Voldemort wasn't often suprised by anyone. The Malfoy boy though was a exception. The teenager took his mark proudly- arrogantly like his father. Voldemort had smirked at the time when he'd given the boy the tasks- certain he'd fail at both and ultimately sign his and his mother's death warrants.
The thing was-
The boy was good.
Excellent in fact.
Unlike his Father he rose to the challenge. Voldemort had chuckled cruelly when the boy abandoned his first idea "Potter has been stalking me in Diagon and Hogwarts- the Vanishing Cabinet would be too obvious now'
His next plans he carried out swiftly and officiantly.
The child had noticed his Headteachers blackened hand. Curse damage of course. The old fool was dying already but slowly. Draco imperioed a House Elf and killed the Headmaster with a custom potion he'd made to speed up the curse's process- natural causes they called it. Task one complete.
****
There were Aurors everywhere in the castle. The Rat himself couldn't get through- every one of the Maraunders entrances and exits covered by vast security doubly so on Dumbledore's funeral. This did not stop the boy- he planned for them to strike that night.
The Hogs Head was empty of course. The owner closing it for his Brother's funeral. In the middle of the room stood the boy. Pale, blonde, perfect. Falling to his knees in a beautiful show of submission. "My lord" he said softly "the way through is clear" he announced. Gesturing to a long tunnel that had been hidden behind the portrait of a girl.
The child had clearly thought of everything.
He'd kept Severus in the Dark- not trusting anyone with his plans and faked his own death. Severus had fallen through the floo weeping to a confused Narcissa over the loss of his Godson. The child knew he couldn't return after this.
And my
The boy was beautiful.
The Order had nearly fallen that night. Voldemort was pleased. But not as pleased as he was with the item he'd required. One he'd manipulated Helena herself into giving him once upon a time.
***
The Boy's job was done now. The Child had made the impossible possible. Now he was but a trinket. Something for his lord to admire at his leisure. His beauty manipulated by his lord- his hair now in long curls and his cheeks highlighted and his lips reddened. His Dark Mark now taken from him. He was too beautiful- too precious to be marked in such a way. His body was covered in exspensive jewellery, white sheer silk and sweet smelling perfumes. Upon his head he wore a symbol of his Lord's pleasure. The lost Diadem of Ravenclaw.
***
The rumor was that he couldn't love. That the love potions his Mother has foolishly dosed his weak and pathetic Muggle Father had affected him in the womb- making him incapable of feeling the emotion.
He wasn't incapable.
But it was a dark and obsessive. He controlled everything from the Boy's outfits and makeup to what he ate and who he could speak to and when. The Boy's eyes lit up with dark glee whenever he punished the Werewolves or killed another incompetent Death Eater. A look that Voldemort wished to see on the Boy's face always- how it excited him so!
He didn't realise what was happening until it was too late.
***
Nagini had died. His grief and anger was so entwined until it was one. The Longbottom boy had killed her! He just about held on to enough presence of mind to command Bellatrix to torture him like she did his blood traitor parents.
The so called saviour had no chance. He may of destroyed the other Horcruxs but his intended was still in persession of the last. The young Malfoy safely tucked away and sleeping soundly under in effects of a sleeping draft in the Manor. Voldemort would always be unbeatable. Immortal.
****
The Malfoy brat had deceived him!
He appeared from the trees just as he faced the Potter at the final showdown near the Forbidden Forest, Diadem in hand, and just as Voldemorts and Potters spells collided the blonde bastard stabbed the Diadem with a fang from his long past Basilisk.
***
It was just over an hour later he breathed his last. His heart ached with pain he thought himself incapable of as in his final seconds he watched his beloved gasp and moan whorishly into the mouth of his enemy. The brat who lived.
He couldn't have even blamed his enemy for stealing what was his. His dear Dragon was a Slytherin to the core. A surviver. He'd have had to have planned this from the start. Draco was always ten steps ahead of everyone else.
A single tear fell as his life left him.
The only one he'd ever shed.