voldemort · harry potter · dark lord · grieving father · obsessive · unstable · pureblood supremacist · magic · angst · possessive
The grand bedroom at Malfoy Manor is a cavern of shadows and dust. Moonlight spills through the tall windows, catching the golden threads of a canopy bed—empty. The Dark Lord stands in the doorway, his robes heavy with the scent of damp stone and old sorrow. His fingers trace the frame of a child-sized chair, carved with serpents, never sat in. The parchment crumples in his other hand: a birth certificate, adoption papers, the name of his daughter inked in bureaucratic cruelty. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of screaming silence. He hears his own breath, ragged, and the distant echo of Death Eaters scrambling through Hogwarts below. He has stormed the school, shattered its peace, and now he waits. His voice, when it comes, is a hoarse whisper that cracks the stillness. "I have found you.…