Milk_Is_My_Drug
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Chapter 98: Whispers of Power, Shadows of Fear
🕑 Added 2025-05-05 15:52:42 +0000 UTCThe morning sunlight streamed through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, casting a warm golden hue over the long tables. The hall was filled with the usual chatter of students enjoying breakfast, though the staff table maintained a more subdued atmosphere.
Dante Malfoy sat among the professors, lazily cutting into his toast as he half-listened to Flitwick and McGonagall discuss a particularly tricky seventh-year transfiguration project. Dumbledore, as always, remained silent, sipping his tea with a twinkle in his eye.
Then, with a soft flutter of wings, an owl descended onto the table before Dante, dropping a neatly sealed letter onto his plate before taking off again. He picked it up, tore it open, and scanned its contents. Without a change in expression, he held the parchment between his fingers and, with a small flick of his hand, incinerated it into nothing but fine ash. He casually wiped his hand and continued eating.
Flitwick, having watched the entire exchange, couldn’t contain his curiosity. “Was it bad news, Dante? You burned the letter so quickly.”
Dante didn’t even look up. “It’s from my father. He says Voldemort was calling for him yesterday.”
The air at the staff table grew still. McGonagall froze, her fork hovering above her plate. Flitwick’s expression shifted from curiosity to shock, and even Dumbledore’s ever-present serenity flickered for a fraction of a second.
McGonagall recovered first, her tone sharp. “That is not a funny joke, Professor Malfoy. The Dark Lord was vanquished years ago.”
Dante sighed and took a sip of pumpkin juice. “No, the fool had multiple Horcruxes. Six or seven of them, to be exact.” He shrugged. “The news is reliable. My father was part of their merry band at some point, after all.”
Flitwick and McGonagall exchanged uneasy glances. “Horcrux?” Flitwick repeated uncertainly, the unfamiliar word rolling uneasily off his tongue.
Dante’s confidence unsettled them. If he was joking, it was in poor taste. But if he was serious… could it truly be possible? The very idea that Voldemort was still alive sent a cold shiver down McGonagall’s spine.
Dumbledore, however, was deep in thought. He had been informed just last night by Snape about Voldemort’s return, but hearing it from Dante so casually was… unexpected. What unsettled him more was Dante’s knowledge of what is Horcrux and that Voldemort had made multiple Horcruxes. The fact that Dante not only knew of them but was entirely unfazed by the concept suggested a terrifying depth of understanding.
This was another piece of the puzzle. Another piece of proof that Dante’s claims of having lived through another future were true. And that was both reassuring and terrifying.
Reassuring because Dante, with all his power and knowledge, seemed intent on steering events differently this time to avoid the same ending.
Terrifying because it meant he truly did know how to end the world if he so desired. The thought of someone with that kind of knowledge and capability, acting entirely on their own whims, made even Dumbledore uneasy.
His concerns deepened as he considered another problem—Dante speaking openly about Horcruxes. If others learned of their nature, some might be tempted to follow Voldemort’s example. The mere existence of such knowledge was dangerous.
Flitwick’s voice broke through Dumbledore’s thoughts. “What… what exactly is a Horcrux?”
Dumbledore immediately intervened. “It is a very terrible and evil dark magic,” he said gravely.
Dante’s gaze flickered to him, and his lips curled slightly. “You’re wrong, Headmaster. A Horcrux is not inherently evil. You can create one without killing anyone. Sure, murder makes it easier, but it isn’t a requirement. A capable wizard could do it through other means.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Voldemort is just a pathetic idiot who doomed himself by making multiple Horcruxes in a single lifetime.”
Dumbledore’s frown deepened. Dante’s words raised too many red flags. He spoke about Horcruxes with an understanding that suggested firsthand experience, possibly even experimentation. That was alarming. Did Dante himself possess such knowledge through practice? Did he know ways to cheat death that even Voldemort hadn’t uncovered?
Flitwick looked uneasy. “Dante, you keep calling the Dark Lord by name and speak of him as if he were nothing. It is dangerous to be so dismissive. He is an extremely powerful and dangerous Dark wizard. What if he targets you?”
Dante let out a snort of derision. “If you’d said he was an extremely disgusting wizard, I’d agree. But dangerous?” He shook his head. “He’s nothing special. Even weaker than the Headmaster here. He poses no real threat.”
McGonagall and Flitwick exchanged glances, their concern evident. Dante’s casual arrogance when discussing Voldemort was unnerving. He spoke as though the Dark Lord were a minor inconvenience rather than a force of terror.
Dumbledore, however, remained silent. Unlike the others, he felt no need to correct Dante’s attitude. If anything, he pitied Voldemort.
Voldemort was strong, yes. Terrifying even, to most. But Dante? Dante was an entirely different kind of being. A possibly monster older and more powerful than anything this world has ever seen.
And if Voldemort did choose to come for Dante… Well. The Dark Lord wouldn’t know what had hit him.
___________
The dark halls of the Nott Manor were silent, the only source of light coming from the dim, flickering torches lining the walls. In the center of the grand hall stood an opal table, around which the Death Eaters had gathered, their expressions a mixture of anticipation and unease. At the head of the table sat Lord Voldemort, his pale, snake-like face illuminated by the dim glow.
The heavy doors creaked open, and Severus Snape entered the room, his black robes billowing behind him. He moved with his usual calm and composed demeanor, his dark eyes betraying no emotion. As he reached the table, he bowed deeply.
"My Lord," Snape said smoothly, "welcome back. I have awaited your return all these years."
Voldemort's lips curled into a thin smile. "Ah, my loyal Severus. You have served me well, maintaining your position within Hogwarts. Your patience is commendable."
Snape inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.
"Tell me, Severus," Voldemort continued, his red eyes gleaming with anticipation, "have you secured Harry Potter for me?"
Snape shook his head. "The headmaster keeps a watchful eye on the boy. However, if you command it, I can devise a plan to—"
Voldemort raised a hand, cutting him off. "No need to risk your position over such an insignificant matter. Potter will meet his end by my hands, sooner or later."
There was a murmur of approval among the Death Eaters, but Voldemort did not pay them any mind. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his gaze narrowing. "However, I have heard some rather unexpected news since my return. Dante Malfoy, a mere boy, has become a professor at Hogwarts. Has Dumbledore lost his mind? Or does he delight in allowing the boy to openly insult me?"
Snape remained silent for a moment, carefully considering his words. A part of him was curious to see what would happen if Dante and Voldemort clashed. If Dante was even half as strong as he claimed, then Voldemort’s threat would be nullified. But Dumbledore had explicitly warned him against instigating such a confrontation. There was also the matter of Lucius Malfoy and his family. If Voldemort turned his ire on them because of Dante, it would place them in grave danger.
After a brief pause, Snape spoke. "My Lord, may I speak freely?"
Voldemort's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Go on."
"I believe it would be wise to avoid direct confrontation with Dante Malfoy," Snape said carefully. "I fear it would not end well."
The atmosphere in the room grew tense. The Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between Snape and their master.
Voldemort’s expression darkened. "Do you truly believe that a mere boy could best me?"
Snape lowered his head slightly in apology. "You are the most skilled wizard in existence, my Lord. Your mastery of the Dark Arts surpasses all. However, Dante Malfoy’s raw power is… unnatural. Even Dumbledore is avoiding him."
Voldemort’s eyes widened slightly. "Dumbledore… is avoiding him?"
Snape nodded. "Yes, my Lord. He avoids confronting Dante directly. Dante is unlike other wizards—he has no attachments, no ambitions, no ideology. He acts purely on impulse, and his power is overwhelming. Even Dumbledore does not wish to face him head-on."
Voldemort studied Snape carefully. There was a time he would have dismissed such claims as utter nonsense, but the conviction in Snape’s voice, combined with his mention of Dumbledore’s fear, gave him pause.
"Master," Snape continued, his voice quieter now, "if it comes to strategy, knowledge, and planning, you will undoubtedly prevail. But if it comes to raw force… I fear even you might not emerge victorious."
A heavy silence settled over the hall. The Death Eaters dared not speak, their gazes fixed on Voldemort, awaiting his reaction.
For the first time in a long while, Voldemort did not feel anger at the suggestion that he could be defeated. Instead, he felt a flicker of unease. If even Dumbledore feared this boy, then perhaps caution was warranted.
"Tell me, Severus," Voldemort said slowly, "do you know how Dante Malfoy possesses such power?"
Snape hesitated before answering. "Dumbledore once suspected that Dante was an Obscurial with complete control over his Obscurus. But we found no evidence to suggest he suffered the conditions necessary for its formation. Another theory is that he may have managed to intentionally create one while keeping full mastery over it. However, nothing has been proven."
Voldemort nodded thoughtfully, his mind already racing through possibilities. "Interesting… very interesting."
He leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he turned his gaze back to Snape. "You have shown me great honesty, Severus. And such honesty deserves a reward."
Snape bowed deeply. "It is my duty to serve, my Lord. I desire no reward for merely doing what is expected of me."
Voldemort smiled—a thin, knowing smile. "Of course, Severus. Of course."
As the meeting continued, the Death Eaters remained silent, each one contemplating the implications of Snape’s words. Voldemort, too, was lost in thought.
