The Guardian
-November 1 1991-
Voldemort, for what feels like the first time in forever, wakes without the underlying anxiety of worrying about his precious. Something happened yesterday that healed his son---and Voldemort was definitely going to find out what that was. He smiled as the rays of the sun warmed his bare face and turned his head to see said Inferius swathed in his bed sheets. Voldemort grinned fondly at the sight of his son in what had to be the most uncomfortable sleep position.
Little One slept peacefully on his stomach, his bottom up in the air while his weight rested on his knees. His face was smashed up against the pillow, drool soaking the pillow case, and soft snores erupting out of his mouth. One arm lay on the pillow, outstretched as if to touch the wall, while the other was curled up near his face, a damp thumb poking out of his fist.
In short, Little One was adorable, and Voldemort wished he could take a picture.
Voldemort, as gently as possible, left the bed, taking care not to rouse his sleeping toddler. Voldemort knew that Little One had been having trouble sleeping lately, and Voldemort wanted to leave him to get as much sleep as he could to make up for lost time. He stretched after he was safely out of the bed, allowing his back to pop. He then walked over to the side where his son slept and gently maneuvered into a more comfortable sleeping position and pressed a kiss to his temple before he walked out of the room and into his study.
Voldemort had much to do today---so much that Voldemort pondered the idea of simply handing it off to Lucius and spending the day with his son in the garden instead---but ultimately, Voldemort knew that he could not continue to hand off his duties to his right hand, especially because he was running for Minister.
Voldemort had too much dignity to groan, but as he sat down in his chair in his personal office, he really considered it. With everything that had happened with Little One being kidnapped and attacked, he’d completely forgotten about the Minister elections coming up. When Lucius mentioned it in the meeting yesterday, he had a brief moment of surprise before he responded.
While Lucius would make a great Minister, it would leave Voldemort lacking in trustworthy, sane followers that he could fall back on in times of need. And yet, Voldemort would reluctantly concede that having Lucius in office would also be incredibly helpful as well. Especially when it comes to passing laws needed to get back at Dumbledore…
Speaking of manipulative old goats, Voldemort was in the process of coming up with a fantastic plan to get back at the man, but in order to get the most out of his revenge, as well as nip a few other problems in the bud, it would require some help on the inside.
Which meant it was time to deal with the other traitor in his midst.
Heaving out a tired sigh, Voldemort stood, his movement causing the papers on his desk to shift, and walked out of his study swiftly, the door clicking shut behind him. His footsteps echoed against the stone walls as he walked, and Voldemort paid no heed to the bows his followers gave as he passed by them.
It took him only a few minutes to walk from his personal study to the other side of the castle where his… guests were kept. He opened the door with his magical signature and stepped inside one the nicer, lusher prison cells. This cell was better described as a guest suite, and Voldemort looked at the bland walls and stuffy, basic artwork with distaste.
It has been nearly three weeks since the prisoner was sentenced here, sufficient time to scare a man (or isolate) into submission. Speaking of, Severus Snape walked through the door that led to the bedroom and bowed before him.
“My Lord.” he spoke softly, his gaze not leaving the ground.
Voldemort nodded, refusing to show how miffed he was about being here. If it didn’t prove counterproductive to his plans, Voldemort would leave Snape here in this room for the rest of his traitorous life---perhaps the isolation would drive him insane. But no, Voldemort needed him for now.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make his life as difficult as possible.
“It is time for your punishment, Snape,” Voldemort says evenly. If Snape is surprised that he is to face another punishment, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he merely holds his bow in a show of respect. Pity. “I am demoting you from my Inner Circle. You will still be a high tier follower, as I have need for you still, but keep in mind, your life, while useful, is not necessary.”
“I will endeavor not to fail you, My Lord.” Snape said.
“Indeed.” Voldemort drawled, and with a dignified huff, Voldemort sat down in one of the armchairs. The movement prompted Snape to raise his head, and Voldemort used the opportunity to gesture towards one of the other chairs. “Sit, Snape. We have much to talk about.”
“Yes, My Lord.” Snape said, and with one more respectful nod, he sunk into the other chair opposite to Voldemort and sat as straight as a board.
“I am putting you in charge of training some new recruits,” Voldemort said, and took pleasure in seeing the dour man struggle to remain indifferent. Voldemort knew how much Snape despised socializing, and he especially hated training people. This would prove very entertaining. “While you train them, I will research ways to get you out of your oath.”
Snape started at this. “My oath…?”
“Yes, Snape, your oath,” Voldemort sneered. “Having a loyalty oath to Albus Dumbledore is counterproductive to my goals, and in order to be useful, you must get out of the oath without the old man’s knowledge.”
“But… It was an unbreakable vow… My Lord.” Snape says, his mask lapsing momentarily to betray his surprise and confusion.
“Yes, but there are ways around even those.” Voldemort said. “I will need to know the exact wording of your vow to the old man, as well as the conditions that were provided.”
“Of course, My Lord,” Snape said. “Shall I provide the memory?”
“I will send you the necessary materials for this later,” Voldemort said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We have other matters to discuss.”
“Of course, My Lord.” Snape said.
“After I leave, you will be free to leave this castle and return to your home,” Voldemort says. “Though, you will be on probation for the next few years, so I wouldn’t get too excited. You have been missing for nearly three weeks, and Dumbledore will no doubt call you to his side to ask about your whereabouts.”
“What should I tell him, My Lord?” Snape asked.
“Tell him I sent you on a mission undercover, make up something about rebels in France. A false lead.” Voldemort said. “It is imperative that you regain any lost trust. Make yourself as trustworthy as possible. You need to get closer to the private information.”
Voldemort stood then, and Snape took it as the end of the conversation. He stood as well, bowing his head to the floor as Voldemort walked past him. As Voldemort stood in front of the door he paused, his hands just barely grazing the door.
He sends one last look at the man who used to be one of his most trusted. “Oh, and Severus?” Voldemort called.
Severus looks up from his now, the use of his first name clearly startling him. “My Lord?”
“The two new recruits you are in charge of?” he says with a sadistic smirk. “Their names are Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.” and with that, Voldemort sweeps out of the room.
Draco sat back comfortably against his bed, the familiar shades of green filling his peripheral. It was November first, and something… something weird happened last night. As per the Malfoy tradition, as well as several other Pure-Blood families, Draco performed the Sahamian ritual with his friends.
Because the Dark Lord took over before Draco was born, he didn’t have to hide the fact that he was doing the sacred ritual. Mother often told stories of how, whilst she was in Hogwarts, she and anyone else who wished to participate had to hide while they did it, as the old Ministry had all Olde Family Rituals banned.
But because the New Ministry had declared such practices perfectly legal, Draco and anyone else who wished to participate in the ritual (read: all of the Slytherins, about half of Ravenclaw, a bit of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor respectively.) all gathered in the Great Hall after the feast.
Dumbledore did not hide his displeasure, and Draco knew that he’d been one of the members of the Wizengamot who had voted against the legalization of the Olde Ways. But because it was legal, Dumbledore could not tell the students not to do it, nor could he discourage the behavior.
But he never attended the ritual, either.
The Sahamian Ritual, when done correctly, was a way to reconnect with the dead---people you’ve loved and lost and wished to remember and cherish. It was also about honoring the dead and the patron of Death. To show respect towards Death was the ultimate way to live your life.
When Draco attended the ritual, he’d intended to see his Grandfather, just as he’d done every Sahamian. But something strange had happened instead.
As Draco closed his eyes and recited the chant, rather than waking in the study that his Grandfather used when he was alive, he opened his eyes to see a great nothingness. Draco could feel the power that the ritual created---far stronger than it had ever felt before. It felt as though the air was charged with magic.
When he opened his eyes to find nothing, he panicked. He was standing in a void, pure empty space and darkness. He spun around, desperate to find light, but only served to dizzy himself. He was disoriented, because everywhere he looked, it appeared as though he hadn’t even moved.
That’s when he felt it.
Draco didn’t see the figure that he encountered, but Draco knew it was there. He could feel it’s presence. It was cold, and Draco shivered when he felt goose flesh prickle at his skin. He breathed out in a punched gasp, and his eyes widened when his breath turned to mist before his very eyes.
The figure seemed to be looming over him, but when he turned around to see it, there was nothing but the continued nothingness. Draco opened his mouth to demand the figure reveal itself, but no sound came out.
Then, as suddenly as it happened, Draco blinked and he was standing in his late Grandfather’s study. The sudden change caused Draco to stumble and he felt the familiar hold of his Grandfather steadying him.
He turned to see his Grandfather’s apparition behind him and Draco hurriedly bowed before him to pay his respects. His Grandfather didn’t speak, but that was expected. The Sahamian Ritual merely showed you the apparition of your lost loved ones, but it did not pull them from their eternal rest.
It was more like a two way mirror without audio.
And there Draco sat for the rest of the Ritual, it felt like hours and minutes at the same time, until he opened his eyes to see the Great Hall once more. He went to sleep and tried his best not to think about the strange happenstance.
He debated writing a letter to his father to ask if he knew about it, but ultimately decided against it. It was probably nothing, and Draco saw no need to bother his father with it. Draco let out a sigh, allowing his head to rest against his pillow, his eyes flitting about his empty dorm room.
Suddenly the door slammed open, and Draco jumped. “Draco!” Theo cried, walking over to where Draco had been resting. “There you are! Come on, you’re going to be late for the feast!”
“Oh, sorry,” Draco said, standing up. “I was just… thinking.”
“Well let’s go! I think they’re serving pumpkin pastries for dessert tonight!” Theo exclaimed, tugging Draco along in a rare show of childishness.
Draco followed Theo without complaint, and when the door to the dorm room closed, the silence of the empty room was broken by a raspy chuckle.
An invisible figure watches as the two boys disappear from view. When He is alone, He drifts through the empty room absently. His hand cards through the curtains on the bed, and to the naked eye it would appear as though a breeze had ruffled them from out of nowhere.
“So this is the Guardian?” the being asked. “How… quaint.”
Another chuckle escaped the being before He melted into the shadows, as though He were never there in the first place.
On the bedside table, the carnations wilted.