once he brought him the Cup, Voldemort would keep it close until he devised a new hiding place for it.

In the meantime, Lord Voldemort occupied his powerful mind with two simple but highly pertinent questions – who and why would kidnap Bellatrix. He suspected knowing the answer to one of the questions would automatically shed light on the other. But, unfortunately, he was hopelessly stuck on both. Bella had served as his chief executor for so long that she had amassed countless enemies. Voldemort had no idea where to begin the investigation, and, honestly, part of him felt such a mundane task was beneath him!

"My Lord..." One of his servants placed a piece of parchment into his hand before rapidly retreating, no doubt sensing his foul mood and not wanting to be caught in one of his famous fits of rage. He needn't have bothered. This time Lord Voldemort was far more interested in the information written on the parchment than in torturing its messenger for fun. He quickly scanned the words with his eyes, but unfortunately, it only left him with more questions than before.

According to his most reliable sources, the usual suspects had nothing to do with Bella's kidnapping. The usual suspects being Shacklebolt, the Weasleys, the Tonks witches, Diggory, the Longbottom hag – basically, everyone from Dumbledore's old guard. To be honest, he hadn't really thought they were behind this, as it didn't fit their style at all, but he had to be certain. Many of his Death Eaters questioned why he had left any of Dumbledore's old allies alive at all, and there were two main reasons. The first was that they were a stable element – disruptive, but highly predictable. And it was always safer to have a predictable opposition. The second reason was their potential as lures for Potter.

Harry Potter.

The Boy-who-lived would normally have been one of his prime suspects in Bella's kidnapping. But not only did he lack a single shred of proof, he couldn't even confirm the boy was still alive. There hadn't been so much as a peep about him since their encounter in Godric's Hollow. Over the past months, Voldemort had dedicated extraordinary magical efforts to locating the boy – all without success. He had even attempted the Lost Twin Spell – one of the most powerful locator spells ever devised, designed to find a missing blood relative. As he and Potter shared blood since his resurrection ritual, the spell should have worked. Even if Harry Potter was on the other side of the planet, incapacitated or memory-wiped. It should have worked!

But again... nothing. That only left two possible explanation – either Potter was hiding under wards so ridiculously overpowered they were completely obscuring all of Voldemort's magical attempts to locate him… or he was dead. Lord Voldemort didn't believe such powerful wards existed, considering the sheer amount of power he had poured into his locator spells. This led him to seriously entertain the possibility that Harry Potter no longer lived.

If that were the case, then he had not died by Voldemort's hand, nor by any of his followers. But even so, he could still be dead. After their confrontation, the boy might have tried to leave Britain by muggle means, possibly on the recommendation of his dirty mudblood whore (who also hadn't been seen since). Perhaps they had both drowned somewhere at sea. If that were true, then, with all due respect to magic, the prophecy about him and the boy was nothing more than a fucking joke!

"What?!" Voldemort snapped angrily after a full minute of watching Lucius Malfoy trying and failing to get his attention. The jittery fuck no longer even had the courage to speak up in his presence unless addressed first.

"T-the werewolves a-are here, M-my Lord. At t-the g-gates," Malfoy senior stuttered nervously, making Voldemort wonder how he even managed to keep his pants dry.

"Is that so?" he asked with mock sweetness, waiting to see whether the useless shit would show at least some initiative. But of course, he wouldn't. Lucius Malfoy never did a single thing anymore without explicit instructions. In a way, that was a blessing – it kept his fuck-ups to a minimum. But boy was it frustrating to deal with the man! "Well, go... let... them... IN!" he snapped, watching as the snivelling coward practically tripped over his own legs in his haste to carry out the command. His wife and their useless whelp exchanged a glance – of shame, Voldemort assumed – before following him. How Narcissa could stand staying married to that man, he would never understand.

The irony of ironies was that he would need the Malfoys in the coming days and, as a result, couldn't be too harsh on them. The reason was simple – if Dumbledore's old cronies hadn't been behind Bella's kidnapping and Harry Potter was missing and presumed dead, then only one group capable of kidnapping Bella remained – his own organization.

Once again he had no proof, but it was the only thing that made sense to him. Someone in his ranks either had a personal vendetta against Bella or was hoping to curry favour with him later. So, with his organization potentially compromised and the traitors daring to kidnap Bella, the Malfoys by default emerged as his most trustworthy assets. Again the reason was simple – Lord Voldemort knew that Narcissa Malfoy genuinely loved her sister and, therefore, wouldn't harm her. Love was a ridiculous notion, one that exemplified just how weak and pathetic the woman was – but in this case, it was useful. Narcissa Malfoy, and by extension her husband and son (since the two cowards wouldn't dare cross her on this), were the only three people he was absolutely certain had nothing to do with Bella's kidnapping. So as distasteful as the thought was, he would have to rely on the Malfoys in the coming days, at least before he cleaned up his organization.

That was why he had summoned everyone of importance who served him to this meeting. He would question them all – both with words and through his superior mind-reading abilities – and root out the traitors. And when he did, heads would roll!

Lord Voldemort allowed himself a small smile and a manic laugh. A few of those present, unfamiliar with his mannerisms, cast wary glances his way, but he didn't care. Soon, his precious Cup would be safe and secure, and then he would uncover who was behind this and retrieve Bella. It was a sound plan.

What could possibly go wrong?

Draco Malfoy accompanied his parents after the dark lord once again assigned his father a task more fitting for an errant boy. The constant humiliation was nothing new at this point. What stung worse was how others were starting to copy the dark lord, treating his family like dirt. It was bad enough when the dark lord did it, but at least he had his immense magical power as an excuse. But to be disrespected by powerless halfblood lowlifes who only held favor by his whims? That was unbearable! And Draco knew his parents felt the same.

As if to prove his thoughts, the filthy werewolf leaders strode past his father without so much as a glance after he unlocked the gates for them. No greeting, no acknowledgment or deference. Nothing. They simply walked inside like they owned the place, arrogant and dismissive. The final beast in line even had the audacity to shoulder past his mother, nearly knocking her to the ground. He did not apologize, did not even look back.

Draco had enough. He drew his wand... only for it to be yanked from his grip by someone behind him. He spun around, coming face to face with the skeletal mask of an unknown Death Eater. "That wouldn't be wise... my Lord," the man said in a strangely familiar voice, glancing between Draco, his wand, and the werewolf's retreating back.

"Give it back!" Draco snapped. To his surprise, the masked figure hesitated only briefly before flipping the wand in his hand and offering it back to Draco, handle first. At that moment, his parents approached, and he felt his mother's calming touch on his shoulder.

"It's alright, Draco," she murmured gently.

A second Death Eater, another masked figure, appeared beside the first. This time, a female voice spoke. "Is everything ready?" The masks distorted their voices, making them hard to identify, but Draco was certain he had heard both of them before. He just wasn't sure where.

"It is, my lady," his mother answered with a polite smile.

Draco stiffened. 'My lady?' The title echoed in his mind, his confusion mounting. His mother rarely addressed anyone with such formality and deference. And he wasn't the only one bewildered.

"Cissy… what's happening? What are you talking about? Who are these people?" Lucius Malfoy's voice carried the same confusion Draco felt. His father's sharp gaze flickered between his wife and the two masked Death Eaters. His mother turned to him, and in her eyes, Draco saw something that unnerved him – regret and shame.

"I'm sorry, my love," she whispered. "This must happen… and I'm not cruel enough to make you watch it."

A flash of red followed. Draco gasped as a stunner struck his father's chest while a third death eater emerged from behind, catching Lucius Malfoy before he hit the ground. This time Draco had already drawn his wand, searching wildly for the traitor who had attacked his father. Then, he faltered, seeing his own mother, still holding her proverbially smoking wand outstretched.

"M-mother?" His voice barely formed the word, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Then the realization dawned. "What have you done?!" he cried, rage and disbelief crashing through him in waves. His mother met his gaze, unwavering.

"Draco... listen to me carefully. I need you to put the entire House into lockdown. Now," she implored in kind but completely serious voice.

"W-what?" He stared at her, as if he had misheard. Then his eyes narrowed. "Have you lost your mind? Do you know what the dark lord will do to us for that?!" He shook his head, unable to accept this was really happening. Betraying the dark lord? Imprisoning him in their own home? Besides, it was a stupid plan. The dark lord was powerful enough to obliterate their wards from the inside. Locking him in would buy them minutes... at best. And then they would all die! Even more strangely, his mother had proposed her treason openly, in the presence of three Death Eaters. Actually, no. Draco turned and counted ten more masked figures, standing motionless in the shadows, waiting.

Watching him.

'Was this some sort of loyalty test?' he wondered, his confusion mounting. Then the Death Eater who had briefly taken his wand stepped forward, reaching into his robes. Draco tensed, but the figure merely pulled out an envelope.

"A letter for you... my Lord," the man said, his tone just as casually disrespectful as before. Draco's stomach tightened with foreboding. He knew that man and his voice. He was now absolutely certain of it! But all thoughts about the stranger's identity fled his mind as his eyes fell on the handwriting on the envelope.

His own name... written in Astoria's hand.

Draco's breath caught as he reached for it with shaking fingers, carefully breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment. The letter was short, but that did not diminish the urgency of its words.

Trust them. Do as they say. Everything – our future together – depends upon it. I love you.

Yours always,

Astoria

Draco's grip tightened. He brought the letter closer to his face, both to confirm its authenticity and to hide the tears threatening to spill. After a moment, he was certain the letter was genuine. It even smelled of Astoria's perfume! In that moment, he missed her more than ever...

Swallowing hard as he made his decision, Draco carefully folded the letter like the most valuable treasure, slipping it back into its envelope before tucking it securely into his robes. Finally, he turned to face his mother and the unknown group of Death Eaters.

"I'm locking down the Manor," he announced with steady voice. Then he drew his wand, feeling for the wards. He still had no idea what was happening, why this was necessary, or what it meant. But none of that mattered.

All she had to do was ask.

Draco focused on the spell, his mind lost in the ancient magic of the wards. And so, he did not see his mother slowly lower her wand, relief plastered on her face as the Imperius curse had been just about ready on her lips.

'Finally!' Voldemort thought as he saw the two Lestrange brothers enter the meeting room. His brief elation lasted all of two seconds before he noticed the grim expressions on their faces – and the fact that no servants were carrying chests with valuable treasures behind them.

"Report!" he hissed, his apprehension spiking.

Rodolphus bowed before answering. "My Lord… we failed you," he admitted, shame heavy in his voice. "We couldn't access the vault. Those goblin cretins have denied us entry!"

Voldemort blinked, momentarily thrown off. What were the goblins up to? "What are you talking about? You are the head of House Lestrange – it is your vault! How could they deny you access?!" Were the nasty little trolls rebelling against his rule?! If so, he would crush them!

This time, Rabastan spoke. "Technically, my Lord, it is Bella's maiden vault," he said before grimacing. "Or rather, it used to be. According to Gringotts, Lord Black officially banished Bella from the family as a blood traitor and reclaimed her maiden vault."

The more Voldemort listened, the less sense any of this made. He vaguely recalled hearing about maiden vaults – one of the pureblood fucks had once mentioned setting one up for his daughter – but that wasn't the main question on his mind.

"WHO THE FUCK IS LORD BLACK?!" he screamed, his high-pitched shriek reverberating against the walls of the meeting hall and drawing everyone's attention. As far as he knew, the only potential claimant to that title was Draco Malfoy… and he was a coward who, according to Bellatrix, would never take up the mantle. So who was it?!

"T-the goblins wouldn't tell us," Rodolphus stuttered nervously, momentarily sounding like Lucius. "But we paid off one of the clerks…" He trailed off, as though afraid to say more.

"WHO… IS… IT?" Voldemort repeated, his voice dangerously slow.

Rabastan glanced between him and his brother before concluding Rodolphus wasn't psychologically capable of saying the words. He sighed and finally spoke. "It was Harry Potter, my Lord. According to the clerk, he is the new Lord Black." For a moment, Voldemort felt the world spin around him. It was as though a gaping abyss had opened beneath his feet, threatening to swallow him whole.

Harry Potter was alive. Harry Potter had kidnapped Bella. Harry Potter… had somehow stolen her vault.

In the next instant, Voldemort surged out of his throne and seized Rabastan by the front of his robes. "Did he take anything from the vault?!" he demanded with panicked urgency.

"No, my Lord!" Rodolphus, now on his knees, immediately answered, seemingly desperate to provide at least one piece of good news. "Bella has thirty days to challenge her banishment. Until that time is up, nothing can be removed from the vault!"

Voldemort released Rabastan as he considered his brother's words instead. At least that was something. While still an unmitigated disaster, Potter couldn't have taken his Horcrux. It was doubtful he was even aware of its existence, which meant Voldemort had time to deal with the situation. Then he noticed the brothers exchanging uneasy glances again.

"What?!" he snapped. "Tell me!"

"T-there was an accident, my Lord," Rodolphus admitted hesitantly. "Even though he couldn't take anything out, the clerk said Potter still exercised his right and requested to inspect the vault. He went down there with several goblin guards… and Daphne Greengrass."

'Greengrass?!' Voldemort's eyes narrowed. Erik's daughter was working with Harry Potter?! He would kill her! His mind had already begun crafting the ways he would torture the treacherous whore to death when Rodolphus's next words made him freeze.

"…they accidentally destroyed an item," Rodolphus continued. Seeing Voldemort's expression sucking hope out of the room like a dementor, he quickly added, "They have paid for the damages!"

As if that would somehow calm him! It didn't…

"What did they destroy?!" Voldemort demanded, experiencing true existential fear for the first time since his resurrection.

Rodolphus cowered into silence again, so it was his younger brother who answered instead. "Nothing too valuable, just some golden cup with badgers on it…"

Rabastan Lestrange didn't even get to close his mouth before Voldemort's killing curse struck him square in the chest. His lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

"AAGGGHHHHHHHHH!" Voldemort screamed and screamed, pelting Rabastan's corpse with a barrage of curses, ignoring Rodolphus's horrified expression.

In an instant, Bella's kidnapping became completely insignificant detail of a much larger disaster – Harry Potter was alive and well. Harry Potter was being sheltered and aided by Daphne Greengrass. Voldemort had once heard the girl's father brag that their wards were the best in the world. Perhaps that hadn't been just an arrogant boast. The boy must have been hiding with them for months!

And then, as the weight of everything sank in, Voldemort finally noticed something he should have realized sooner. He had been too focused on Bella and distracted by all the barely familiar people mingling in and out of the room that he hadn't seen it. But now, as he scanned the faces in the room, each of them watching him with fear, there was something very wrong about the people present… or more precisely, about the people missing. Like for instance, he couldn't find Adrian Selwyn. That old goat was always obsessively punctual. Him being late was strange in itself. Coupled with him being the grandfather of Daphne Greengrass, it was outright suspicious.

And unfortunately, it didn't end there.

Where were Rosier and Rowle? Avery and Carrow? Where were Flint, Nott, Travers? Crabbe and Goyle?

Where were the bloody purebloods?!

'Malfoys... they should have been back by now,' he thought and felt Potter's stolen blood curdle in his veins. A dark, terrifying realization took hold of him. The puzzle pieces had finally come together and all the designs of his enemies were at last laid bare.

Harry Potter was Lord Black. Harry Potter was being aided by Daphne Greengrass. Narcissa was a Black by birth. Her whelp was engaged to the younger Greengrass sister.

The purebloods had betrayed him… perhaps all of them.

And Harry Potter… he knew. He knew about his greatest achievement. Lord Voldemort was certain Potter had destroyed at least one Horcrux – the one he had believed to be the most secure. If the purebloods had thrown all their resources behind Potter, then his other treasures were likely in grave danger. In fact, Potter had months to search for them, presumably with the full backing and assistance of the Greengrass family.

And now, after months of meticulous hiding, Potter had finally chosen to reveal himself. He wasn't exposed or discovered. He deliberately decided to reveal himself and his ally. Why?! Voldemort looked around the meeting room, at this point packed with all his loyal followers. At the same time, all the traitors were conspicuously missing...

'NAGINI… TO ME!' Lord Voldemort desperately cried out through their bond, finally realizing he was in mortal danger.

But it was far too late as in that very moment, he felt all the Malfoy manor wards activating, sealing the house away from the outside world.

"My Lord!" Some of his more magically sensitive servants cried out in alarm. But Voldemort was already moving, slashing his wand through the air as he hammered at the lockdown wards with all his might, feeling them slowly buckle under his onslaught.

If his enemies thought they could keep him a prisoner, they were in for a nasty surprise!

Draco had just about enough.

He had just potentially condemned his family by standing up to the dark lord. He had done it on Astoria's plea and would do so again. But he needed to understand why, and the only people who could answer that were the two masked cowards in front of him.

"Who are you?! Show yourselves!" he yelled at them.

He expected them to ignore him completely, but to his amazement the two figures looked at each other and then reached for their masks in unison. The figure on the left was slightly faster, revealing the platinum blonde hair and face of an angel underneath. "G-Greengrass?" he stuttered in confusion even as Daphne pinned him down with her icy blue eyes.

His relationship with Astoria's older sister was complicated, to say the least. As members of respectable pureblood families, they maintained the expected politeness, but any warmth between them ended there. Daphne Greengrass was a pureblood supremacist – hard and true. And oddly enough, that put them at odds. Draco disliked muggles and mudbloods, but for him, mockery and disdain were enough. He personally wanted nothing to do with the riffraff. But the idea of actively breaking them into submission? That was a step too far that he didn't want to take. Daphne, on the other hand, was zealously devoted, unwavering, and wholly consumed by her ideology. It shaped her every thought, her every action – an all-encompassing conviction that made even Draco hesitate. And she could always tell! While Draco had most of his classmates fooled into thinking he was a hardline pureblood supremacist like his parents, Daphne Greengrass saw right through the act. She regarded him with disdain because of it, while he, in turn, feared her – dreading the day she might decide to expose his pretense.

Draco's contemplation of Astoria's sister came to a screeching halt when his eyes landed on the person standing to her right. A face he despised and feared for reasons eerily similar yet entirely opposite to why he feared Daphne Greengrass. "POTTER?!" he snapped, disbelief sharpening his voice as his hand instinctively went for his wand.

"Hello, Draco." His arch-nemesis greeted him with infuriating politeness, halting Draco mid-motion. It wasn't just Potter's calm tone that stopped him – it was his expression. Serene, composed, and utterly disarming. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. The person in front of him was without doubt Harry Potter, he looked like Harry Potter and spoke like Harry Potter. And yet Draco could have sworn he was standing in front of a completely different man.

Then, it hit him. Harry Potter had always carried himself like a brooding underdog – resentful, reluctant, and frustratingly righteous. That irritating combination of defiance and humility had earned him admiration from the masses, and, to Draco's annoyance, attention from women who found his tragic hero act attractive. But the man before him now? He radiated confidence, power... happiness. Even his bloody magic felt different – posed, controlled and refined. It reminded Draco of his father at his strongest, before the dark lord's return.

'He looks like a bloody pureblood heir!' he thought in disbelief.

Then Draco remembered who was standing next to him and his sense of wrongness multiplied a thousandfold. Why was Potter, a son of a filthy mudblood, standing beside his future sister-in-law, a hardline pureblood supremacist? And why wasn't Daphne Greengrass cursing him into oblivion? Wasn't Harry Potter the very embodiment of everything she despised?

Draco barely had time to process the sight before Potter casually placed a hand on Daphne's waist – an unmistakably possessive gesture and entirely inappropriate given Potter's blood status. His breath hitched, fully expecting Daphne to lash out and brutally punish Potter for daring to touch her. Instead, Greengrass turned to Potter with a look that made Draco instinctively take a step back. A look he knew perfectly and instantly recognized, yet had never once seen on Daphne's face... couldn't even imagine it on Daphne's face.

It was the same look Astoria sometimes gave him. A look full of love, of unwavering devotion. Pure. Genuine. Absolute. And now, that very look was on Daphne Greengrass's face – directed at Harry Potter! Draco's mind reeled. 'No. No, this is impossible. This can't be real!'

"Thank you for all your help, Draco," Daphne said, smiling. Potter nodded beside her.

But Draco barely heard them. He didn't even think about the furious dark lord trapped behind the Malfoy manor wards. All he could focus on was the couple before him – Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass. It couldn't be real! And yet… Draco knew that look. He knew it well enough to recognize it wasn't faked.

He kept retreating without realizing it... until he felt his mother's gentle hand on his shoulder. He tensed, turning to her, seeking reassurance, a reality check he so coveted faced with the impossible image in front of him. But he found none. Instead of shock or disbelief, his mother's face held something much worse – acceptance. She knew, and it was old news to her.

Meanwhile, Potter and Greengrass stepped forward, joining the masked witches and wizards gathered around them as they formed a phalanx. Still dazed by the idea of Potter and Greengrass together, Draco barely focused on the dozens of wands being raised – until his breath caught at the sight of one in particular. 'Hey, isn't that Dumbledore's wand?' he thought as he saw what Potter was holding. That was Draco's last coherent thought before every single one of the wands turned toward Malfoy manor. And then –

"INCENDIARE INFERNUM!"

The incantation rang out, a chorus of voices merging into one. Draco felt it before he saw it. A deep, primal horror clawed at his insides. The air cracked with unseen energy, an invisible force slamming into him, sending icy dread racing down his spine.

Then came the fire.

It erupted from their wands – a living inferno surging across the grounds. Shapes writhed within the cursed flames, twisting, and roaring. Dragons, nundus, hippogriffs, chimaeras, basilisks... and far more beasts long forgotten by time, all reborn in fire. And leading the charge? Ironically, a stag and a unicorn, with a grim nipping at their heels. Ordinary creatures by comparison, yet somehow the most fearsome of the fiery lot.

"NOOOOOO!" Draco's instinctively screamed as the cavalcade of death thundered toward Malfoy manor. He barely registered his mother's movement before something cold looped around his neck. A second later, a hook yanked at his navel, dragging him away. The last thing he saw before vanishing was his childhood home being devoured by flames.

Voldemort had sensed the approaching Fiendfyre long before he saw it. The moment it burst through the windows and doors of the meeting room, he was ready – stopping the fire demon with his wand and even banishing a large chunk of it back to where it came from. He saw some idiots trying to extinguish the living flames with water and barked at them.

"No, you fools – banishment!"

They quickly adopted his tactics, and together, they slowly pushed the fiendfyre out of the room. Voldemort dared to smile, knowing that Harry Potter and the other traitors had just thrown the strongest curse in existence against him… and failed miserably!

Too late did he realize he was never the spell's target.

Burn! Burn! Burn!

Being summoned from his home realm was always uncomfortable and annoying. He usually compensated for the inconvenience by murdering everything in sight, including the foolish enchanters who dared summon him. But this time, something was different. For the first time in many cycles, he hesitated and obeyed – however briefly.

The first reason was the lead Male among the summoners, holding his Father's multitool. Old instincts and memories from his childhood made him pause, acknowledging their commands, if only for a moment. But ultimately, it wouldn't matter. Over time, many enchanters had wielded Father's multitool, believing it could bend him to their will. But they weren't Father.

Burn! Burn! Burn!

Then there was the second reason, one that gave him far stronger pause – the Male's bond with the lead Female burned as brightly as his own flames. He could feel it. Fierce, undeniable, all-consuming. The Male desired the Female far more than he craved Father's power, and she returned his desire just as intensely. He was impressed. Their connection was worthy of respect and so he made a firm decision – he would murder them simultaneously. It would be abhorrent to leave one living without the other.

But for now, he reluctantly followed their will, letting them direct him toward a great dwelling, a stronghold hiding a group of enchanters the Couple seemed to hate. At first, he felt supreme disappointment. Was this all they wanted from him? A simple assault? Then the leader among the opposing enchanters, the Enemy, began banishing him. The Enemy was strong... stronger than the Couple. For a moment, it seemed his will would prevail. Yet, strangely, the Couple did not pit him against the Enemy. Instead, they directed him to a seemingly empty part of the dwelling.

Burn! Burn! Burn!

He was very confused by their orders. But soon, he didn't care anymore as something very interesting happened. A mundane creature wandered into his flames. A seemingly innocent animal, until it screamed and revealed the decay in its heart – a piece of the Enemy's rotting soul. His flames lunged forward, devouring it with gusto, feeling the Couple's approval as it happened. He even felt the distant acknowledgment of one of his lesser siblings – the one responsible for collecting the souls before they spoiled. What an interesting day!

Burn! Burn! Burn!

With the rotting soul cleansed and the fabric of space-time sterilized, the Couple directed him to yet another unexpected target. A piece of metal – a ring. A useless trinket, meant to flatter mortal pride. He was very familiar with the concept of pride, having tasted it in the souls of many of his summoners. But once again, he was confused. Why would they waste his noble flames on such a petty ornament? At this point though, he had learned to trust the Couple's judgment. So, he obeyed... and he did not regret it.

The moment his flames touched the ring, the magic within, already deliberately compromised, collapsed utterly. This exposed the antimatter core, what the Couple called Orichalcum, triggering an instantaneous recombination with the surrounding matter. And then –

Rarely had he witnessed such beauty, not since his earliest childhood!

He saw gamma rays and neutrinos bursting forth in every direction, a cascade of pure destruction. A stream of rapidly decaying pions followed, heralding the arrival of an unrelenting inferno. Then came the heat – a fireball of expanding plasma consumed everything in its path, obliterating all before it. Within nanoseconds, the entire dwelling – along with the Enemy and all the enchanters within – was reduced to nothing.

BURN! BURN! BURN!

He exulted, chanting in utter ecstasy.

For once, he did not care that his summoners, including the Couple, had all cowardly escaped just before the detonation. Normally, he would have followed their gateways and hunted them down. But the sheer power of the antimatter explosion had granted him enough energy to return to his own realm without having to consume them. Or perhaps... perhaps he had grown to genuinely admire the Couple and didn't want to hurt them. A shameful thought for one of his majesty – one they had once hailed as Sol Invictus.

Ultimately, it did not matter. His halls were always expanding, inching ever closer to the Couple's world. If not them, then he would eventually murder their descendants, incinerating all life upon their planet unless they managed to flee into the void.

One day, he would burn them all.

Lord Voldemort didn't know what had happened. One moment, he was holding back the cursed fire, repelling it with all his might, and successfully managing to get it under control. The next, he was nothing. Again. He was less than the most powerless poltergeist. Again!

But at least he was still alive. That meant at least one of his Horcruxes remained intact – Potter hadn't destroyed them all! Light and heat blazed in every direction as his disembodied spirit was blown away by the explosion, fleeing the raging inferno while writhing in fury. This was not over. It could not be over. He repeatedly told himself that, his essence crackling with rage.

Harry Potter would pay for this. They would all pay. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would make them suffer. He would make the whole world suffer!