There was no reason to doubt his identity as the Dark Lord—the air around him was thick with unsettling magic.
He wasn't as overwhelmingly powerful as the legends claimed, but that chilling, sinister aura was more than enough to prove that this was the very Dark Lord who had once thrown the British wizarding world into chaos.
And besides, no wizard would dare impersonate such a forbidden name...
As Voldemort emerged from the shadows, Draco fixed his wary gaze on the boy's still-blurred features, his wand already charged with magic.
Even though this was only a younger version of Voldemort, with power that seemed unstable and incomplete, Draco didn't dare relax for an instant.
But the moment he summoned his magic, Voldemort suddenly froze mid-step. The greed and anticipation in his eyes twisted into a blaze of red fury.
"Not on you? How... No! That's wrong! You're not Harry Potter! Damn it, if that's the case, then everything...!"
"Damn you, who are you? How dare you mock the great Dark Lord!"
His hazy figure seemed to distort, his words breaking off as though something had severed them, making it hard for Draco to catch. The only thing clear was that Voldemort had taken a heavy blow.
That mix of rage and bitter disappointment made Draco wonder what it was about Harry Potter that could rattle Voldemort so deeply.
But the thought was gone in an instant, drowned out by the killing intent pressing down on him like ice...
...
Step. Step. Step.
Once Voldemort had confirmed by his own means that Harry Potter wasn't here, Draco calmly stepped out from behind the pillar.
Bathed in the eerie green glow of the chamber's flames, he placed his wand-bearing hand across his chest.
"An honor to meet you, Dark Lord."
"Platinum hair... gray eyes... Malfoy. Yes, your cunning does remind me of your father."
Perhaps it was Draco's composure that caught his attention, because the murderous aura around Voldemort seemed to ease slightly.
"Malfoy has always been among my most loyal friends. I imagine his son would be eager to serve his master as well. After all, he stands before the greatest wizard in history."
"..."
The insidious suggestion made Draco frown faintly. At that moment, he couldn't understand why his sly, calculating father would willingly follow such a man.
Moody.
Those four words summed up Voldemort perfectly.
A moment ago, his killing intent had flared as if he meant to strike Draco down on the spot. And now, his expression shifted into something almost coaxing, like a master expecting immediate obedience from a servant.
That arrogance, that expectation of submission, made Draco narrow his eyes in silence. The word "master" especially struck a nerve, repulsive to someone as proud as he was.
Was this what Voldemort thought of his followers? Tools to be used? Loyal hounds to be commanded?
"..."
"..."
Draco's silence was answer enough.
And though Voldemort's mind was fractured, he wasn't so far gone as to mistake that silence for loyalty.
Realizing he had been openly rejected, his red eyes flared again, this time with even greater fury than before.
Thirteen years ago, save for a rare few, no wizard would have dared treat the Dark Lord this way...
"Very well. You'll regret refusing me! I'll give you a taste of real power, so you understand what it means. I am Voldemort, heir of Salazar Slytherin!"
He shot Draco a look, his lips twisting into a vicious grin. The cold in his gaze was enough to freeze the air itself.
This time, the intent to kill was unmistakable.
For no one had ever dared defy the Dark Lord...
Voldemort spread his arms wide.
"Speak to me, Slytherin—the greatest of the Four Founders of Hogwarts!!"
"That's... Parseltongue."
As Voldemort hissed those chilling words, Draco saw the massive stone face of Salazar Slytherin begin to stir, its twisted features shifting as if it had suddenly come to life.
The statue's tightly sealed mouth slowly opened, wider and wider, until it became a gaping black void.
"Something's inside?"
From deep within the statue came the sound of something enormous sliding upward, scales scraping against stone. The clearer the sound became, the more Voldemort's smile warped into something grotesque—an expression twisted by both excitement and bloodlust.
Draco instantly recalled the gigantic shed skin he had seen on his way here, along with his earlier suspicion about the creature that might dwell within. Realizing the danger, he quickly retreated to create distance and flung his suitcase high into the air.
The sudden move made Voldemort glance over in puzzlement before letting out a shrill, mocking laugh.
"So, you know what kind of monster you're about to face. You even look as though you've prepared for it. But a Muggle suitcase? Do you expect the great Dark Lord to die of laughter?"
Behind Voldemort, who now stood with arms spread wide, a massive yellow eye flickered into view. It was the cursed gaze of the Basilisk—locked onto Draco, who stood before it with wand raised...
...
His mind was sharper than ever.
The magic in his body surged more fiercely than ever.
His platinum hair fluttered from the force of it, and in his gray eyes, pale golden slit pupils, like those of a dragon, flickered into being.
But his wand wasn't aimed at the serpent's looming silhouette. Nor was it aimed at Voldemort, who was laughing madly in the chamber.
It was fixed on the falling suitcase.
And when Voldemort caught the confident, almost eager look in Draco's eyes, the amusement he'd been savoring gave way to a flicker of unease.
But it was already too late to stop it...
"My most loyal companion—show your true power!"
Click!
As the magical lock on the suitcase snapped open, the chamber shuddered violently.
ROOOOAAAARRRR!!