In a hidden chamber at Malfoy Manor.
"Master." Lucius Malfoy, known throughout the Wizarding World for his wealth, arrogance, and social finesse, stood humbly bowed. A barely perceptible tremor ran through his voice.
He gripped his ornate snake-headed cane so tightly that his knuckles had gone pale.
"Any news from Hogwarts?" A cold, hoarse voice, like the hiss of a snake, came from the deepest shadows of the room.
Fine beads of cold sweat broke out on Lucius's forehead. "Not... not yet, Master."
He answered with care, afraid that a single syllable might anger the figure in the dark.
Silence settled over the room. Each second dragged like dripping wax, and Lucius could feel that icy gaze roaming over him.
At last, an unremarkable envelope drifted down onto the Persian carpet before him.
"Deliver this letter to him..." The voice had grown even fainter. Lucius knew his master was weaker than before, but he dared not entertain any other thoughts.
"And... those Potions you brought last time were good... Bring me more..."
"Yes, great Master." Lucius wiped the cold sweat from his face.
A short while later, standing in a corridor, Lucius took out a silk handkerchief and wiped his clammy forehead again.
The thought of all the Galleons and connections he had spent gathering those rare, costly Potion ingredients, most of them tied to Dark Magic, made his heart ache. He could almost hear his vault at Gringotts groaning. But he had no choice.
The Dark Lord's return was inevitable. He was terribly weak now and even needed his former Death Eaters to help him recover, but he had come back from the dead.
Back from the dead! How terrifying was that?
Powerful as Dumbledore was, he had grown old. Ever since the Malfoy family had entered England with